By Ally Carter
A brand new sequence of worldwide proportions -- from grasp of intrigue, long island occasions bestselling writer best friend Carter.
Grace Blakely is actually yes of 3 things:
1. She isn't crazy.
2. Her mom was once murdered.
3. sometime she will locate the killer and make him pay.
As convinced as Grace is set those evidence, not anyone else believes her -- so there's nobody she will be able to thoroughly belief. now not her grandfather, a robust ambassador. no longer her new associates, who all survive Embassy Row. no longer Alexei, the Russian boy round the corner, who's holding his eye on Grace for purposes she neither likes nor understands.
Everybody desires Grace to place on costume and a beautiful smile, blocking off out all her unpretty suggestions. yet they can't keep watch over Grace -- not more than Grace can keep watch over what she is aware or what she must do. Her previous has get back to seek her . . . and if she doesn't cease it, Grace isn't the one one that gets damage. simply because on Embassy Row, the international locations of the area stand like dominoes, and one fallacious circulate could make all of them crumple.
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Extra info for All Fall Down (Embassy Row, Book 1)
I made a right turn to parallel the bridge, knowing that I would soon reach the next key down the chain, though I had no way of knowing which one that would be. I thought I was somewhere in the vicinity of Key Largo, since I maintained a course slightly east of south throughout the crossing. Ahead to the west now were more lights, and the variety and number of them convinced me that I was looking at land. I continued west until I was adjacent to the island, then turned to paddle toward shore. As I drew within a half mile I could clearly see buildings illuminated by streetlights and looked forward to stepping ashore in a few minutes.
By this time. I found a narrow beach backed by woods, dragged the kayak ashore, and threw my sleeping bag on the sand. , and I looked around to see several people milling about looking for seashells. This beach was not as deserted as it had appeared in the dark. I quickly put away my sleeping bag and was preparing to leave when a man in uniform drove up in a Jeep and told me that the beach was part of a state park. ” he asked in an accusatory tone. I told him that I had paddled all night and merely stopped here to eat breakfast for a few minutes.
By sunset, I still had not seen a patch of dry land among the mangrove islands that were nothing but clumps of these weird trees growing out of the shallow water on stilts. The water near these tree islands was about two feet deep, and when I stepped out of the kayak to stretch my legs and dig a snack out of the storage compartment, I sank another foot into the mud bottom. My options were to keep paddling or sleep in the boat, so I continued south, knowing the moon would be full that night. Two hours later, I could see a distant glow from the south and knew it had to be from the towns along the upper Keys, still twenty miles away.