It doesn’t matter. She’s your client, and off limits.
I glance at Jack who’s watching me a little too closely. Damn, the guy is like a fucking Geiger counter when it comes to reading people.
“Just shut the fuck up, okay?” I turn away from her face and lean against the wall, the room number beside my head.
“You could do worse. She’s a pretty little thing.” Jack smirks, a little too full of himself.
“Ah… no, and no. As soon as the hospital gives the okay to release her, the police may arrest her. I have work to do. Sienna says she doesn’t remember a damn thing.”
“Starting when?” His dark eyes narrow.
“She said she remembered getting dressed for her show, then nothing.” I show him my iPad and open a link with the news about her husband’s insurance settlement. “The money was held up in court yesterday. Not only that, Sienna got a call from Dahlyla.”
“You can’t mean Stevenson?” His eyes roll. On more than one occasion we’ve shared our disdain for the woman.
“The one and only.”
“That bitch would sell her mother for fifty cents. Why the hell is she hanging with Sienna?”
“They’re friends.” I place air-quotes around the last word.
“Shit. I wonder what she’s up to?”
“I don’t know but you can be sure she gets a big bonus if Olafson’s life insurance doesn’t have to be paid out.”
Inside the room, Sienna’s snoring stops and she rattles the cover of the food they left by her bedside.
“She’s awake.” Jack steps in next to me. “Why not see if you get anything more out of her.”
I laugh. “She’s already fired me a half dozen times today.”
He grins at my misfortune and shakes his head. “Guess she doesn’t know your reputation.”
“Guess not. Keep your eyes open. We’ll get her someplace safe as soon as the doctor gives the okay.” I slap him on the back and enter the hospital room where my client is frowning at a bowl of Jell-O, a square of half-melted ice cream, and a tea bag.
“Ms. Giles?”
She shoots me the same look of disgust she gave the meal and I cringe.
“My God. Fired. Fired. Fired! You are not my lawyer and that…” She points outside the room. “is not my bodyguard.”
Ignoring her theatrics, I grab an orange upholstered chair and drag it beside her bed. “Need help with your lunch?”
“No.” She reaches a spoon to the green jiggly square and groans when she notices her reach is limited by the IV. “Fine. Yes. But right after that, you’re fired.”
I unroll the napkin around her spoon and tuck it under her chin with a satisfactory grin. “I was outside when the monitors all went off. You told the doctors you had a bad dream. Do you remember any of it?”
Her face drains. “Scary shit, Mr. Quinn. Scary shit.”
“Call me Andy.” I dip the spoon into the lime goo and hold it in front of her mouth.
“Nu-uh. Only if you agree you’re not working for me.”
Damn, but she’s stubborn. Before she closes her mouth, I shovel in a spoonful, laughing at how her eyes spark fire.
“Can you think of some reason someone would want you killed?”
She swallows then shoots me a wry smile. “Maybe I hit a bad note last night?”
