Drake looked livid after the aborted call.
The X-54’s cabin didn’t offer a great deal of privacy. Their close proximity engendered a level of togetherness that Clarissa had never desired with Drake Nason. Yet for the last six hours, they had debated their differing perspectives of global tensions—military versus clandestine operations—and it had been fascinating.
“Who put the bee in your bonnet?” Clarissa couldn’t begrudge him not having his phone on speaker, it was his phone, but she’d dearly love to know what had happened on the other end of that call.
his“Miranda’s having a meltdown. Someone pushed her too hard.”
“General Drake Nason, perhaps.”
He spun to glare at her. For an instant she was facing the pure soldier. That she understood.
That Clarissa began counting on her fingers.
