CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE AFTERMATH
It must have been around ten-thirty in the morning when I finally managed to drag myself down to the lobby of the hotel, moving with the slow, heavy reluctance of someone whose body is still paying the price for the decisions of the previous night. A single cup of coffee sits in front of me, its bitter warmth doing just enough to dull the relentless ache pounding behind my temples and spreading like a dull drumbeat through my skull. I am not much of a drinker under normal circumstances, and last night I had clearly gone far beyond my limits, chasing distraction at the bottom of far too many glasses. If there is any upside to the misery of this hangover, it is the fact that the pounding in my head is loud enough to keep my thoughts from wandering back to Mar
