License to Ensorcell Read Online Free PDF

in San Francisco.”
    “Your people think there might be an Al Qaeda connection?”
    “That’s the reason I’m here and not an ordinary Interpol officer.”
    I could guess that his background in that peculiar excuse for a kibbutz had something to do with the assignment, but I couldn’t blame him for not wanting to dwell on that.
    “If he’s Al Qaeda,” I said, “what was he doing in Shia Iran?”
    “A very good question. I asked it myself, but my superior couldn’t answer it. He told me that finding out was my job.”
    “Your superior sounds like mine. You have my sympathy.”
    Again that boyish grin, and his eyes looked less Byzantine, suddenly, and a lot warmer. I suppressed an urge to call him by his first name.
    “I can give you the dossier on the murders,” Nathan said eventually. “It’s not terribly detailed, I’m afraid, but—” He stopped and held up his hand for silence.
    I heard the footsteps, too. Someone was in the corridor outside our office. Since the other suites stood empty, whoever it was concerned us. Nathan got up, slid the drawer open, and picked up his gun, all smoothly, utterly silently. In a few long strides he crossed into the outer office. I slipped off my noisy high heels and followed. Pebbled green glass filled the window in the door that led into the corridor. I could see the silhouette of a person standing just outside and hear the noise of the handle turning, clicking against the lock.
    “Nola? Are you in there?”
    “Aunt Eileen!” I called out. “Just a minute. The lock’s stuck.”
    Nathan trotted back into his office while I pretended to fiddle with the door. I finally opened it with a flourish.
    “You must have gotten my call,” I said.
    “I did, dear, and thank you.” Eileen came bustling in, swinging a brown paper shopping bag. “I have a cell phone now, and Brian showed me how to get messages by relay or remotely or whatever they call that. I was downtown at the big Goodwill store over on Eleventh.” She held up the shopping bag. “And so I thought I’d just stop by since it’s almost lunchtime. I hope your boss doesn’t mind.” She spoke the word boss with invisible quotes around it, playing along with the cover story.
    In the doorway between the two rooms, Nathan stood frozen, staring at her. She was wearing one of her usual outfits, a white blouse complete with a peter pan collar, and a red felt circle skirt with a fuzzy appliqué of a poodle near the hem. She’d cinched in both with a wide black belt, the kind shaped in back to hug your waist.
    “Well, young man,” she said, “do you mind?”
    “Not at all,” he said. “Take a little extra time if you’d like, Nola.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Morrison. This is my aunt, Eileen Houlihan.”
    Nathan nodded to acknowledge the introduction. Aunt Eileen glanced at my bare feet. “Where are your shoes, darling?”
    “In my office, I should think.” Nathan struggled to suppress a grin but failed. “I’ll just get them for you.” He hurried back into his inner sanctum.
    “Nola!” Aunt Eileen hissed. “Honestly!”
    Lunch came with an extra helping of Aunt Eileen’s religious views on womanly behavior. Like her clothes, they date to the 1950s.
    “He is awfully good-looking,” she said, “but honestly! I hope you weren’t sitting in his lap.”
    “Say what?” I said. “This pair of shoes hurts, and I’d just slipped them off for a minute when you arrived.”
    She glared at me over her coffee cup.
    “Really,” I went on. “Nothing’s going on. I hardly know the man.”
    “That’s my point. You shouldn’t be necking with someone you hardly know.”
    “I wasn’t doing anything like that at all.”
    “And if you wore stockings, your shoes wouldn’t hurt.”
    “That reminds me,” I said, “what did you get at the Goodwill?”
    “A perfectly lovely baby blue twin set. It must have been lying in storage for years. But don’t you try to distract me. I sincerely hope your Mr.