Kane, Andrea (49 page)

"What do you mean uninhibited? I'm just stating facts. Why
would Sabrina be embarrassed? She's as forthright as I am."

"Not about this, I'm not." Sabrina's head came up.
"We're talking about something personal, something intimate.
Besides," she added with an incredulous stare. "Aren't fathers
supposed to freak out when they discover their daughters are sleeping with
someone?"

"I don't know. I never read the father handbook." He
shot her an impish grin. "Besides, even if I had, I'd toss it. Dylan is
the finest human being I know. You two are so well suited, it's staggering. If
he was using you, I'd break him in half. But I've seen the expression on his
face when he looks at you, and on yours when you look at him. This is a hell of
a lot more than lust. So, why would I freak out? I'm thrilled."

A tiny smile played at Sabrina's lips. "To tell you the
truth, so am I."

"Good. Now that we've got that straight, tell me what date
you've set and I'll be out of here in time to buy my tux."

Sabrina sobered. "We haven't set a date yet. Nor are we going
to, not for a month. After we know where things stand with the transplant, then
we'll make plans."

Carson scowled, opening his mouth to give her a hard time.

"Don't even bother." Sabrina cut him off. "Dylan
and I are in total agreement on this one. We both want the bride and her father
whole, healed, and ready to dance the night away before we finalize the where
and when. Period. End of subject." She softened the statement with a more
welcome add-on. "But we're officially engaged as of last night. Dylan's
taking me to Tiffany's..." She broke off, wrinkling her nose in
disappointment. "We were going to go today, but it'll have to wait until
Dylan's concussion's better."

"Bullshit," Dylan refuted. "Our plans stand. I'm
getting myself released the minute we leave Carson's room. I'll go home, take a
hot shower, then get dressed and head into work. You, on the other hand, will
spend the morning resting. After that, we'll go to Tiffany's...."

"No way." Sabrina overruled that decision. "It's my
first day as president of Ruisseau. I'm going into the office, even if I sound
like a croaking frog. I don't want to rest. Oh, and one more thing. You won't
be going home for that shower. From what I heard in the ambulance, your first
floor is a disaster, and your entire apartment is smoke-filled. You'll have to
make other living arrangements for a while."

"Gee," Carson piped up. "You can stay at my place
on Central Park West. Or..." He snapped his fingers. "I know. You can
stay at Sabrina's apartment. It's so convenient. It's only a few blocks away
from yours. You can pick up your clothes on the way from the hospital and move
right in."

"Now
there's
a spontaneous idea. Thanks, Carson."
Sabrina shook her head in disbelief, marveling at his sheer audacity. "You
took the words right out of my mouth. Dylan is more than welcome at my
place."

"I accept." That didn't take Dylan more than three
seconds. "Now, back to the issue of Tiffany's. We're going as planned. I
promised you a proposal today, either on the sidewalk of Fifth Avenue or in
Central Park. You're getting it. I'm not dumb enough to wait for you to change
your mind."

"No chance of that," Sabrina assured him. "Once my
mind's made up, it doesn't get changed." Abruptly, a thought pertaining to
another aspect of their plans struck her, and she frowned. "It just
occurred to me, we were going to call my mother later and tell her about our
engagement. We'd better not wait. She's probably waking up about now. If she
sees the news, she'll lose it."

"Go ahead and use my phone," Carson urged, pointing to
his night table. "Call her right away. Oh, and you can tell her I said 'I
told you so.'"

Dylan waited until Sabrina had gotten through to her mother and
was happily, if hoarsely, chatting.

"Carson," he said, lowering his voice. "We have a
problem. It can't wait anymore. We've got to talk about it now."

Carson didn't flinch. "Is this about Stan?"

A nod.

"Does Sabrina know?"

"Not yet."

"Then let's wait for her to hang up. She's got to be told the
whole situation, especially if it's coming to a head. She's got a right to
know. She's president of the company. She's also family."

