Something buzzed against his cheek. He slapped it away. Damn mozzies. It buzzed again. How in the hell did a mosquito get into a plane twenty thousand feet in the air? He was next out, so it didn’t matter. But that couldn’t be a mosquito. There was a rhythm to the buzzing.
And he wasn’t in a plane. He was spread eagle across his hotel room bed with his phone buzzing into his face. It was dark now. The clock showed nine-thirty. And the inside of his mouth felt like a stable floor.
Fuck.
The phone buzzed again. Goddammit. Why couldn’t everyone leave him alone? He punched the side button. “What?” he growled. But even to his own ears, he sounded more pathetic than fierce.
“Sterling?” the voice said, surprised.
“If your name’s not Johnny or Jason I don’t want to talk to you.” He might have
