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“You didn’t think it would be the best scenario for foreign relations if you unleashed Miranda on the Sultan before we arrived.”
Drake nodded his acquiescence. Then he studied her through narrowed eyes. “What’s up with you?”
“Why?”
“You’ve been tolerable and helpful for the entire flight. What are you up to, Clarissa?”
“I’m not up to anything.” Not now that she was in decent clothes.
Thankfully the pilot had insisted that they stop for longer than a simple refuel and bathroom break at Hickam Air Force Base.
She had requisitioned a ride across the airfield to the Daniel K. Inouye International Airport. There she’d made a strategic strike at Hermès, which had been tricky as it was mostly Hawaii-appropriate leisure wear when she needed power suits. But Kate Spade’s and Prada’s airport shops stocked only handbags and shoes—useless under the circumstances.
The softly draping chocolate silk slacks and blazer over a white blouse would work nicely. Though Kate Spade had partially redeemed themselves with the perfectly matching pumps in the right size. She’d felt even better about spending four thousand dollars on the outfit after she’d charged it to her government account.
“Why don’t I believe you?” Drake was scowling at her across the narrow aisle. He didn’t have Clark’s warm vitality that had destined him for the eventual presidency, but the man was damned handsome in that rugged-soldierly way.
Here she was, attempting to be decent and Drake was still crapping all over her. Well, she’d show him that he was being an utter shit by ignoring him completely. But it took the memory of Rose’s words to keep from giving him the finger first.
She pulled up the latest reports from her field agents, which she’d been studying before Drake had called Miranda. They mostly revealed nothing about this case, but there were some interesting trends and a few very specific threads that she’d have to think about tugging to see where they led.
Several of the Russian reports supported Jeremy’s assessment of Russian military and space readiness, or rather the lack of it. Perhaps the boy’s move to DC would be more useful than Clarissa had thought.
And then she groaned to herself. That meant she’d have to start being nice to Colonel Taz Cortez too—intolerable.
