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“You snooped in my drawers?” she snapped.
He raised an eyebrow and she could clearly see the disapproval in his gaze. Shit. How did he manage to make her feel like a surly teenager with just one look?
“I went and got your painkillers last night for you. Remember? You told me where to find them and this bottle was next to them. Along with some sedatives that barely looked touched.”
“I don’t like to take them. I don’t like to feel out of it,” she explained, hating the knowing look in his eyes.”
“Why didn’t tell me that you were on medication for anxiety. How long you been taking these? Since you witnessed that hit? Anything else going on other than anxiety attacks? Was last night a typical attack?”
“You sure have a lot of questions.”
“Which I wouldn’t have if you’d come clean from the start.”
“Didn’t know I had to give you a rundown of my medical history.”
To her surprise, he nodded. “And that’s on me. Should have asked you that when you first arrived here. But I’m making up for that now. These the only medications you have? What about birth control? Anything else I need to know about?”
“I don’t think you need to know about any of it,” she snapped. “I need to get up. I’m running late. Were the guys pissed off that breakfast wasn’t ready?”
She felt terrible about that.
“They’re capable of frying some eggs and making toast. Don’t let them fool you into thinking they’re helpless, they’re not.”
“I know that,” she said. Way to make her feel like she wasn’t important at all.
Alec sighed then surprised her by sitting on the bed, facing her. “I didn’t mean that they didn’t miss your cooking. Moaned about it something fierce. But you’re allowed to sleep in. Especially when you’re not feeling well.”
She was silent.
“Calamity Jane? You know that, right? You’re not our slave. You can have a damn day off.”
“And do what?” she whispered. Shit. She hadn’t actually meant to say that. “Forget it. Cool. Day off. I can do that. And stop calling me Calamity Jane. I know there have been one or two issues, but I don’t cause chaos wherever I go.”
“That’s debatable.” He watched her carefully. “I want to know more about these anxiety attacks and this medication. It’s running low. You supposed to get a refill?”
“Hard to do when I can’t leave a paper trail.”
“How’d you get them and the other shit in the first place?” He looked down at the label.
“Mike knew someone who owed him a favor. I guess I could call him, and he could organize some more.” Hope filled her.
“No can do. Too risky to use the same person. And I don’t want you getting more pills without talking to someone in person first.”
She ground her teeth together and tried to remind herself that she couldn’t tell him where he could shove his orders.
“First, it’s going to be kind of hard to talk to anyone when I can’t leave the house. Second, what pills I do or don’t take has nothing to do with you.”
“It does when you’re having panic attacks that make you curl into a ball and throw up then pretty much pass out in exhaustion on my watch.”
“I’m not on your watch.”
He just stared at her. Fine. She got it. She was on his watch.
“You’re in charge of keeping me alive. You don’t have to keep me sane.”
“Actually, I’ve got to do both. You think the defense attorneys won’t use this against you?” He shook the container.
She sucked in a breath; she hadn’t even thought of that. Just the idea of being in front of a bunch of people, of seeing that monster again . . . her breath came in short, sharp pants.
