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"What I'm telling you is that whatever it is that's going on with him, it isn't attempted murder, or conspiracy to murder. Trust me on that one. When you're getting your ducks in a row, don't spend too much time on this particular duck."
"Even though the duck in question knew Ms. Radcliffe was at your place tonight?"
"Yeah, even so. Lots of people saw Sabrina leave with me. They all could have made the assumption that we spent the night together. From what I hear, our relationship is far from under wraps." Dylan spoke tersely, emphatically. "I repeat, Stan's not your duck."
"What about Roland Ferguson?"
"What about him?"
"Should we discount him as a duck, too?" Frank asked sarcastically. "Does whatever the hell he's freaked out about tie into Hager, or into this case?"
Dylan blew out his breath. "The former. Forget Roland. He's harmless."
"Why didn't you mention any of this before?"
"Because, like I said, I'm bound by attorney-client privilege. Plus, this is the first time I've picked up on the fact that Stan is a key suspect. Till recently, it was me you had your eye on. Besides, to be frank, you grilled the hell out of everyone. It was hard to tell who was a bona fide suspect and who you just felt like provoking."
"Yeah, we are a nasty duo," Jeannie responded in a wry tone. "Everyone says so. But, hey, it keeps us employed."
"Could be because they're afraid to let us go," Frank surmised.
"Nah." A corner of Dylan's mouth lifted. "The NYPD isn't an easily intimidated bunch. My guess is they keep you around because you're good at what you do, browbeating included. You might not have a lot of civilian friends, but I'd say your jobs are secure."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence."
Jeannie met Dylan's gaze. "Ms. Radcliffe isn't on the inside about this Stan Hager situation, is she?"
"Not at this point, no."
Jeannie studied Dylan for a long, thoughtful moment. Then, she nodded. "All right, Mr. Newport, we'll play this your way—for now. But if another day goes by and we have nothing, I'm coming to you for answers." A meaningful stare. "So when you get up to ICU, I'd suggest you talk to your client and get his permission to spill the beans. Got it?"
Dylan didn't let any reaction show on his face, or come through in his voice. "I hear you."
At that moment, the nurse came in and handed Dylan a hospital gown.
He'd just finished putting it on when Sabrina reentered the room.
Silence greeted her.
She glanced from Dylan to the detectives and back again. "What did I miss?"
"Nothing," Dylan assured her. "Our allies here were just leaving. Keep us posted, Detectives."
"We will." With that, Jeannie and Frank headed out.
"Okay, what was really going on?" Sabrina demanded in a hoarse rasp.
Dylan didn't insult her by lying or feigning ignorance. "We'll talk about it later. I want to get upstairs before Carson kills someone."
"Fair enough. If we talk about it later."
"We will. I promise. All I ask is that you give me five minutes alone with Carson first."
Sabrina scrutinized Dylan's expression. "It's privileged," she correctly deduced. "No problem. Talk to Carson. But, after that, you're talking to me."
"Or I'm fired?" Dylan teased.
"Nope. You're too good an attorney. I'd only fire you if you refused me in bed. Which I don't think you ever will. So your job's secure."
