All Fall Down (Embassy Row, Book 1)
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1. She is not crazy.
2. Her mother was murdered.
3. Someday she is going to find the killer and make him pay.
As certain as Grace is about these facts, nobody else believes her -- so there's no one she can completely trust. Not her grandfather, a powerful ambassador. Not her new friends, who all live on Embassy Row. Not Alexei, the Russian boy next door, who is keeping his eye on Grace for reasons she neither likes nor understands.
Everybody wants Grace to put on a pretty dress and a pretty smile, blocking out all her unpretty thoughts. But they can't control Grace -- no more than Grace can control what she knows or what she needs to do. Her past has come back to hunt her . . . and if she doesn't stop it, Grace isn't the only one who will get hurt. Because on Embassy Row, the countries of the world stand like dominoes, and one wrong move can make them all fall down.
flicker and I have to stop. My breath is coming harder than it should. My dress is too tight and so, so heavy. My head is spinning, too. When I slam myself against a wall, the gasp that comes is too shallow, too quick. I need a paper bag to breathe into but all I have are acres and acres of fluffy pink fabric. I close my eyes and tell myself that I will not have a panic attack. I will not let them find me. I will not say a word. Overhead, the streetlight flickers and goes out and all breath
was so pretty once. So lovely. But it’s ruined now. There’s no use in standing there, being reminded of it over and over. The Israeli embassy looks different in the light of morning. The building itself sits farther back than the other embassies on the street, but the Israelis have built a new wall that juts up directly against the sidewalk. It is the only embassy on the row that has two. “Hi,” I greet the guard outside the main gates. The guard studies me but doesn’t say a thing. “I’m here to
day?” I ask Rosie. “Well, I figured out that he must have come down here. Into the tunnels.” “Of course!” Rosie sounds so mad at herself. “I’ve only ever come in through the public entrances where they give tours and stuff. I never knew there were hidden entrances. I should have guessed. I’m sorry, Grace.” “Don’t be,” I tell her. “So … yesterday. I was following him again when he came down here. We walked for a long time and then he went up into some building.” “What building?” Megan asks. “I
away from her!” I yell, struggling to my feet. “Grace, no!” the woman screams again. I don’t know what is real and what’s remembered, what is true and what is imagined. All I know is that air is precious and fleeting. I know the all-consuming rush as it leaves my lungs and sends me crashing to the ground, clawing for oxygen and space and sanity. I see the gun. I can feel it in my hand. There are cries and pleas and panic. And smoke. There is so much smoke. “Grace, run!” the woman yells, but
brief moment of relief. I’m glad he’s gone. He’s safe. And far, far away from me. Ms. Chancellor turns onto a narrow street that runs behind the Costa Rican embassy. I realize that I have never been this way before, but I just follow, listening to the sound of Ms. Chancellor’s high heels on the cobblestones as a heavy mist begins to fall. But still, she doesn’t hurry. “You killed the prime minister,” I say. “Actually, he is in a coma at the moment. But I did shoot him, yes.” She stops and