9
“That all sounded mighty cozy,” Quint finished tucking a complimentary blanket over the corpse they’d just set down when the call came in.
With a big marker, he wrote the body’s seat number on a page torn out of an inflight magazine and tucked it into their pocket. They’d set up a temporary morgue out of sight of the rest of the passengers, behind the shattered midsection of the fuselage—which conveniently included the majority of the fatalities. It also had the advantage of being downwind of the best shade, which lay in the shadows of the fore and aft sections that had rolled farther down the runway.
“Just Miranda checking in.” And Holly had to rub a hand over her face for a moment to shake off how good Miranda’s last statement had felt. As good as belonging to her SASR team? Better.
