1
Spieden Island, Washington
10 p.m. Pacific Standard Time
Now
Miranda’s phone interrupted her attempt to make the others say, “Ewan McGregor.”
It was Charades, but she didn’t know who Ewan McGregor was.
When she’d asked Holly for help—it was guys versus girls—she’d whispered “Star Wars” as if that explained anything.
“Timer’s still running,” Mike called out as she stopped to answer the call.
Good. Maybe it would run out before she was done with the call. No, Mike was tipping the tiny hourglass onto its side to stop the running sand. It was only fair.
“Hello?”
“Where’s your team?”
Miranda had always appreciated that General Drake Nason didn’t waste his time on unnecessary niceties.
“Holly’s on the couch, Mike is in my mother’s armchair,”—Mike looked down at his seat as if that
