Kane, Andrea (21 page)

She didn't cut him any slack, knowing he'd do the same for her if
things were in reverse. What Frank needed right now was a good slap in the
face, not tea and sympathy. "You went over the edge yesterday with Sabrina
Radcliffe. You nearly ripped her head off, and with no justification. She's not
a suspect. She's barely even a player, given the fact that she just found out
Carson Brooks is her father and therefore has zero firsthand exposure to the guy."

"Well, she's certainly in the picture now. She made that
crystal clear."

"True. She's a smart woman, with good eyes, good ears, and a
personal stake in finding Brooks's assailant."

Frank got the picture. "You're suggesting she could be an
ally. That she might help us filter through the suspects. And that I blew our
chances by getting in her face at the hospital yesterday."

Jeannie didn't deny it But she didn't rub his face in it either.
"Let's just say that going that rough on her is only going to put her on
the defensive. And if she dislikes or distrusts us, you can forget her lifting
a finger to help our investigation."

"She won't lift a finger to help if our investigation
implicates her mother, either," Frank pointed out.

There was no arguing that one.
"If,"
Jeannie
stressed. "In the meantime..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Frank tossed the bag of carrots
aside. "You're right. I drilled her too hard. Especially when I slammed
home the idea that her mother's a possible suspect. She was royally pissed off.
I'm not even sure I blame her. But, my short fuse aside, I don't think we can
dismiss the possibility of Gloria Radcliffe's involvement, not after what came
to light in that chat."

"I agree. She was in New York at the time of the shooting,
and she sure as hell wants to keep her family's connection to Carson Brooks
quiet. Of course, all that's circumstantial, and contingent on whether she knew
Brooks was about to contact their daughter, and whether she can establish an
alibi. If the answers to those questions are yes and no respectively, then we'd
have motive and opportunity. So your reasoning was dead-on. It was your
delivery that needed some toning down."

Deciding enough was enough, Jeannie waved away Frank's
self-reproach, reaching for the bag of carrot sticks and taking out two—one for
each of them. "Lecture over. Besides, there's a bright side to this. Your
heated interrogation broadened the spectrum so it doesn't seem like we're on a
witch hunt for Dylan Newport. That's the last thing I want Carson Brooks thinking.
He's already not too happy with our progress, or the direction we're taking. He
made that very clear to me this morning, even with a local anesthetic dulling
his faculties."

Frank studied his partner intently. "You're not worried about
what Brooks thinks. The truth is, you really don't believe Newport did
it."

Jeannie released a harsh breath. "I told you, it doesn't sit
right with me. His commitment to Brooks is just too real, and his mind's too
sharp to plan a crime in which the key circumstantial evidence points to
him." Her jaw tightened. "In the meantime, we're at no loss for
suspects. The list seems to grow, rather than shrink. Roland Ferguson gave off
some strange vibes when we talked to him yesterday. He's also got no witness to
corroborate his whereabouts Monday evening but his wife. And she's so jittery,
it's like trying to make eye contact with Road Runner. I actually had
palpitations when we left her house."

"Stan Hager's a nervous wreck, too," Frank murmured,
lacing his fingers behind his head. "I know we've only talked to him
sporadically while he's pacing around outside ICU, but he's so hyper he's about
to pop. I called him this morning to set up a meeting, and he fell all over
himself setting up a time. I swear he was practically vibrating. He explained
it away by saying he feels the weight of the company on his shoulders, but I'm
not sure I buy it. He and Brooks go back thirty years—and he's lived every one
of them in Brooks's shadow. I feel like he's holding something back; I just
don't know what."

"What time's our meeting with him?"

"Two-thirty."

"Okay." Jeannie glanced quickly at her watch, and gave
an exasperated sigh. "In the meantime, we've got three major competitors
of Ruisseau we still need to do rundowns on. And now we've got Gloria Radcliffe
to check into."

"Don't forget Claude Phelps," Frank reminded her.
"We've got our heart-to-heart with him in an hour. He's making a special
trip in to the corporate office just to meet with us."

