48
Holly glared at the empty interior of the Falcon. It had room for a dozen VIPs. The back two couches dropped down into a bed.
And she’d never felt so trapped in her life.
Seven hours to Diego Garcia was eighteen too many. Yes, it was a damn sight closer to Syria than Australia, but it was still in the middle of the f*****g ocean. She needed to be in Syria with Miranda to keep her safe.
Could she possibly be any farther from where she needed to be?
Maybe if she parked her ass back on Johnston Atoll, but that was about it.
With the way her luck was running, maybe the Falcon trijet would just fall out of the sky. Though she’d already done that once in the last thirty-six hours, and all it had done was make things worse.
One of the pilots wandered out of the cockpit.
“Can I get you
