Damien had slowly learned to read Cornelia’s body language. Even partway into her second beer, she still sat like a dancer. Her sense of humor remained as it had started, smart and sharp when she was applying it and nonexistent when she was thinking on other matters. His question and the table’s follow-up stiffened her already straight spine.
“My thoughts?”
Mick nodded amiably, unaware of the juggernaut that was about to land on his head.
Damien checked and noticed that she had the general’s full attention. So he too had learned to read her. Or perhaps, because of his daughter being the National Security Advisor, he understood the true caliber implied by Cornelia being a senior-level White House staffer.
“My thought is that you Marine intel boys need to get your heads out of your asses
