“So it was purely voluntary?” I prod at her.

“Yes.”

“Other than some back pain, you had no medical need to get the reduction?”

“No.”

“I’m curious, Jenna, and pardon me for asking this, but as a topless dancer, isn’t it more lucrative for you to have larger breasts? I mean, wouldn’t men generally tip you better having double Ds versus a C cup?”

“Not necessarily,” she says carefully and turns to look at Leary. Leary, however, is staring at me, shooting daggers out of her eyes over this line of questioning.

She finally looks over to Jenna and nods her head, telling her it’s okay to expound.

Jenna continues. “I mean, sure, there are plenty of men that like bigger breasts, but plenty of men don’t. And it’s actually easier to work on the pole with smaller breasts.”

“Excuse me?” I ask. I think I know what she means, but I need to make sure.

“The extra weight and movement of the double Ds, not to mention the back pain, made pole dancing difficult, so much so that I had to cut it out of my routine. Men tip better when you dance on the pole, so it seemed the smart decision to make.”

I nod in understanding. “Just so I’m clear then . . . is it safe to say you had the breast reduction done so you could increase the money you would make by being able to strip on the pole again?”

“Yes,” Jenna says quietly, her face flaming red.

I dare a glance at Leary, and she is livid over these questions, but she also knows they’re legitimate. She can’t stop me from asking them, and I can’t worry that it’s pissing her off. I hope to God she remembers her own words—that we don’t let our sexual relationship affect this case and vice versa. She might be pissed at me after this is over, but her ass is still coming home with me this afternoon, and I’m not letting her out of bed until the morning.

I flip through my notes, ask a few more questions dealing with Jenna’s job. I don’t ask about the prostitution allegations I found through the criminal background check of the club’s owner, because I haven’t been able to verify that Jenna was involved. I have an investigator interviewing past employees, so maybe something will turn up I can use. Until then, I stay away from that, because I know in a million years, Jenna would never admit it.

After Jenna walks me through how she was paid, I prod her a bit on whether or not she paid taxes on her income. Leary jumps in with a well-placed Fifth Amendment objection and instructs her client not to answer. This is a bone that I can pick if I want—the law isn’t clear, and it’s possible we could get a judge on the phone to let us argue whether or not she has to answer.

But I let it go.

I don’t have the inclination to extend this deposition longer than necessary because I’m impatient to get Leary back to my house. I mentally wince over that thought, because contrary to what we agreed upon, I just let our sexual relationship interfere with this case.

Oh, well. The information isn’t crucial and I can get it by other means.

I set my pen down and smile at Jenna. “That’s all the questions I have. Thank you for your time today, Jenna.”

Jenna smiles at me and the court reporter lowers her mask.

“I actually have a few questions,” Leary says.

The court reporter raises her mask again as I blink at Leary in surprise. Although she’s certainly allowed to ask questions, it’s normally not done. My goal during this deposition is to gather as much information as I can while Leary hopes I don’t find everything, hopes I stay in the dark. Thus, her asking questions only increases the risk that more information will be revealed that might lead me to learn something dangerous to her case.

I pick my pen up and flip to a blank page on my legal pad and push back from the table a bit. After crossing one leg over the other, I lay my pad on my lap so no one can see what I’m doing. I write the words Leary Cross-Exam across the top and underline them twice. Then I doodle a little picture of a cock with two balls and an open mouth beside it. Clearly, I’d rather be thinking about that blow job than sitting here in this deposition.

“Jenna,” Leary says gently, “Mr. Holloway asked you several questions about the reason you had this surgery.”

Jenna nods in agreement.

“You admitted that you would make more money stripping if you had the surgery done.”

“Yes,” Jenna says quietly.

“Why is making more money important to you?” Leary asks in a soothing tone.

“Because my son is severely autistic,” Jenna says sadly, and my head jerks up from my doodling. “He has state-assisted insurance, but it doesn’t pay for much of his therapy, plus I need qualified sitters to watch him when I’m working. I have to pay for that out of my own pocket.”

“Are you married?” Leary asks, and it’s with shame that I realize I have no clue whether or not Jenna is married. It didn’t seem important to me.

“No.”

“Does your son’s father help to contribute to the child?” Leary pushes.

“No.”

“So you are the sole means of support for your family?”

“Yes.”

“What’s your education level?” Leary gently pries.

“I graduated high school.”

“Do you have any other job skills?”

“No.”

“Have you tried to apply to other jobs?”

“Yes. Many times. It’s hard to get hired with no work experience, but even if I did I doubt I could leave stripping. The money is too good. It’s really the only way I can pay for Damien’s treatment and other expenses.”

I swallow hard, for the first time understanding how devastating it was for this woman to lose her job.

And that was directly related to the results of the surgery my client performed.

I shoot Leary a glance, hoping to convey to her that I understand what she’s doing. That I don’t need her to go any further, but she refuses to look at me.

“Why did you lose your job at Pure Fantasy?” Leary asks Jenna, this time not so gently and with a little anger in her voice.

“My breasts were too deformed to dance,” Jenna says as her voice breaks.

I stare at Jenna, unable to look away from this woman to whom life has not been kind. I have a job to do. It’s my job to prove that she wasn’t injured due to my client’s negligence. It’s a tough pill to swallow sometimes, but it doesn’t mean I can’t commiserate.

I do.

Truly.

“Stand up,” Leary says, laying her hand gently on Jenna’s back.

Jenna stands up from the table, and I sit up a little straighter, not sure what Leary’s getting ready to do. Tom is sitting next to me, slouched down in his seat, and in my peripheral vision, I can see he is surfing on his iPhone. He’s not moved in the slightest by Jenna’s tale.

“Take off your shirt,” Leary orders her softly, and Tom actually jerks to attention, his face now rising toward Jenna.

I don’t know if Jenna knew this was coming so she could prepare for it, but she doesn’t hesitate, swiftly unbuttoning the navy-blue blouse she paired with a matching skirt.

“Leary . . . that’s not necessary,” I say softly, and I see Jenna’s hands still against the buttons.

“Oh, I think it is,” she snaps at me and then points to Tom, who goes deathly still now that Leary is focusing on him. “Mr. Collier hasn’t paid a damn bit of attention during this deposition, as he’s clearly more interested in playing Angry Birds.”

“We need to go off the record,” I say to the court reporter.

“Don’t you dare put that mask down,” Leary growls at the court reporter, who slaps it back to her face in fear.

Turning back to Jenna, Leary pats her on the arm. “It’s okay. Take your shirt off and show them what Dr. Summerland did to you.”

“I’ll lodge an objection for the record. It’s not been proven that Dr. Summerland committed negligence,” I say quickly.

Leary glares at me, and I’m seeing my chances of getting laid tonight dwindling.