"I agree. But I needed to get your permission first."

"You have it. When she's finished assuring Gloria that she's
okay and telling her your incredible news, we'll talk." Carson inspected
Dylan closely. "You're sure you're all right?"

"Yeah. But it's pretty obvious that whoever did this was
gunning for Sabrina. Whatever's prompting his actions, he wants her out of the
way, too."

"I know. That possibility was eating at me all day. I talked
to Whitman and Barton about it, and they're thinking along the same lines. They
can't give me round-the-clock protection for Sabrina, so I'm hiring a
bodyguard. He'll be glued to her side every minute, until we've caught the
wacko who's behind this." Carson's mouth thinned into a tight, grim line.
"Tell me what Barton and Whitman said, other than their suspicions about
Stan."

Dylan blew out his breath. "They're still centering their
investigation on the gang at Ruisseau. Not that I blame them. It certainly
seems to be a company-related motive based on the attacks—first you, then Russ,
now Sabrina. Even
I'm
starting to eye staff members up and down,
wondering if maybe, maybe... Anyway, you get my drift."

"I don't like it, but I get it."

"I don't like it either, but we've got to be practical here,
and leave our emotions at the door. Someone's a murderer. That someone has to
be found, whoever and wherever he is. By the way, I told Whitman and Barton
that Sabrina knows the C'est Moi formula. That sparked their interest,
especially in light of last night's attack. It also reminded them that there
are motives outside Ruisseau. They're rechecking those avenues."

"Competitor time again," Carson muttered. "I'm
beginning to wish I'd never shared that damned formula with Sabrina. If it
turns out that whoever's responsible for these sick attacks found out that I
told her, and if all this is about stopping production of C'est Moi, then I'm
the one who put Sabrina in danger. Hell, maybe I underestimated the risk of
making her company president."

"Cut it out," Dylan returned flatly. "That's pure
speculation. It's also garbage, given your feelings for Sabrina. And let's not
forget that Sabrina has some say in this. She can't wait to get to her desk.
She's bursting with energy and enthusiasm over her new position at Ruisseau.
This presidency's tailor-made for her. You know it. She knows it. She wouldn't
change her mind under
any
circumstances, danger included. Look. Between
me and your bodyguard, we'll keep Sabrina safe. Put that worry out of your
head. And remember something else. Sabrina's not the only victim here. You're a
victim, too. So was poor Russ, who paid with his life."

"Don't remind me." Carson's jaw tightened. "Which
competitors are Whitman and Barton talking to?"

"They're going for the obvious. They're heading over to
Pruet's this morning to question his New York staff."

"Shit." Carson's fist made an imprint on the bed.
"Talk about a best-case, worst-case scenario. Determining that this
scumbag shooter works anywhere but Ruisseau— that would take the weight of the
world off my shoulders. But Pruet's, of all places... that opens up a whole new
can of worms. Does Stan know that's where Whitman and Barton are going?"

"My guess is, yes. Whitman and Barton showed up at Ruisseau
about an hour ahead of time yesterday, and spent a chunk of that time with
Stan. I'm sure they talked to him about his take on Pruet's staff, hoping to
gain some insight into different personalities and their professional agendas.
And if that's the way their chat went down, Stan's smart enough to cover his
bases."

"Christ, what a mess."

At that moment, Sabrina hung up, and turned to face them.

"How's Gloria?" Carson asked.

"Relieved that we're okay. Worried about who did this and
whether he'll try again. Elated that Dylan and I are getting married. Heartened
that she has something positive to share with my grandparents. And hoping to fly
down later this week to meet her prospective son-in-law. Oh, she sent a return
message to you. She said to stop gloating. She said to remind you that she's
the one who pointed out where the relationship was headed, and how fast it was
headed there." Sabrina folded her arms across her breasts, rolling her
eyes to the ceiling. "Honestly, the two of you are like obnoxious
teenagers, fighting over who did a better job of playing Cupid."

