Page 150 of Property of Whiskey

“Sometimes.”

“Who checked the wound?”

Bullet answers. “Got somebody we trust who knows what he’s doing. Vitals are stable. Said she needs watching.”

Kaylee looks at me. “I still don’t want the hospital.”

I clock the bandage, her pupils, the color in her lips, how carefully she shifts her weight, and the water bottle beside the cot. The same field assessment drilled into me at the academy starts arranging itself automatically in my head.

Bullet leans forward. “She ate.”

Kaylee looks at him.

“Two crackers.”

“Counts.”

“It does not.”

“More than one.”

“That ain’t how food works.”

“Sounds right.”

Sophie smiles.

I almost do, but I’m watching Kaylee too closely.

Every noise beyond the office pulls her attention toward the door. Her shoulders tighten whenever a male voice passes outside.

Except Bullet’s.

She notices me noticing. She picks at the edge of the blanket. “I don’t wanna go to the hospital.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want your department.”

That one hurts. My fingers tighten around the coffee mug, but I keep my face neutral and my voice level.

“Okay.”

Kaylee looks up. “Okay?”

“I heard you.”

“You’re not gonna make me?”

“Not right now.”

Bullet’s attention shifts toward me. Maybe approval. Don’t care.

I take a small step closer, stopping well outside arm’s reach. “Kaylee, I need to ask you one thing.”

Her shoulders immediately tense.

Sophie touches my arm lightly.