She stood with one hand around the paper cup and the other braced under her elbow, looking at a series of satellite photos laid across a folding table. She was in her mid-thirties, maybe, with dark hair pulled back at the nape of her neck, pale skin that said office work until you noticed the faint white scar cutting through one eyebrow, and a face so unreadable it made most people want to fill the silence for her.
Brett “Smitty” Simmons wandered over, glanced at the maps, and said, “Ma’am, unless you’re here to grade our spelling, that table’s about to get loud.”
Still nothing.
Lieutenant Commander Cole Brennan, officer in charge of Red Squadron’s troop, came out of the briefing room at that moment carrying a folder and a look that usually meant somebody higher up had ruined his day.
He saw Nora. He saw Smitty leaning over the table. He saw the grin on Rourke’s face.
