Kane, Andrea (27 page)

Middle Village, Queens

As he trudged home to his tiny apartment, Russ asked himself for
the hundredth time what his best course of action was. Going to the cops was
out. Mr. Brooks was very loyal. He'd want to handle this himself first.
Besides, Russ didn't have the proof in his hands. Taking it would have been too
risky. As it was, he'd stayed two hours later than usual. He'd dug through the
accounting files as fast as he could. What he'd really wanted was to access the
computer, where he'd probably find a whole lot more, but he didn't know the
department's password and he didn't have time to fiddle around guessing.

It didn't matter. He'd seen enough. Too much. He knew that being a
good investigative reporter meant having thick skin, but that wouldn't work.
Not this time. It just felt too personal.

He turned down a side street, head bent as he wrestled with his
choices. Mr. Brooks was still really bad off in the hospital. He wanted to go
to him directly, but he couldn't. The next logical choice was Mr. Newport. He
could go to him first thing tomorrow, tell him everything. Then, it would up to
Mr. Newport to make the decision. That approach sucked, too, because Mr.
Newport had enough to deal with. He and Mr. Brooks went way back. And he was
really messed up about Mr. Brooks getting shot. Still, he, of all people, would
know what to do. And he'd want to know.

But, boy, was this a mess. And once it was out—well, the shit was
really going to hit the fan.

Russ never saw the figure huddled in the alley near his apartment.

There was the slightest rustle as it stepped out of the shadows
and came up behind him. There was no forewarning, only a stark sense of
realization and a blind, searing pain as the blade plunged into his back.

He crumpled and fell to the pavement.

The assailant rifled his pockets, took the money clip and the
Seiko watch, even though neither were worth the trouble. But it had to look
like a burglary.

Leaving Russ in a growing pool of blood, the figure vanished into
the night.

9:35 P.M.

Plaza Athenée

Sabrina hurried through the lobby. Shrugging out of her jacket,
she paused to tell the concierge she'd be checking out of the hotel this
evening and to make the necessary arrangements. She then went straight to the
lounge, mentally rehearsing what she would—and wouldn't—share with her mother
tonight.

The "wouldn't" was Dylan. It was too soon, there were
too many if s, and she was too confused.

For now, she'd stick to the facts. There was more than enough
drama in those.

She reached the bar, and stopped in her tracks.

There, sitting at a small cocktail table, was her mother,
Detective Whitman, and Detective Barton.

Both detectives rose when Sabrina walked over.

"Hello, Ms. Radcliffe," Detective Barton greeted her.
"It's good to see you."

"You two are my mother's appointment?" Sabrina asked
curtly, glancing at her mother for corroboration. Gloria looked composed, her
usual elegant self. But that did nothing to put Sabrina's mind at ease. God
only knew what these two had accused her of.

"It's all right, Sabrina," Gloria said, responding to
the worried look on her daughter's face. "I called the detectives right
after I spoke to you. They were kind enough to meet me here. I cleared up a few
things for them." Her lips curved. "Like where I was between five and
six o'clock Monday evening and with whom."

"We'll check out your alibi right away, Ms. Radcliffe,"
Detective Whitman assured her. "I don't expect any problems." A
polite smile. "A six-person dinner party gives you more than enough
witnesses to verify your whereabouts. Thank you for being so forthcoming. It
helps to have someone make our investigation easier rather than harder."

Whitman turned to Sabrina "How's Mr. Brooks tonight?"

"That answer varies from minute to minute," Sabrina
replied tightly. "He vacillates from stronger and more lucid to weak,
exhausted, and out of it. Some of that is because of the painkillers the
hospital's giving him. Let's just say he's hanging on and fighting like hell.
My fingers are crossed."

"He's lucky to have so many people pulling for him. I'm sure
that will make a difference." Whitman exchanged a quick look with her
partner. "We'll leave you ladies alone now. I'm sure you have a lot to
catch up on."

"How long were they with you?" Sabrina demanded, the
minute she and her mother were alone.

"An hour or so." Gloria rose. "Why don't we go into
the dining room? Our table's ready. We can talk while we eat."

Inside the dining room, they ordered their meals, waited for their
sparkling water to be poured, and then plunged into the multitude of topics
they needed to discuss.

"Tell me about Whitman and Barton," Sabrina began.

Gloria shrugged. "Right now, they're either very relieved or
very disappointed. I think they really believed I shot the man. The fact that I
have an alibi—one they can confirm five times over—makes me a dead end."

"They believe
everyone
shot Carson. They come off like
attack dogs. I'm sorry they put you through this."

"It wasn't so bad. At first they were accusatory and
suspicious. But after I gave them the facts from my perspective, they relaxed.
By the end, we were just fine. I even gave Detective Whitman a few good hints
on the best Manhattan night spots."

Sabrina began to laugh. "Mother, you're amazing. You could
charm a cobra into giving up its prey. When you put that cunning diplomacy of
yours to work, no one's immune. It never ceases to amaze me. I'm so bad at
wrapping people around my finger. I'm queen of shoot-from-the-hip. Who I take
after is beyond..." Her voice trailed off as she realized where her words
were leading.

"I think we both know the answer to that," Gloria
replied gently.

"I guess we do." Sabrina massaged her temples. "I
feel as if a lifetime's passed since Monday. I always thought I could cope with
anything. I was wrong."

"You're coping beautifully. These are hardly normal
circumstances."

Sabrina searched her face. "Before we go on, I have to know.
How did Grandmother and Grandfather react?"

