Chapter One Hundred-Twenty

Bea’s eyes opened to gray light and the smell of bacon and coffee, real coffee not the crap she made since Beckett hadn't been around. But she didn't move straight away.

Her throat felt like sandpaper. Her head throbbed behind her eyes from the scraps of sleep she’d managed to grab. The bed sheets had twisted around her legs at some point, and she’d woken twice, stiff as a board, listening to the