Merry

"What's wrong?" Beckett asks, seeming to be aware my body has straightened and I'm on high alert.

"The weather report," I gesture to my laptop. "They're calling for a large storm tonight into Christmas Eve. Look at all these orders that have to go out on Christmas Eve," I move my arm over to gesture at the wall. "My plan was to work on them a little at a time, but if I can't get out tomorrow, they're not going to get done. A lot of them were prepaid, Beckett," I suck ...