A sigh. "Pretty much the way you'd expect. The only good news
is, their worry over your health softened the intensity of their anger and
chagrin over the potential scandal. Let's give it some time. Hopefully, they'll
mellow. Speaking of time, when will the tissue-typing results be in?"

"In about a week. If it turns out I'm the best donor match,
I've got a battery of tests to go through, a nephrologist to see...."
Sabrina sucked in her breath. "We don't need to go through all the details
now. If and when it becomes necessary, I'll tell you everything. God knows,
I'll need your support. But, Mother, I won't change my mind. Like I said on the
telephone, if I'm the best match, I'm going through with the transplant."

Gloria's smile was sad, but tinged with pride. "I know you
are."

"There's more," Sabrina added bluntly. "No, nothing
health related," she hurriedly clarified, seeing the worried look on her
mother's face. "Actually, it involves my career. And, from a professional
standpoint, it's huge." She fiddled with her napkin. "Carson and I
have this kind of mental connection. It's hard to explain. I hardly know the
man, yet I do. And I like and respect him. What he's done with his company is
incredible and impressive. The problem is he's concerned about how Ruisseau
will hold up while he's in the hospital. He wants profits and morale to
continue to thrive. He needs someone to help keep things on track."

"So, he's offered you a job," Gloria guessed.
"You're taking on a consulting project for him."

Sabrina licked her lips. She hadn't realized quite how hard this
would be. "Yes, and no. That's partly true. It's also the story we're
telling the staff, at least for now. But it's more than that. Much more."
She met her mother's gaze, stated the bottom line without mincing words.
"Carson's asked me to be president of Ruisseau."

Gloria's glass struck the table. "What?"

"It's not instead of CCTL," Sabrina hurried on to
explain. "I'll be dividing my time." She went on, laying out the
scenario she and Carson had discussed. "He's being flexible, which is
good, since I'm not sure of the exact division of time and workload until I
tackle both companies simultaneously."

"I take it you accepted the position?"

Studying her mother's face to determine her reaction, Sabrina
nodded. "Yes. I did. I had to. Not only for Carson. For me." She
waited, holding her breath.

She didn't have long to wait.

"Congratulations." Gloria reached across the table,
covered Sabrina's hand with her own. "I think it's wonderful. And not only
from one vantage point, from two. You'll have the opportunity to get to know
your father, and you'll also have the professional chance of a lifetime. I'm so
proud of you."

"You're not upset?"

"No." Thoughtfully, Gloria shook her head. "Quite
the opposite, in fact. I've had two days to think about the idea of you having a
father in your life. As I told you, I figured out years ago that Carson Brooks
was the man I selected for the donor insemination. I truly believed I was doing
the right thing keeping that information from you. I was wrong. I wish I'd had
the benefit of knowing he planned to initiate a search to find you. That would
have changed everything, including my decision to keep you in the dark. But it
didn't happen that way. So, to answer your question, no, I'm not upset. I wish
the poor man had never been shot. But I'm glad fate intervened where you two
are concerned."

Relief surged through Sabrina. But there was another, more
difficult audience to win over. "What about Grandmother and Grandfather?
How do you think they'll react when I tell them about my becoming president of
Ruisseau?"

Gloria turned up her palms in a who-knows gesture. "They
could explode. Or they could see the prestigious aspect of things, scandal or
not. The presidency of a thriving company—very posh, indeed." Her lips
twitched.

Sabrina smiled back. "I see your point. And, if anyone can
influence the way they view this, you can."

"Would you prefer I broke the news to them?"

"No. That's my responsibility. And if there's hell to pay,
I'll pay it. However, I might need you to help do damage control—if it's
needed." Sabrina's brow furrowed. "I think I'll wait until I can give
them the whole story, after I'm sure about the way the medical situation is
going to play out."

"I agree. They're expecting to hear from you when the blood
test results come in. You can tell them everything then."

A sigh. "Selfishly, I'm relieved. The one-week reprieve will
take some of the strain off me. I've got a few major hurdles to surmount
between now and then. Starting with tomorrow. It's my first day on the job—as a
management consultant, of course. My position as an officer of the company will
stay under wraps until I'm ready to announce I'm Carson's daughter. And that
won't happen without my first alerting Grandmother and Grandfather. Carson
understands that completely. He's being very patient with me, letting me call
the shots. He wants me to feel comfortable with my new role. Most of all, he
just wants me to be happy."

11:30 P.M.

Greenwich Village

Jeannie had just fallen asleep when her phone rang. She fumbled
for the lamp on her night table, then gave up and just groped around until her
hand knocked over the telephone receiver.

She grabbed it and stuffed it under her ear. "Yeah?"

"Hey," Frank greeted her. "Wake up. We've got to
get over to Queens."

"Are you nuts? I just shut my eyes for the first time since
five this morning. Besides, that's not our district."

"I know. But there's been a homicide. A twenty-one-year-old
kid. Russ Clark. He was stabbed to death in front of his apartment. In case you
didn't memorize our list by now, he was an intern at Ruisseau."

By now, Jeannie was wide awake. She threw off her blanket and got
out of bed. "What's the address?"

Friday, September 9th, 8:05 A.M.

Ruisseau Fragrance Corporation

The elevator glided its way up to the twelfth floor.

Inside, Sabrina smoothed the blazer of her red silk suit. It was her
mother's design—classic lines but with the distinctive Gloria Radcliffe flair,
making it sophisticated enough to be corporate and high-styled enough to be
contemporary. And the color—Sabrina smiled. She could almost hear her mother
saying:
Wise choice, Sabrina. Red. The ultimate power color.