A small, screen rectangle hung in the air in front of her at a comfortable reading angle.
On it, Ava's face.
"You look obnoxiously comfortable," Ava said, dry and fond. "Where are you?"
"Somewhere over the Pacific. I forget exactly."
"You forget. You never do!"
"I lost track. I was thinking."
"About what?"
"Many things." ARIA smiled, small and private. "Tell me about your trip. Two days you have been gone. I have been patient. I have earned the debrief, right?"
Ava snorted. On her end of the call, she was in what appeared to be a hotel suite—nice but generic, one of those anonymous rooms an agency tucked its people into when it didn't want them in the local field office.
Little did they know she had enough money to buy the entire building now as Peter's woman.
