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"Shit. How do you know that?"
"We checked with Gloria Radcliffe. She filled us in."
"Is Gloria home or with her parents?"
"She's home. Her parents went to bed. A rough day for them, I gather."
"Shit," Carson repeated. "Okay, I'll take it from here. Except for one thing. What do you think about assigning police protection to Sabrina?"
Jeannie blew out a breath. "Realistically? There's no way. Not the way you mean. We can beef up police presence near your office, even arrange for routine check-ins with Sabrina, and a patrol car monitoring her neighborhood at night. But round-the-clock one-on-one protection? Uh-uh."
"Then I'll hire a bodyguard."
If Carson was expecting a protest, he didn't get one. "I don't blame you. It's your daughter. Your job is to protect her. Ours is to make sure there's nothing to protect her from."
"I hear you." Carson's wheels were turning. "I'll take care of my end. You take care of yours." A pause. "And detective?"
"Yes?"
"Thanks."
He disconnected the call, then peered over at his nightstand where he'd placed a napkin with a phone number scribbled on it. He grabbed the napkin and punched up the number.
"Who are you calling?" Susan asked, perching at the edge of the bed.
"Gloria Radcliffe. I want to make sure everything there is okay."
Susan looked puzzled. "Why not call Sabrina? I'm sure she's spoken to her mother."
"I'm sure she has." For the first time, Carson's features relaxed, and he shot Susan a hint of a grin. "But I'm not bothering Sabrina. Not tonight."
"You think she's conked out?"
"Nope. I think she's otherwise engaged."
"Ah." Susan got his drift, and fast. "You're hoping that she and Dylan are solidifying things."
"That's a classy way of putting it. But, yeah, that's what I'm hoping." He turned his attention to the phone, as Gloria's answering machine picked up, instructing the caller to leave a message.
"Hey, Gloria, it's Carson," he announced. "I'm sure you're screening your calls, but if you're there, pick up. I want to—"
"Hello, Carson," Gloria interrupted him, sounding bone-weary and worn. "Is everything all right?"
"That's what I called to ask you," he replied. "I'm fine. Status quo. Susan's here, she sneaked me in some decent food, and all's well." His hand tightened on the receiver. "How bad is it?"
"About what I expected. My mother swallowed a tranquilizer, my father swallowed two martinis, and the phones have been ringing off the hook—in Boston and here. The good news is, the photo of me that they're flashing on the business networks is flattering and shows off one of my newer designs. So that's good for business."
Carson chuckled. "You're one strong lady, you know that."
"So I've been told."
He cleared his throat. "I tried bullying Sabrina out of the transplant. It didn't work."
"I knew it wouldn't."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. This is what I expected. And concern for my child—our child—aside, I'm relieved that she can help you, assuming you still need the help by then."
