2
Mira slipped into the hangar. The way that woman moved was like nothing else I’d ever seen. There weren’t all that many Spec Ops women, but she made it look natural…natural and dangerous as hell.
We’d quietly shared enough two-week leaves for me to know that both assessments were accurate about her in every way. Dusky skinned enough to pass as a native anywhere in the Middle East, her night ops black hair curled down to her shoulders. Her face was forgettably normal (which was ideal for an operator)—forgettable unless you knew the woman who hid so carefully behind it.
She didn’t ask why I called and woke her. Instead, she sat down on another chair and waited.
I turned the folder over in my lap and showed her the front.
A shrug.
I peeled back the front flap enough to reveal the “Eye
