11
Because he’d traveled so much when working for DHS, Randall didn’t have any problem sleeping in a strange bed. Or rather, although he’d been plagued by insomnia for most of his adult life — except, it seemed, when he was sleeping next to Joanna Wilcox — he could at least be somewhat comfortable in surroundings that weren’t familiar.
Not tonight, however.
He lay on the king-size bed and stared at the ceiling, thoughts unsettled, darting this way and that. Although he tried to tell himself he wouldn’t be much use if he didn’t get at least some sleep, he knew better. Far too often, he’d been forced to get through his day on only two or three hours of sleep, so he knew he’d be functional the next morning…if not precisely happy.
Everyone had done their best to make him feel welcome, like
