Page 33 of Shadowed Witness (The Secrets of Kincaid #2)

Now it was nearing seven, and the exhaustion had caught up to her. Her eyes felt scratchy, and her head ... Well, she imagined it felt about the same as if she’d just listened to a concert from the middle of the trombone section—and got thunked with the slides every other stanza.

She massaged her forehead. Even with her screen set at minimum brightness, she couldn’t ignore the building misery any longer. Better take a dose of her migraine meds before her concert hit a crescendo.

Setting the laptop aside, she lowered the recliner’s footrest and stood. A prickle of nausea came with the motion. She may have waited too long already.

Halfway to the kitchen, she stopped. A groan escaped her.

She couldn’t take her meds—the bottle was empty, as she’d discovered last night.

Why hadn’t she paid more attention and gotten it refilled before she ran out?

Maybe she could hold out long enough to call it in and wait for the pharmacy to fill it, but she’d have to drive feeling like this.

Nothing to do for it. She pushed on into the kitchen and found the bottle where she’d left it last night.

The tiny print on the label blurred in and out of focus.

She closed her eyes and counted to thirty.

When she opened them again, things were slightly clearer.

Clear enough for her to read the “No refills” notation. This was not good.

She slumped into a chair and dialed the prescriber’s number. After navigating the automated system—she hated those things—and leaving a message, she lowered her head into her hands. The nausea was hitting harder now. She didn’t have time to wait for a callback.

As usual, dizziness hit as she rose, but she held on to the edge of the table until it eased.

“Gotta move,” she mumbled. She made a beeline to the bathroom and rummaged through her medicine cabinet, looking for something stronger than ibuprofen.

Her eye landed on a bottle of prescription pain pills hiding behind the cough syrup.

Desperate, she pulled it out, then popped the lid and shook a tablet into her hand.

She stared at it, debating whether taking it was worth the aftereffects.

These things tended to knock her out—one of the reasons she had so many pills left.

Even with the broken wrist they’d been prescribed for several months ago, she’d preferred the residual ache after an ibuprofen to being painless but out of commission for hours on end and groggy afterward.

She could half it, but taking it at all was still a risk.

Did she have a choice? The tablet swam in her hand, and she leaned against the counter as dizziness washed over her again.

She’d had enough migraines lately to know that ibuprofen wasn’t going to touch this one, and acetaminophen wouldn’t be any better.

If she didn’t get this thing under control, she’d be in bed for two or three days minimum, and she didn’t have time for that—especially not with the festival starting tomorrow.

It would be a while until Eric came by to pick her up. He’d texted a bit ago to let her know he’d been called out to a scene and might be delayed. But even if he made it back by his original estimate, that gave her almost two hours to get past the drowsiness. That should be enough, right?

Before she could talk herself out of it, she split the tablet and dropped half back into the bottle.

She popped the other into her mouth and quickly washed it down with water from the sink.

On her way back to the living room, she dropped the bottle on the kitchen table and grabbed a sleeve of saltines.

Inviting a whole other type of nausea by taking hydrocodone on an empty stomach wasn’t on her to-do list. She’d eat a few crackers, then try to sleep until Eric called.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Allye forced heavy eyelids open. What in the world?

The pounding came again. Her door shook with the force of the blows.

“Allye? Allye, open up.” Eric?

Grabbing her glasses, she lurched to her feet and stumbled to the door. She flipped the locks and pulled the door open. Instantly, his strong arms enveloped her.

“Eric? What’s wrong?”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. What’s going on?”

He pulled back enough to look into her face. “No one could get ahold of you.”

“I was asleep.”

“I’ve been calling for thirty minutes. Bryce and Corina too. He’s probably on the way here.”

“Sorry. I really didn’t hear anything.” And her mouth felt like cotton. Much as she liked the feel of his arms around her, she tugged away. “I need something to drink.” She motioned him to follow her to the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator and stared blankly at the contents.

Eric’s voice sounded behind her. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah.” She shook her head. The movement didn’t clear her mind. Why was her brain so foggy? She pulled out a pitcher of iced tea that she’d made yesterday. She removed two glasses from the cabinet. “Do you want some?”

“No, thanks.”

She poured herself a full glass and took a healthy gulp. She didn’t have the energy to press him. Or to return the extra glass to the cabinet.

“What are these?”

She turned to see what he was talking about. “What?”

He waved an orange vial at her. “Why do you have narcotics sitting on your table?” Accusation dripped from his words.

She blinked, the fog still hovering over her. What was his problem?

“How many did you take?”

Heat rushed to her face as the implication sank in. She reached for the bottle, but he held it away from her.

“Is that why you were so hard to wake up? You took too many pills?”

“Would you just stop?”

He shut his mouth, but his eyes shot daggers.

She tried to come up with an explanation that would calm him down. “They were prescribed when I broke my wrist back in the spring.”

He looked pointedly at her wrist. “It isn’t broken now.”

“Obviously, but—”

“Then why did you keep them?”

She threw her hands up. “I don’t know. I guess I forgot they were in my cabinet.”

He stepped back, lowering the bottle. “They’re clearly not in your cabinet, and you’re clearly under the influence of something.”

Her head started to hurt again. “It isn’t like that. I—”

“Are you taking them?”

She held up a finger. “I took one, okay? No,” she corrected herself. “I took half of one.”

He huffed. Clearly that wasn’t good enough for him. And that irritated her. It wasn’t any of his business anyway.

“I took it because I was having another migraine, and I’m out of my normal prescription. That’s the only thing I could find that might cut it.”

“These things are dangerous. You know how many people get hooked on painkillers every year?”

“Eric, I’m not—”

“You aren’t untouchable.”

The tea was helping, but her brain still struggled to keep up with his accusations. She slipped into a chair. “Eric, you need to calm down.”

His voice rose. “I need to calm down? You’re basically taking drugs!”

“I. Am. Not.”

“Then what do you call these?” He shook the bottle again.

He wasn’t listening, and she didn’t have the energy or brain clarity to make him. She put her head in her hands, squeezing her eyes shut. She would not cry in front of him.

“What’s going on?”

Allye turned to see Bryce in the doorway between the living room and kitchen. How much had he heard?

“Ask her.” Eric threw the bottle of pills onto the table and stalked out.

Bryce strode to her side and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Allye?”

“I don’t know. I took half a hydrocodone to try to knock out a migraine, and Eric—” She opened her mouth to explain further, but nothing came out. She pushed up from the table and fled to her room, hot tears tracking down her cheeks.

What had just happened?