"I
can hardly wait. Sounds like a loose cannon, too, if you ask
me."

"Agreed." Frank rubbed his eyes. "As you said, the
list just keeps on growing."

"Let's slash a few names." Jeannie picked up the phone.
"It's time to start setting up a few more appointments and verifying a few
more alibis."

12:35 P.M.

Mt Sinai Hospital

The upper half of Carson's bed was at a slight incline when the
three of them walked in. He looked pale, but his eyes were sharp and alert.

"Don't even think about doping me up," he warned the
nurse, who was in the process of adjusting his IV. His speech was still a
little slow, but it was much clearer than yesterday. And, although he spoke in
staccato phrases, he wasn't nearly as winded as before. "I mean it,"
he reiterated, glaring at the uniformed woman as she jotted down a few notes.
"No drugs. I'll live with the pain. I'm conducting business. I need to be
lucid."

She lowered her clipboard and rolled her eyes, looking more
frustrated than intimidated. "Fine. But after your visitors leave..."

"We'll discuss it then. So long." A meaningful look
until, muttering under her breath, the nurse left.

"You're obviously the most popular patient in ICU,"
Dylan observed dryly. "They'll probably throw a huge party when you
leave."

"That's the point. If I'm a pain in the ass, maybe they'll
kick me out sooner." Carson's gaze shifted immediately to Sabrina.
"You look better. Did Dylan feed you?"

"Fed me and delivered me to my door," Sabrina confirmed.
"He obeyed your orders to a tee. And I do feel better. I'm fine."

"Liar. You're a wreck." With that, his gaze shifted to
Stan. "Morning, Hager. Or is it afternoon? Either way, I didn't expect
you. Have you been hovering around, too, making sure I don't crap out on you?
Because I'm not planning to die. So relax."

"Thanks for the reassurance." Stan didn't miss a beat.
"Now I can sleep tonight. And here I thought I had to wait for the doctor
to give me a prognosis. Stupid me. As for hovering around, don't flatter
yourself. I dropped by because the coffee's good here, and I'm too lazy to brew
my own."

"Well, buy yourself a cup and get over to Ruisseau. They need
you. I don't. Christ, between you, Dylan, and Susan, I have three damned
mothers."

Listening to this exchange, Sabrina's lips twitched in spite of
herself. "Are you always this obnoxious?" she asked Carson.

"Only when I'm not running the show."

"Which happens about as frequently as a solar eclipse,"
Stan clarified. He patted Sabrina's shoulder in a paternal gesture.
"You'll get used to him. We all do. Just take him with a grain of salt.
His bark's a whole lot worse than his bite. Especially with you, I have a
strong feeling."

"Thanks for the pep talk." Sabrina was fascinated by the
change in Stan. Gone was the man who was so taut he was practically vibrating.
This man was relaxed, witty, comfortable as he bantered with his oldest friend.

Interesting.

" 'Bye, Hager," Carson told him purposefully. "No
need to stay. You know what this meeting's about. You know what I'm proposing.
You can guess why. But Sabrina needs to hear the details first. I obviously
want my attorney present, too. Problem is, Radison's being a stickler about the
two-visitors-max rule. He says I'm weak and can't handle too much
stimuli." A wry grin as Carson stopped to catch his breath. "I told
Radison you were too boring to count as stimuli. But he wasn't buying. So, beat
it. I've got limited time to get this show on the road. Check in with me
later."

"That's what I planned," Stan agreed, totally unruffled
by Carson's ribbing and, more significant, clearly aware of the agenda for this
meeting. Okay, so Sabrina had been wrong. Whatever Carson was about to get
into, Stan was privy to it. So why had he acted so out of touch when Susan
brought up the subject of the meeting earlier? And why the complete mood swing?

Evidently, she had yet to figure out what made Stan Hager tick.

