Kane, Andrea (29 page)

"Good. So how did she react to your latest news?"

"She was very supportive, even more so than I expected. She
encouraged me to get to know Carson, and she was excited about my taking on the
presidency of Ruisseau." A troubled frown. "Of course, my
grandparents are another story. I still have their reaction to contend
with."

Dylan's forehead creased, more in puzzlement than in censure.
"If status means so much to them, wouldn't your becoming president of a
successful, high-profile company like Ruisseau make them happy?"

"If that's all that was involved, yes, they'd be thrilled.
The problem is that that part of the equation is the result, not the entirety.
First, the media would have to sink their teeth into the guts of the story—the
donor insemination, the whole who-found-out-what-and-when, the
how-do-you-feel-about-this angle. There'll be mikes shoved in my grandparents'
faces, tabloid reporters hanging around their house, embarrassing them in front
of their friends." Abruptly, Sabrina realized how inane this explanation
must sound to Dylan, and she paused, studying his expression.

He was watching her intently. But whether he was assimilating or
appalled, she wasn't sure.

"Before you judge my grandparents, hear me out, and try to
keep an open mind," she requested. "Yes, they're snobs. I won't argue
that. They're also well into their eighties. If donor insemination sounded
extreme to them twenty-eight years ago, you can imagine how they feel about it
now. As for the scandal, they're not as strong as they used to be. Being
hounded by reporters, having their lives disrupted, it's going to be hard on
them. My only prayer is that their health isn't affected. And speaking of
health, that's the biggest factor here— me. I'm my grandparents' soft spot.
It's been that way since I was born. They love me deeply. The prospect of my
facing surgery, giving up one of my organs... they'll be frantic, prisoners to
their worst fears. All they'll be able to focus on are the possible
complications, the what-if's. And, yes, I feel guilty for putting them through
that."

Dylan took a swallow of coffee, and Sabrina could see that his
wheels were turning.

"I never thought about it from that perspective," he
said at last. "I'm not exactly experienced with various levels of family
commitment. I understand loyalty and caring. But the rest—sensitivity to fears
and weaknesses—that's all new to me."

"Probably because Carson doesn't have any."

"None that he lets anyone see," Dylan corrected.
"At least until now. He's changed this past week. Partly because of his
close brush with death, and partly because you came into bis life."

"That goes both ways. I've changed, too. So, for that matter,
have you. Your open-mindedness about my grandparents just now proves it."
Sabrina weighed her next words carefully. "You undersell yourself. You're
a lot more sensitive than you think."

"Sensitive?" Dylan looked amused. "Somehow that's
not a trait I'd ascribe to myself."

"Let's say you're learning. Who knows? There might be hope for
you yet."

He flashed her that lopsided smile. "Is that a professional
evaluation?"

"Yup."

"You're going to be hard-pressed getting the rest of the
world to believe you." His own quip caused a kind of pained resentment to
tighten his features, and he finished his thought aloud, more to himself than
to her. "Especially our detective friends. They think I'm a prime suspect
for cold-blooded murder."

If Dylan expected her to be shocked by his revelation, he was
about to find out otherwise.

"Maybe they
used
to think that," Sabrina informed
him. "Not anymore. Not if I got through to them. Which I think I did. I
didn't mince words. I was pretty damned persuasive. Between that, and the fact
that I'd have no reason to lie, I think they'll change their tune. Or at least
they'll give credence to my opinion."

"What are you talking about?" Dylan demanded, with a baffled
stare. "Got through to them about what?"

Sabrina took another sip of coffee, offhandedly replying,
"When they questioned me the other day, they dropped a few pointed
comments implying they had then-eye on you. I forced the details out of them by
reminding them I was Carson Brooks's daughter and had every right to know the
status of the investigation. When I got my answer, I blasted them."

Dylan did a double take. "You stood up for me?"

"In no uncertain terms. I told them they were blind if they
didn't see how much you cared about Carson, and that no size inheritance would
motivate you to harm him. I told it like it is. Then again, I usually do."
She saw the astonishment on Dylan's face and smiled faintly. "You're
surprised."

"Not about your telling it like it is. About your defending
me? You bet I am. At the time, you didn't even like me. And you sure as hell
didn't trust me."

"I didn't trust you not to manipulate me into helping
Carson," she corrected. "I
never
doubted your feelings for
him. As for liking you..." She shot him a teasing look. "You kind of
grew on me."

His gaze darkened a bit. "Did I?"

"Um-hum."

"That's nice to hear. So's the fact that you defended me.
Thanks."

"No problem."

There it was again. That overwhelming sexual magnetism that kept
pulling at them. It was almost impossible to ignore.

Sabrina didn't try to ignore it. But she did have to nip it in the
bud. It was
definitely
the wrong time, wrong place.

She accomplished her goal by glancing around the room in a long,
exaggerated motion. "It just occurs to me that we're alone. I seem to
recall your saying we shouldn't tempt fate that way. Maybe it's time to head
down to the conference room." She placed her coffee mug on the table.

"Point taken." Dylan's crooked smile was back again, and
he, too, set down his mug. "But before we go to the conference room, why
don't I show you your new office. Don't worry," he added, half-teasing,
half-serious. "Your office is closer to Carson's than it is to mine. That
means there are at least a dozen walls and a long corridor separating us."

He rose, waiting while she followed suit. "As for the walk
down there, you're safe on that score, too. It's a quarter to nine. The office
will be bustling by now. So there's no fear I'll give in to my libido."

Biting back a grin, Sabrina picked up her briefcase and headed for
the door. "I can't tell you how relieved that makes me."

