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Zusatztext "Solid action! high stakes and a likable heroine keep the pages turning." Informationen zum Autor Kat Carlton is the alias for a private citizen working in the interests of truth, justice, and the American Way. She'd reveal her true identity, but then she'd have to kill too many people...so Kat is content, like most covert operatives, to take names and kick ass from behind the scenes. Klappentext At the bidding of a voice on a phone, sixteen-year-old Kari and her friends from Generation Interpol, a spy training facility, race around Europe to fulfill a list of demands, as Kari's brother's life hangs in the alance.Sealed with a Lie Chapter One There’s a six-foot man in front of me whom I need to put six feet under. I may not be able to go through him physically, but I will disable him and get around him—even if he blocks my opening moves. “Not bad, little girl,” he says with a smirk playing on his insufferable, arrogant British mouth. Little girl? I can almost feel sparks shooting down my spine. My blood boils, and adrenaline tingles in my legs. I almost levitate with sheer aggression. This little girl’s gonna take you down. Despite his condescending, obnoxious words, the normally calm, cool Evan Kincaid is perspiring, and I can smell the damp, musky heat of his body instead of his designer deodorant. His mocking gray-blue eyes have darkened with focus, and his alert, carefully loose stance tells me that he’s taking me seriously. It’s about time. My job is to take him out, and fast. I crouch lower, weight on the balls of my feet, and he warily adjusts his own stance. As I size him up, though, I note that his arms are too low . . . a sign of cockiness. He’s confident that he’s going to beat me—why? I know karate as well as he does. Better, in fact. Evan is tall, but not beefy. He’s tough and cut and moves with a sinewy grace. Because of his superior height, he’s got about seven inches more arm reach than I do, and twelve inches of additional leg reach. This means that his “ma” distance, or effective sphere of control, is much larger than mine. He’ll want to take advantage of that, using kicks. Since he outweighs me by seventy pounds, I can’t go to the ground with him unless it’s a finishing move. I’ll need to close that “ma” gap, or I’ll be in trouble. Evan sizes me up the same way that I evaluate him, gauging my strengths and weaknesses. Will he wait for me to move first this time? No. He launches a series of spinning kicks: a front kick, followed by a spinning heel, then a roundhouse. I step out of range of the first, then barely out of range of the second. But I can’t avoid him forever. Eventually, Evan will connect. I move in on number three, blocking his right knee with my left palm to stop the kick. I punch the instep of his extended foot hard with my right hand, a move called “oi-tsuki.” Yes! Evan winces and gives an audible gasp. Two white dents appear on either side of his nostrils. His eyes narrow on me. A smirk crosses my face. Evan deserves it, just as he deserves the nasty bruise he’ll develop at his instep. Evan is the reason I’m stuck in Paris. I focus for a fleeting moment on his mouth and how it felt pressed against mine when he backed me against a wall and stole my first kiss. Jerk. Slimeball. Egomaniac. I press my advantage, launching myself at Evan just as he is forced to put weight on his injured foot. I dive-roll past his kicking range and come up to deliver a flurry of punches centerline. If there’s any justice in this world, I’ll connect. But he blocks each blow in turn—I’m not even sure how. His hands are a...