"I wasn't even going to stay this long," he was
continuing. "But Susan was asking questions about today's powwow,
wondering why I wasn't in the thick of things. I didn't know how to play it,
since I had no idea if you'd told her the truth about Sabrina yet."

"No. Not yet."

"I figured as much. So I appeased whatever doubts she had by
making myself part of the meeting. Which is why I'm poking my head in for the
opening remarks."

Carson nodded. "Good move. Thanks."

"Sure." Stan paused, scrutinizing Carson for a moment,
and Sabrina saw a muscle working in his jaw, as if he were fighting some
internal emotional battle. "You're still wiped out," he pronounced.
"Don't overdo. That's not just the doctor's orders; they're mine." He
cleared his throat, his composure restored. "I have a vested interest in
your getting well. Running the company without you is a pain. It's cutting into
my social life."

Carson's brows rose. "Two ex-wives and work. You call that a
social life?"

"No. That's why I need time to get one. So start healing,
fast."

"I'm working on it. Now get going. I just lost three of my
fifteen minutes."

"Only two. And I'm on my way." He slanted a look of mock
sympathy at Sabrina. "Try to hang in there."

"I'll do my best," she assured him.

The instant Stan was gone, Sabrina turned to Carson. "What's
this about? What details do I need to hear? What is it you're proposing? And
why am I the reason Dylan's here in his official capacity?"

"Sit," Carson replied, pointing to a chair. "You,
too," he ordered Dylan.

"Did you know more about this meeting than you let on?"
Sabrina muttered to Dylan as they got themselves settled.

"Nope." Dylan seemed as unruffled as Stan had been.
"But getting blindsided by a punch and jumping up to come out swinging is
business as usual with Carson." He yanked out a pad. "All set."

Carson adjusted his pillow, waving away Sabrina's offer to help.
"That's not what I need you for." Impatiently shifting his weight so
the tubes and drains caused him the least amount of discomfort, he grimaced in
annoyance, then settled back, his hard stare fixed on Sabrina. "What I
need you for, is Ruisseau. I've got to make provisions. Because I don't know
when—or
if—I'm
getting out of here."

He cut off Dylan's immediate and vehement objection. "Don't
interrupt me. I've got to talk before I run out of steam. And, Dylan, let's cut
the bullshit. I'm fighting like hell. But that bullet did a good job on my
insides. My intestines, my lung, my kidneys—that's a lot of organ damage.
There's plenty of room for complications. I've got to get things in order, just
in case. That's where Sabrina comes in."

Sabrina was as thrown by Carson's grim assessment as Dylan was. It
was the first time she'd heard him allude to the possibility that he might not
make it. Somehow, she'd assumed he'd never considered losing this battle. He
was a fighter, a survivor.

He'd pull through. He
had
to pull through.

She swallowed, hard. "You're a strong man, Carson. You're not
going to die."

"Glad to hear it. But you're not God. And, even if I do live,
I'm not getting out of here anytime soon. I won't be at my desk. I won't be
running my company." He took a few more breaths. "No matter what
happens, Ruisseau needs to be protected."

"You have Dylan and Stan for that."

"You're my daughter."

It was the first time he'd actually said those words. And Sabrina
felt them like a blow to her gut. "Carson..."

"Hear me out," he commanded. "Then you can blow me
off if you want to. This has nothing to do with Dylan or Stan. Not personally
or professionally. Stan's my COO. He's also my oldest friend. He'll continue to
be both. Dylan's my corporate counsel. He's also my surrogate kid. Our bond's
unique. That won't change. Neither will Dylan's place in my life or my company.
Satisfied?"

Sabrina sucked in her breath. "I don't know what I am, or
what you want of me," she replied, totally stymied as to where Carson was
going with this. "I assumed you wanted to utilize my consulting expertise.
Actually, I didn't even assume that. I thought that whole story was a smoke
screen, one Dylan had invented to explain my being here. Then you asked me to
sit in on this meeting. Now you're implying you want me to take on some major
role in helping to protect Ruisseau. I'm not qualified...."