Kane, Andrea (16 page)

Each donor was, of course, required to submit to an extensive
medical examination. But that was just the beginning. He was also required to
take various exams testing his knowledge and intellectual abilities, plus he
had to participate in a personal interview with Dr. Oldsman, the transcript of
which—with the full knowledge and consent of the donor—was given to Gloria for
review. Last but not least, each donor was required to fill out a
questionnaire, supplied by Gloria, one that explored his talents and
aspirations.

Gloria pored over each candidate's questionnaire and interview
transcript. She also scrutinized his test results—medical and
intellectual—looking for just the right combination of qualities.

She'd quite nearly given up finding them.

Then, Candidate #67 had crossed her desk.

She remembered every detail of his application. He had an IQ of
176, and a propensity for chemistry and business. He was determined to use
those talents to start his own company, build it from the ground up, and make
it thrive. He planned to do that with the twenty thousand dollars he received,
should he be selected as the donor. His passion was infectious. His charisma
and self-assurance practically leaped off the pages. His age was ideal—a
youthful twenty-two—and his health was perfect. His sperm count was also
exceptionally high—a major plus since, given Gloria's age, she wanted to
minimize the risk of failed attempts. All in all, his specs were outstanding.
The only negative was his sketchy ancestry. He was a street kid, an orphan
whose parents had been high-school lovers. They'd gotten through the pregnancy,
then taken off in separate directions, dumping their kid in the process. On the
positive side, from the information Gloria managed to dig up, there'd been no
drugs or alcohol involved, and the baby was born in perfect health. So, okay,
she couldn't trace his lineage back three generations. Given her own
experiences, she wondered if that mattered. The truth was, she was far more
impressed by ambition and potential than she was by pedigree.

The clincher was his photo. He was drop-dead gorgeous. And, yes,
that damned well mattered. The world was such that, just or unjust, people
judged others by their appearance. Cold, hard facts showed that being
attractive opened doors both personally and professionally. If Gloria could
give that advantage to her son or daughter, she'd be a fool not to.

So Candidate #67 got the nod of approval—and the twenty thousand
dollars.

The procedure went flawlessly. Sabrina was the result.

And, Gloria suspected, so was Ruisseau.

Odd, how she and Carson Brooks had each gotten what they wanted.
She got her precious daughter; he got the company he was burning to start.

Their lives should never again have touched.

But they had.

7:25 P.M.

Mt. Sinai Hospital

"Dylan?"

Hearing Carson's gravelly voice, Dylan snapped out of the doze
he'd fallen into moments before.

"Hey. You're awake." He pulled the chair over to the
bed, studying his friend. His breathing wasn't great, even though they'd put
the chest tube back in. His color wasn't all that terrific, either. But his
eyes were relatively clear, considering everything he was enduring, and the
pain medication that was being pumped into his body.

"Is that a surprise?" Carson's voice was still hoarse
and weak, and his speech was slow. "I've slept more these past few days...
than I slept in fifty years combined."

Dylan's lips twisted into a grin. "I can't argue that But you
look more like yourself."

"You look like shit."

"You sound more like yourself, too." Dylan felt a surge
of relief he couldn't begin to define. "I see signs of the old Carson.
Hell, you can insult me all you want."

A hint of a smile. "Sounds tempting... maybe later." The
smile faded. "We have things to talk about."

"Yeah." Dylan had a pretty good idea what was coming.
Carson wanted details, something he wasn't looking forward to supplying. But
he'd never lied to Carson before, and he wasn't about to start now.
"Sabrina first?"

A knowing look, as that sharp blue gaze bore through him.
"Coward. That's the easy part of our talk."

"Cut me some slack. You've been out of commission since
Monday. I'm off my game."

"I'll let you off the hook this time.... But only because I
want to talk about my daughter." Carson said the word awkwardly, but with
an awed expression Dylan had never seen before. "So, okay, yeah, Sabrina
first." Raw pride took over. "She's incredible, isn't she?" He
didn't wait for an answer. "Man, do I have amazing sperm."

"One
amazing sperm," Dylan corrected
wryly. "We can't vouch for the rest. Maybe it was just the luck of the
draw."

"Maybe," Carson agreed, not bothered in the least by
Dylan's ribbing. He held his friend's gaze. "Is she freaked out?"

"She's beat. Those detectives did a number on her before she
left for the hotel. I guess they implied her mother might have been the one who
shot you."

"Her mother?" Carson repeated in astonishment.

"To keep you from contacting her. It sounds pretty lame to
me."

"To me, too... How the hell would she know my plans?" A
pause. "Besides which, I thought the cops had decided
you
shot
me."

Dylan started. "They actually laid that one on you?"

"Not in so many words... But I'm a pretty smart guy... even
with all these damned drugs in me." Carson rested a few seconds.
"They're being assholes. I told them so. They think I'm just protecting
you. They'll figure out the truth... soon enough."

"Thanks," Dylan said simply.

"For what? Trusting you not to put a bullet in my back?"
Carson snorted in disgust. "Give me a break... and some credit for knowing
you." An off-handed shrug—and a wince. "Besides, I ruled you out. If
you wanted me dead, I'd be in a box... not a hospital."

"Cute." Dylan knew Carson was trying to make light of
the accusations, but he couldn't laugh off something of this magnitude. Still,
it took the edge off his rage knowing Carson had dismissed the detectives'
speculations without a second thought.

"Lighten up, Dylan.... They don't know you, or how tight we
are.... They're just doing their job. They've got a great rep.... I had Stan
check them out. They'll get it right.... Look at the bright side. I'm not gonna
die... so I'll be around when they find whoever shot me.... Then I can make
them apologize to you... in public, if it helps."

