License to Thrill by Elizabeth Cage Page B

S.
    So Jonathon was buggin’ over the bugs, Caylin thought with a sinking heart as she headed back to the embassy. She skulked into the utility room and jumped about a mile in shock. Fiona sat in wait for her, an evil look on her face. “Do you know anything about these silly devices found in the Nicholsons’ offices and suites?” she demanded.
    â€œWhat . . . devices?” Caylin asked innocently.
    â€œThe ones found in the Nicholsons’ offices and suites,”Fiona repeated slowly, as if she were speaking to a kindergartner. “Surveillance stuff. Spy gear. Bugs , I think they’re called?”
    â€œI have no clue what you’re talking about,” Caylin said with an edge of offense. “You know, Jonathon went off on me this morning, and I was wondering what his blimey problem was.”
    â€œThat’s it,” Fiona said, cracking a smile. “I got the riot act myself, so don’t feel bad. The suites are now off-limits to the cleaning staff, as are the Nicholsons’ offices. Less bally work for us, right? And I hear they think some translator did it, anyway, so there’s really no need to worry. But I had to ask.”
    Caylin nodded understandingly, trying her hardest not to look upset. A translator? she asked herself. That could only be one person . . . Jo!
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    Jo sipped her carrot juice and drank in the afternoon sunshine, a precious rarity. Pentland’s, an outdoor café near the hotel, was the perfect place for a lunchtime getaway. The commissary’s Wednesday meal du jour, bangers andmash, was hardly anything to write home about, and she really needed the private time. She wasn’t used to being around people 24/7, being an only child and all. When her aunt and uncle had adopted her, they had given her the space and solitude she had grown accustomed to. Two things she hadn’t had much of since coming to London, that was for sure.
    â€œMay I join you?” a familiar voice asked, breaking into her thoughts. Her skin tingled as she looked up from her journal to see Antonio, a charming smile playing on his lips.
    â€œOkay,” she said, figuring she could easily sacrifice her private moment for a flirt sesh. As long as she didn’t let it get too intense. “How’s it going?”
    â€œPretty good,” he replied, taking a sip from his steaming cappuccino. “Work’s been a killer, right?”
    â€œThat’s for sure,” she agreed, though work was the least of her problems.
    â€œI’d give anything to jump in my Porsche right now and take a few spins around a racetrack,” he said with a sigh.
    â€œYou race?” she asked in amazement.
    â€œOh yeah, I love it,” he said. “You too?”
    â€œThat’s an understatement. I live for it!” She leaned back in her chair and twirled the straw in her drink. “But how did a working man like you score a Porsche? I’m dying to know.”
    â€œMy uncle left it to me in his will. He died last year.”
    â€œOh, I’m sorry. Were you close?”
    â€œYes—he taught me everything I know about racing.” His face pinched up for a moment. “I could sell it—I sure need the money. But driving in it reminds me of him. I wouldn’t sell that for the world.”
    I know what you mean, Jo thought, her heart going out to him.
    â€œEnough about me,” Antonio began, understandably anxious to change the subject. “I’ve been meaning to ask you—how’d you learn to speak Arabic?”
    â€œHuh?” she asked, taken aback. “Wh-why do you want to know that  ?”
    â€œI overheard you telling Jonathon you spoke Arabic, and I don’t remember Sandra saying you did. So I was just wondering how you picked it up.”
    She crossed her fingers under the table and took a deep breath. “Well, um, my father had this oil baron