Carson's lips curved. "I'd say it was a dead heat."

"Okay, now let's get to what you two were talking
about," Sabrina continued hoarsely, but without missing a beat. "I
heard the recap Dylan gave you. I also heard him bring up Stan. Evidently,
you've decided to clue me in on whatever's going on with him. That would be
helpful, since I can't get a handle on it without having all the facts. It
obviously ties into Whitman and Barton's visit to Pruet's. I'm all ears. And,
for the record, I don't need a bodyguard. I can take care of myself. Lastly, if
I ever again hear you blame yourself for getting me on board at Ruisseau, I'll
put a dead skunk in your desk drawer. That'll mess your nose up for
weeks."

A chuckle rumbled in Carson's chest. "I thought it was just
your olfactory sense that was heightened. Obviously, your hearing's right up
there, too. You managed to catch every detail of two separate, simultaneous
conversations. Not bad."

"That doesn't take acute hearing. It takes the training of a
management consultant combined with the brains and multitasking abilities of a
woman."

"Right." With a look of pure sympathy, Carson gazed at
Dylan. "Want some advice? Expect to stay on your toes for life. And when
the two of you fight? Don't bother trying to win. Just concede up front, and
skip to the making up part."

"Gotcha." Dylan seemed more pleased than intimidated.
"That sounds like a damned fine strategy."

"Yoo-hoo," Sabrina interrupted. "We were talking
about Stan."

"Right. Stan." All humor vanished, and a worried pucker
formed between Carson's brows. "The demands of his job have been a major
source of stress for him from the beginning. He wanted to be the best COO
imaginable. We've already gone over the reasons why."

"His need to keep up with you, and to please you. Yes, that
much I get."

"What you don't get is how far he'd go to make that
happen." Carson glanced back at Dylan. "I know it's his own damned
fault, but I can't help thinking I pushed him into it."

"How? By being brilliant?" Dylan returned dryly.
"Carson, in life we make choices. We also accept our own strengths and our
own limitations, along with the fact that others might be smarter or better
than we are. Stan can't accept any of that. As for his choices, they
suck."

"He's never crossed the line."

"That depends on where you draw it."

"I'm lost again," Sabrina interjected.

Dylan propped his elbow on the arm of the wheelchair and turned to
face her. "In a nutshell, Stan stays on top of his game by keeping tabs on
the competition's marketing, sales, and research strategies. And I don't mean
by reading their press releases. I mean
before
those strategies are
released or implemented."

Sabrina's jaw dropped. "You're saying he's getting inside
information? From whom? Which of our competitors are selling out?"

"Just one. Pruet. And it's not as cut-and-dry as selling out.
But, yeah, Stan's got an inside contact. He has for twenty years."

"I don't believe this." Sabrina sank down into a chair.
"Carson, how can you say that's not crossing a line? That's industrial
espionage, for God's sake."

"It would be, if money were being exchanged, and if Stan had
actually done anything with the information he got hold of," Carson
defended immediately. "But it isn't and he hasn't. All he's done is
assuage his insecurities by feeling like he's one step ahead in the fragrance
industry."

Dylan grunted. "Let's not make his actions sound so noble.
First of all, we limited his opportunities to use anything he learned. And
second, even if he'd managed to use his inside information, you're always two
steps ahead of the competition. So there was no worthwhile material that would
benefit Ruisseau. I shudder to think what would have happened if Etienne Pruet
had been half the genius you are."

A muscle worked in Carson's jaw. "I like to think Stan would
stop short of using what he knew. He's been a jerk, Dylan, but he cares about
me, and he cares about this company. I don't think he'd put it at risk.
Besides, the situation's more complicated than that. There are emotions
involved."

"Yeah." Dylan rubbed the back of his neck. "Stan's
contact is Karen Shepard," he explained to Sabrina. "She's executive
assistant to Louis Malleville. And Louis Malleville is..."