32
“Hi, Lizzy.”
General Elizabeth Gray was Lizzy to very few people other than herself. Miranda Chase was one of them. She had been from the very first moment they’d stumbled into each other the same night she’d met Drake.
It hadn’t hurt, much, when Miranda had proven her ability to analyze crash images even better than she could herself.
And Miranda’s abilities as a pilot—no textbook written said she should have survived that emergency landing on the National Mall when her plane was sabotaged. Lizzy had studied the flight. Ten degrees more bank, five degrees less flare, even a half second of hesitation and she’d have been dead. But Miranda had done it perfectly. The former combat pilot in her couldn’t help but respect the woman.
But what she’d liked most was Miranda’s unflappable foc
