Chapter Five
I oversleep. I never oversleep. Worse? I never even made it to bed. A glance at the coffee table shows a half-full tumbler of whiskey, now watered down with last night’s ice. Next to me, my laptop screen is dark. The last thing I remember was putting it aside to shut my eyes while I waited for a database return. But it doesn’t matter. This one, like all the other searches I’ve made in the last two weeks, came up empty.
I stretch, working out a kink in my neck, and glance at my watch. If I hustle, I can still make my eight a.m. training session with Mariah Sanchez, the personal trainer and coxswain Harrison and his crew buddies have hired for their boat. She might barely top five-feet, but the woman is a beast. And even though I refuse on a daily basis to take up rowing again
