A doctor arrives but it’s not my nice young one but an older grouchy man with gray hair. He growls at the nurses and takes my pulse. “Bad dream?”
“Yes, doctor.”
“To be expected given what you were on. Do you know what you took, young lady?”
Dammit. I am sick and tired of being treated like an addict. “No sir. I was poisoned and don’t remember a damn thing.”
Two gray fuzzy caterpillars raise over eyes about the same shade. “You should start to feel better in a couple hours. The worst is over.”
“Tell that to my throbbing head. Can I have something for the pain?”
“Not yet.” He motions to a nurse. “Can you get her another ice pack?”
Outside my door, a very broad man with dark hair is talking to the man who held my hand when I was scared, my ex-lawyer, the guy I fired.
“Who is the huge guy with Mr. Quinn?”
My grumpy doctor purses his lips as he checks my pulse. “Your bodyguard, as I understand it.”
What? Hell no.
