Two Lies and a Spy Read Free Page A

split second to get away.
    I sprint.
    But ex-military Mitch recovers fast and grips my arm in a vise. I can’t plow my elbow into his gut because he’sgot it immobilized. With another pivot I face him and slam my heel toward his groin. Mitch isn’t stupid—he knows better than to let that blow connect.
    He twists and sidesteps, but I’ve knocked him off-balance. He’s going down.
    He can either let go of me and brace for impact, or he can hang on to me and take me down with him.
    Bad for me that he chooses option two.
    Think, Kari. Think.
    He hits the dirt, and I land on top of him. Gray Gary reaches for me again.
    I head-butt Mitch right in the face and hear his nose crunch. I’m sorry to say that it’s a satisfying sound. My good buddy Mitch forgets to compliment my technique.
    “Bitch!” he screams.
    Simons grabs me around the middle and pulls me off his friend. He’s strong, but that midsection of his is soft as he drags me backward. I throw myself forward and then drive back with my heel, aiming for his knee. No luck.
    So I smash both elbows into his squishy middle: one, two. He gasps, wheezes.
    The guy has breath like a camel.
    I get him in the groin with my hip bone, and, with a moan, he lets go of me.
    That’s when I strike out and connect my right foot with his left knee. He goes down into the dirt and howls like a strangled coyote—I’m pretty sure I’ve shattered his kneecap.
    Run, Kari! Run!
    I cannot let these jerks take me. If they get me, then Charlie is an easy target.
    I sprint toward the playground area.
    But I don’t get too far.
    Because Mitch, whose legs are longer than mine, catches up to me within four strides. This time he grabs both of my arms and twists them behind my back, which really hurts. Charlie and his thesaurus might call it excruciating.
    These apes are not getting Charlie. So, since fighting like a man hasn’t worked, I scream like a girl. I scream so loud that I’m sure my throat and lungs will explode. “Kidnapper! Kidnapper! Help me!”
    A couple dozen nannies turn in our direction—and a lot of them have cell phones pressed to their ears.
    I have Mitch’s blood all over my uniform, since his nose gushed like a geyser when I head-butted him. The nannies can tell that I’m not crying wolf. In fact, one of them steps forward and yells, “I’m calling the cops!”
    Mitch curses again—this time it’s long and colorful. But he has to let me go. He’s got no choice. He releases my arms and shoves me away from him.
    I don’t wait for him to change his mind. I jerk my thumb at Charlie, and we both take off running for the west edge of the park. Trees and grass are a green blur; the wind tears at my hair; adrenaline still pounds through my veins.
    When Charlie and I intersect, I reach for his hand and tow him out of the park, heading northwest. He is visibly upset. “Why did Mitch grab you? How come you’ve got blood on your shirt? Who is that other guy?”
    Charlie’s not crying, but he is trembling and his lower lip quivers.
    “Kiddo, I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m fine. And this is not my blood—it’s Mitch’s. I think I broke his nose.”
    “You did?”
    “Yeah.”
    Charlie thinks about that as we hustle along. “Cool.”
    “Well, not so much . . . but he did try to grab me first. They both did. So what I did was self-defense.”
    “When all else fails, resort to violence,” Charlie says solemnly. “Like Dad says.”
    My dad is just being sarcastic, and the “violence” is usually done to an inanimate object that he’s trying to fix. “Yeah, but only when all else fails. Okay?”
    He nods.
    We emerge on Thirty-fourth Street and keep moving north, toward Q Street and the closest Metro station. Unfortunately, it’s over a mile away and we attract attention, because my shirt is bloody.
    An old lady just stares at us. A businessman frowns but says nothing. A man in fatigues calls out, “Are you two all right? Do you need