"I thought you'd feel that way." He reached past her to
open the door, and they both ignored the sparks their proximity ignited.
"Let's get moving," Dylan said without meeting her gaze. "Stan
should be here by the time you've given your new office a quick
once-over." He paused, then abruptly seized her forearm and brought her
wrist to his nose. "By the way," he said huskily. "You don't
need it."

9:20 A.M.

Mt. Sinai Hospital

Gloria purposely chose this time to arrive.

She entered the hospital through the rear entrance, wearing dark
sunglasses and a hat—just in case any fashion reporters were around. Perfume
and fashion were frequently linked, so it wouldn't be too much of a reach to
think that someone covering Carson Brooks's shooting might also recognize her.
And that was the last thing she wanted, at least until any formal announcements
were made.

She took the elevator up to ICU, then made her way down the
corridor to the nurses' station. She approached the desk tentatively, wondering
if she'd be turned away, hoping this idea hadn't been a huge mistake.

"Yes?" a stout, efficient-looking RN inquired.

Gloria removed her sunglasses and hat, and smiled. "Good
morning. My name is Gloria Radcliffe. I'm here to see Carson Brooks. I know
he's weak, so I'll only stay a few minutes."

The nurse looked at her as if she'd announced the world was
square. "I'm sorry, but visitation is highly restrictive. Do you have Mr.
Brooks's doctor's permission?"

"No, but I'd be happy to get it. It's Dr. Radison, isn't
it?"

"Yes."

"Is he available? I'll only take a moment of his time."

The nurse was still eyeing her as if she were an escaped lunatic.
"He's scheduled for surgery at nine-thirty."

"Perfect." Gloria gave her a bright smile. "Then he
can poke his head out for just a minute. Please, this is personal—and very
important. All I ask is that you tell Dr. Radison I'm here. If he refuses to
see me or to let me visit with Mr. Brooks, I'll leave."

The nurse rubbed her forehead. "What did you say your name
was?"

For the first time, Gloria found herself wishing she were dealing
with someone who'd heard of her. "Gloria Radcliffe."

"The designer?" An attractive, younger nurse turned
around, all glowing and excited—and Gloria wondered if she should have been
careful what she wished for. "It
is
you. I've seen your picture in
Vogue.
Your new fall line is sensational."

The stout nurse blinked. "Sorry. I'm not really into
clothes."

"That's fine." Gloria spoke to nurse #1 and smiled her
thanks at nurse #2. "I'd so appreciate seeing Dr. Radison before he goes
into surgery...."

"I'll page him." The stout nurse did that, and was
rewarded a minute later when her page was answered. "Doctor, it's Mary in
ICU. Gloria Radcliffe is here to speak with you. She'd like to see Mr.
Brooks." A pause. "Okay. Yes." She hung up. "He's on his
way."

"Thank you." Gloria felt a wave of relief—so much so
that she spent the next three minutes sharing fashion tips with nurse #2, whose
name turned out to be Peggy.

At last, Dr. Radison strode over, wearing his surgical scrubs.
"Ms. Radcliffe?" He looked baffled by her presence. She'd expected
that.

Determined to get what she came here for, she extended her hand.
"Thank you so much for seeing me, doctor. I know you're on your way into
surgery. I'll take exactly one minute of your time."

They stepped into a private area, and Gloria didn't waste an
instant. "I'm sure I'm the last person you expected to see."

"That's true," he acknowledged. "And, frankly, I'm
not clear about why you're asking to speak with..."

"I flew to New York to give my daughter the emotional support
she needs," Gloria interrupted, giving him the pertinent information as
expediently as she could. "I don't need to elaborate on why she needs that
emotional support—not to you. As I understand it, you're one of the few people
who knows all the facts. It's because of those facts that I'd like to meet
Carson Brooks. Given the circumstances, I think he'll feel the same. Do you
have any objections?"

"Objections?" Radison studied her carefully. "That
depends on whether or not your visit will upset him."

"Quite the opposite. I'm hoping it will give him peace of
mind. You're aware of the very real personal connection he and I have. You're
also aware of the health crisis he's facing. If you consider all that, together
with his definitive nature, I think you'll agree with me."

"I see your point." The doctor still sounded hesitant.
Clearly, he was on the fence about this.

She
had
to convince him.

"I'm assuming he's up for company now, or you would have said
otherwise." Gloria didn't have to feign how important to her this was.
"Please, doctor, just tell him I'm here. Let him make the call."

Radison mulled it over for a minute, then nodded. "All
right." He didn't ask any more questions. He just went down the hall,
passed a uniformed police officer, and disappeared into a room.

It didn't take a minute for him to reemerge.

"He'll see you now," he told Gloria, beckoning her down.

Another wave of relief.

"Ten minutes max," the doctor instructed. "And if
he tires sooner, the nurse will ask you to leave. He's had a rough
morning."

Gloria wanted to ask why, but she refrained. She'd already gotten
the permission she wanted. No sense pushing her luck. "I understand. Thank
you very much, doctor."

Inhaling sharply, she pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Even hooked up to the various tubes and machines, Carson Brooks
was easy to recognize. He was a striking man, though he did look pale and weak.
But his keen blue eyes, even dulled by pain and medication, were focused and
curious.

"Well, well." He gave a weak grin. "This is one
visit I didn't expect. Maybe I should have."

She smiled. "I'm glad you agreed to see me."

"Are you kidding? Finally, after all these years we're on an
even keel..." His grin strengthened a bit. "I know as much about you
as you do about me.... Well, almost. I'm minus the interview transcript... and
a paragraph on your aspirations.... Then again, I already know what you want to
be when you grow up." With a concerted effort, he raised his arm, and
stuck out his hand. "Hey, Gloria. Nice to meet you."