JAMES WOKE in the hell of a headache. His mouth tasted like used cotton, daylight cutting into his eyes with the pain of a laser. Unfortunately he remembered exactly how he'd gotten this way.
He'd been a jerk with Lee, which was stupid on too many levels to contemplate and he hadn't killed Jones.
Great and he was the man standing between the world's safety and Alan J. Jones? Maybe they should all rethink that. He could always find employment in the fast-food industry or perhaps in the janitorial field.
His moan, while expressive, made his head hurt worse, so he shut the hell up as he staggered to the bathroom. After the immediate concerns were taken care of, he faced himself in the mirror and saw the livid bruise on his chin where Lee's fist had connected.
Touching it, even gingerly with one finger, was not wise, he discovered, so he picked up a toothbrush and toothpaste.
Ten minutes and three separate rinses later, he still tasted cotton and aged booze.
Abandoning the mint and fluoride, he went instead for coffee, the universal panacea.
There was enough stale coffee in his little pot that he could nuke it. It would taste like hell, but it would take him downstairs to the real coffee in the employee dining room.
He had to get past this headache so he could check on Kelly.
Who knows what that bastard had done to her.
YOU ARE READING
Not-So-Secret
RomansaLike father . . . like son. The empty crib, the warning note - Kelly Declaremount-black recognised the signs that her secret life had been discovered. To save her son, she became the willing captive of a man arrogantly convinced that her baby was hi...
