Live and Let Spy Read Free Page B

the corner, fishtailing and squealing to a halt in front of her.
    Jo’s tongue practically rolled out to the ground. There it sat, right in front of her. Jo Carreras’s weakness number two—a gorgeous sports car. A brand-new Ferrari 458 Italia, to be exact, with Danielle grinning from the driver’s seat.
    â€œNo way—a 458!” Jo gasped as she ran a hand over the sweet ride’s shiny enamel. “Where’d you score this?”
    â€œDidn’t think I was this cool, did you?” Danielle opened the door and slid out. “This beauty was confiscated in a big drug bust a few weeks back. And when they plea-bargained the guy yesterday, the car stopped being evidence and started being mine. At least for a couple of days.”
    â€œYou gotta let me drive, Danielle,” Jo demanded, circling the vehicle like a lioness stalking her prey. “Now.”
    â€œNo way.” She shook her head. “The only one getting behind that wheel is me.”
    â€œGuess again, Sherlock.” Jo swiped the keys from the ignition. “Direct fuel injection . . . German transmission—ohh, I need this.”
    â€œSay, Wonder Wheels,” Theresa interrupted. “Where are we supposed to sit?”
    â€œYeah,” Caylin agreed. “There’re only two seats!”
    Jo shrugged. “Cram in the back.”
    â€œWith our bags  ?” Theresa asked incredulously.
    â€œCome on,” Jo grumbled, flipping the driver’s seat forward and stuffing her bag in the tiny space behind it.
    As Caylin slid uncomfortably into the Ferrari she glared at Danielle. “Couldn’t get a limo, huh?”
    â€œWho needs a limo when you’ve got a Ferrari?” Jo breathed. “We’ll be at the airport in seven minutes.”
    â€œSeven?” Theresa exclaimed, eyes wide.
    â€œOkay, six.”
    â€œDanielle,” Theresa and Caylin complained in stereo.
    â€œDon’t worry,” Danielle soothed. “I won’t let Jo kill us.”
    Caylin and Theresa stuffed their bags—and each other—into the tiny space behind the two seats. Their heads were scrunched against the tan leather roof and their limbs tangled in their luggage.
    â€œYou do realize, Jo, that if we die now, no one will be left to save the world,” Caylin stated dryly.
    â€œRelax,” Jo replied, smoothly slipping the car into gear. She revved the engine methodically. “With a V-eight,five hundred sixty-two horses, we’ll go from zero to one-double-oh in three-point-four seconds.”
    â€œIs that with or without the air bag?” Theresa asked.
    Jo gave her a grin, pressed her pedal to the metal, and peeled out. “Prague, here we come!” she screamed.

THREE
    â€œThis is it.” Theresa surveyed the homes along the winding cobblestone street. She scanned the piece of paper on which she had scrawled the address. “I think.”
    â€œAfter an hour in customs I can’t keep anything straight,” Caylin said crankily.
    Jo squinted at a map. “Malá Strana,” she recited, ever the language expert. “The Little Quarter district of Prague. Our new home.”
    â€œMozart used to walk these streets all the time,” Theresa revealed. “But I doubt he lived here .”
    Theresa pointed at the door in front of her for emphasis. The number 242 was painted next to it haphazardly. Drop-jawed, she gazed up and up—the run-down building was five stories tall. Forbidding stone gargoyles stared down at her from the rooftop. “It looks so . . . old.”
    â€œChances are, it is,” Caylin quipped.
    â€œCould this all be for us?” Jo whispered.
    â€œNot,” Caylin said, dropping her bags by her feet. “It looks like my aunt’s apartment building in Paris. Didn’t Danielle give a flat number?”
    Theresa squinted at the crumpled piece of paper. “Three-S.”
    â€œThere