Read Online Sealed with a Lie by Kat Carlton - Free Book Online Page B

to have met the three of you, despite the circumstances.”
    “Oh, no,” Evan assures him. “The pleasure’s been all ours.”
    And with that whopper, we’re ushered to the door and into a waiting taxi.
    We ask to be taken the short distance back to the Stuttgart train station, and from there we resume our trip to Munich. We pray that we don’t encounter any more mystery attackers—or Interpol again, especially given our odd agenda.

    Next stop: disguises. Munich is a big city, a great city for a disappearing act. I don’t know what I expected of Munich, but it wasn’t beauty, grace, and charm. Evan has the cab take us to a small, quiet hotel off the beaten path that’s only a few minutes’ walk to the city center at Marienplatz.
    Despite my increasing anxiety about Charlie’s well-being, I can’t help but notice the stunning, soaring neo-Gothic city hall—and I can’t reconcile the appearance of this building with its name, the Rathaus. It just doesn’t sound right.
    While we don’t have either the time or the inclination to sightsee, I make a mental note that someday, I’d like to come back here.
    Evan seems to read my thoughts. “Lovely, isn’t it? A pity we can’t stop in at the Alte Pinakothek or the Residenz or the Schloss Nymphenburg.”
    I shrug.
    “You’ll have to return in summer,” Evan adds, “and go to the English Garden. It’s breathtaking, and you’llfind surfers at the rapids in the river. Though you may stumble across the odd naked person sunning himself on the grass, which is a bit alarming.”
    I give him an incredulous look, and he shrugs. “Most Germans think nothing of it.”
    I’m trying to imagine a bunch of nudists on the mall in Washington, DC, as Evan leads us into the Augustiner Bräu, the oldest brewery in Munich. In the States, there’s no way they’d let us in, but in Europe the drinking age for wine and beer is sixteen.
    We don’t order anything but food and coffee, though. We’re not here to party. We’re here to steal—excuse me, borrow —a car and get out of Dodge.
    We sit on benches at long, low, rough-hewn wooden tables. Over a lunch of sauerbraten, sausages, and some much-needed hot soup, we take stock of our surroundings. Unfortunately for our cash flow, this is a pretty upscale area, full of galleries, jewelry stores, and boutiques.
    Evan shakes his head. We won’t be able to find what he has in mind here . . . or will we? Over our protests, he leaves Matthis and me to our café au laits and disappears for about half an hour. When he returns, he’s carrying an old mesh shopping bag with a wad of clothing inside. And an oversize artist’s portfolio.
    “What’s that?” I ask.
    “You’ll see. Come on. Let’s change and then find the nearest American hotel.”
    Evan drags us—yes, even me, though I protest—into the men’s WC. There are separate locking stalls(without gaps at the top or bottom like US bathroom stalls). Since someone has clearly targeted me and knows who I’m traveling with, it’s time to change my appearance.
    Evan pulls his strange wad of clothing out of the shopping bag and starts to distribute it.
    “Where did you get this stuff?” I ask.
    “I broke into a small house nearby and raided the closets,” Evan says in a nonchalant tone.
    Why am I not surprised? “Of course you did.”
    Matthis gets a simple, dark blue cap embroidered with the logo for Bayern football—or soccer, in American terms. Evan switches out his blue metallic eyeglasses for knockoff Ray-Bans—though poor Matthis complains that he can’t see—and trades out his neon-green sneakers for old white tennis shoes that Matthis says have no “character.”
    “That’s the point, mate,” Evan says. “We need to fade into the woodwork.”
    For me, there’s a blond wig with bangs that’s not exactly flattering, a purple knit cap, burgundy lipstick that makes my fat lips look even bigger, and big Jackie O glasses. I also get a long, puffy gray coat