"What'll help is seeing you on your feet, and seeing whoever
did this in jail."

"Sounds good." Another short rest. "When's Sabrina
coming back to the hospital?"

Dylan glanced at his watch. "I checked in with her about an
hour ago. She sounded pensive. I guess she's dealing with her family, and the
shock of finding out who her father is. But she's holding her own. She said she'll
be here around eight."

"She's got a lot more to be pensive about than putting a name
to a sperm specimen.... And her family's got a lot more to worry about than a
scandal.... But then, you already know that. Which brings us to our next
topic..." Carson was forced to stop and rest his lungs. He began coughing,
and gestured for some water.

Dylan poured him a cup, helped him drink it. "Maybe we should
cut this talk short."

Carson waved away the notion. "Not a chance... We're
finishing this before Dr. Kildaire comes in... and tosses you out."

As usual, Carson wasn't going to take no for an answer.
"Okay," Dylan agreed. "What topic's next—Ruisseau?"

"Nice try. But you know better. I'm not worried about
Ruisseau.... Not with you and Stan there... I have some thoughts... but we'll
talk about those later." A concerned pucker formed between his brows.
"Just tell me one thing... are the detectives bugging anyone?"

"Everyone.
We'll survive. We're
tough." Dylan braced himself for Carson's typically intensive probing.
"So what's the next topic?"

"Sabrina's real reason for coming—what is it?"

"I already said, she wanted to meet you. Is that so
odd?"

"No. But it's only part of the reason... and it doesn't
explain the urgency of the visit.... She's a workaholic. She's got a pretty
intricate business to run... yet she just dropped everything and flew
here...."

"She thought you might not make it. Now she knows you
will."

"Which takes the focus off me... and gives her time to decide
whether or not she wants a relationship with me."

"Right."

"So you think she'd jump on a plane... and run home to work
it through... with her family." Carson was starting to fade. But he was
fighting it tooth and nail. "But she didn't do that, did she? She's still
here."

Dylan blew out a breath. "Maybe she wants to get to know you
better. Maybe she's curious. Maybe—"

"Dylan—stop. I saw the dialysis machine." Carson raised
his wrist. "And I know what this shunt-thing is for."

Silence.

"Stop looking like a dog who got caught peeing on the rug… I called
Radison in... made him tell me about it. I know my kidneys aren't kicking
in." Carson shut his eyes for a minute to regather his strength. Then, he
opened them. "Tell me the truth. Did you bust your ass... to find
Sabrina... in case I needed a transplant?"

Dylan didn't avert his gaze. "That, and because you asked me
to."

A shaky nod. "Did you talk to her about the idea?"

"Yeah. She hasn't given me an answer."

"I don't... blame her. Christ... it's a huge sacrifice. I'm a
stranger...."

"You're her father."

The barest hint of a smile. "Not really... Not in the ways
that matter... You know that, too. You're just too stubborn to admit it... and
too close to me to be objective.... Those are lousy traits for a
lawyer...."

"So sue me."

"Give her room, Dylan.... Her family won't make this easy on
her.... They're old money—lots of it.... Grandparents are very proper....
They're also in their eighties, and not about to mellow.... It was hard enough
on their daughter.... She's made quite a name for herself in the fashion
industry...."

Dylan's brows rose. "For someone fighting for his life,
you've managed to do lots of homework."

"Stan ran the check for me. It wasn't hard to get a profile
on the Radcliffes.... They're very visible.... I had to know something about my
daughter's family... her
real
family...."

"And did they meet your expectations?" Sabrina inquired
from the doorway.

"Actually... yeah." Carson angled his head in her
direction, not missing a beat. "Come in... and pull up a chair."

Curiously, Dylan watched Sabrina, gauging her reaction. She was
leaning against the doorjamb, arms folded across her breasts. Her expression
was unreadable. If she was expecting contrition, she was talking to the wrong
guy. Carson never apologized for being thorough.

"You're only allowed one visitor at a time," she
reminded him. "I'll wait."

"The hell you will," Carson refuted, gesturing for

Dylan to stay put as well. "Forget the rules.... Radison's gone
for the day... and I won't tell."

Sabrina's lips twitched. "All right." She walked over,
nodding her thanks to Dylan as he dragged over an armchair for her. "So,
Dylan, are you the one who played Magnum, PI again?"

"Not this time," Carson supplied. "This time it was
Stan. You met him?" He waited for her affirmation. "He and I go way
back.... He's the only other person who knows about you."

A troubled frown. "You told him?"

"I didn't have to.... He worked for the fertility specialist
your mother went to.... He's the one who clued me in to the donor search... she
was doing... twenty-eight years ago...."

"Oh. Wow. I didn't know that."

Carson regarded her steadily. "I won't tell anyone about your
relationship to me.... That choice is yours."

"I doubt it'll work out that way," she murmured.
"But that's life. It'll be up to me to do damage control."

"You're worried that news of who you are will leak out."

"Not leak... pour. And it's my family I'm worried about, not
me."

"Speaking of that... are you ticked off that I... checked
them out?"

"No. I would have done the same thing. The difference is, I
didn't have to. I already knew a fair amount about you professionally. And
Dylan filled me in personally." She broke off, drawing an unsteady breath,
then sweeping her hair up and off her neck and sitting quietly, as if she felt
light-headed. Studying her more closely, Dylan wondered if maybe she did. He
was struck by how pale and strained she looked, even more so than earlier
today. The hotel break hadn't done her much good, other than giving her a
chance to shower and have it out with her family. She'd changed her clothes,
too, and in her khaki slacks and light blue short-sleeved sweater, she looked
younger and more vulnerable than the sophisticated corporate woman he'd dealt
with until now.