License to Thrill by Elizabeth Cage

Imagine a coldblooded killer getting all weakhearted over a girl with asthma!
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    â€œSo he looked all upset, and his eyes were red,” Theresa relayed that night in 1423.
    â€œI might know why,” Caylin said, waving a printout. “This just came in from The Tower. Alfred called again at fifteen hundred hours and told Jonathon if he didn’t get his disc by the conference, his father was going to be killed. Transcript right here.”
    â€œOh, my gosh, no wonder!” Theresa exclaimed. “I’m such a jerk. That’s when I was in the kitchen. Siobhan was covering for me, and she must have patched his call through!”
    â€œDon’t worry about it,” Jo said. “It’s a good thing you did—otherwise we wouldn’t have found out this info.”
    â€œYou know, you kind of have to feel sorry for the guy,” Caylin commented. “He’s totally in over his head.”
    Jo snorted. “He’s a total scumbag. He puts his own father’s life on the line for a pile of dough.”
    Theresa shrugged, not sure what to think. His swollen eyes had definitely looked as if they’d shed some major tears, so maybe he was genuinely upset. But if he was so upset about it, why was he going through with it?
    â€œWell, no matter what we do or don’t think about Jonathon,” Caylin began, “the pressure’s on to find this disc. At least Theresa was making an effort to find it today, unlike the rest of us. We’ve gotta move, and we’ve gotta move now.”
    â€œThe key word is green ,” Theresa reminded them. “Is there anyplace in the embassy related to the color green? The kitchen’s out, but maybe some of the rooms have green walls.”
    â€œMaybe it’s hidden in a green book in the library,” Jo said.
    â€œOr a greenhouse, if there is one,” Caylin suggested.
    Theresa chewed her nails. “Too many possibilities. My brain’s going to crash just thinking about them.”
    â€œWell, we’ve got to get on this double quick,” Caylin said. “We lost our steam after that night at Meltdown, but we need to get it back. I, for one, have a surprise in my backpack—Jonathon’s trash. I snagged it today when I was cleaning.”
    â€œOh, joy,” Jo muttered. All this talk about William Nicholson’s possible fate gave her an ugly feeling of déjàvu, and the thought of digging through his loser son’s trash did nothing to improve her mood.
    â€œHopefully there’s nothing too gross in here,” Caylin said, crossing her fingers as she laid out some newspaper on the coffee table and placed the bag on top. “Jo, would you do the honors since you have the longest nails?”
    â€œWhatever,” Jo griped, slicing the bag with a long red nail.
    Caylin dumped out the contents. A receipt from a corner deli, a half-empty bag of salt-and-vinegar potato chips, a banana peel, a coffee cup, some crumbled-up junk mail, and some miscellaneous scraps of paper. Nothing terribly exciting.
    â€œAny of this look useful to you guys?” Theresa asked.
    Jo sifted through the lot with disdain. “Hardly.”
    â€œHey—look at this business card,” Caylin said, snatching it up. “It’s a nearby hotel. Maybe he stayed there so he could have some privacy.”
    â€œSo he could make private phone calls, perhaps,” Theresa suggested. “You know, so his father wouldn’t overhear him?”
    â€œThere’s only one way to find out,” Caylin announced. “Pass me the phone, por favor .”
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    â€œFive Sumner Place—may I help you?”
    â€œYes, you may,” Caylin began, putting a stuffy spin on her working-class Louise accent. “This is Veronica Carey, Jonathon Nicholson’s secretary, and I believe he recently stayed there. If it’s not too much