Miles slid his hand down my spine, gently rubbing my back. “That’s Isla,” he said. “Former MI6. Fluent in Arabic, Berber, Russian, Portuguese, and German. She’s our in-house human computer.” “I can also kill you using anything on this desk, and the food truck was out of al pastor, so I would proceed very carefully around me, Zhou,” she retorted in a thick British accent.
