CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Tisha Harter sat in the huge recreation room staring at the game that was unfolding on an enormous video screen.
Guns were blazing, and explosions were going off all around her. Bad guys were popping up all over the place. Usually, Tisha had no problem handling the whole bunch of them.
But today, Tisha couldn’t do anything more than fumble with the remote buttons. With an impatient groan, she gave up and logged out of the game.
For a moment, she just sat there and glared at her tightly bandaged right hand. Two of her fingers were wrapped together and her hand was covered with a foam support that extended all the way over her wrist.
She put down the remote and reached with her other hand for the glass of bourbon she’d poured for herself. She took a swallow, then grumble
