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Sabrina's lips twitched. "I told you not to make me laugh."
"Can I make you do other things instead?"
"Dylan..."
"Okay, I'll be good." He grinned, caught her fingers and brought them to his lips. Kissing them gently, he sobered, watching her pale, anxious expression. "It'll be okay, sweetheart," he promised hoarsely. "Whoever did this is scared. That means they're vulnerable. Whitman and Barton will find them."
"I hope so," she managed.
As if on cue, Jeannie and Frank strolled through the door.
"Never a dull moment with you two," Jeannie commented, shaking her Q-tip head. "I haven't had a full night's sleep in two weeks." She handed a shopping bag to Sabrina. "I picked these up when we checked out your apartment. I thought you might want them. Your place is untouched, by the way. No sign of anything, not even a jimmied door. Whoever did this went straight to Mr. Newport's. They obviously knew you were there."
Sabrina glanced in the bag, recognized her clothes and underwear, and gave Jeannie a grateful look. "Thank you so much," she grated out. "I wasn't looking forward to going home... in a hospital gown." Another bout of coughing.
"You sound lousy," Frank noted. He glanced at Dylan. "What about you? Is the concussion too bad for you to fill in a few pieces for us?"
"Nope," Dylan assured him. "This is one time I'm looking forward to talking to you." Quietly, he filled the detectives in on exactly what had happened. "My guess is that the same hired punk who stabbed Russ, did this," he concluded. "Every street kid knows how to make a Molotov cocktail. It doesn't take a rocket scientist. And by deciding to handle it this way, whoever hired him could keep his own hands clean."
"I agree with you," Jeannie said. "So let's see your theory through. Whoever hired the punk shot Carson Brooks, then paid someone to stab Russ Clark when the poor kid uncovered some incriminating information. Now, that head honcho is threatened by Ms. Radcliffe coming on as company president, so he goes this route. It can't be coincidence that this happened the night of Carson Brooks's big announcement."
"No, it can't," Dylan concurred. "But what's not clicking for me is, what's the common denominator? What's going on at Ruisseau that's significant enough to make someone go to these lengths?" His expression darkened. "And please don't start on the inheritance bit again. I'm the only one that scenario would fit. Even if you still believe I'd kill Carson, you've got to realize that what happened tonight would kind of preclude my chances of getting rich. Dead guys can't inherit."
Jeannie opened her mouth to reply, but Sabrina cut her off. "Look," she c
roaked out. "You'd better not still be stuck on the sick idea that Dylan's guilty...."
"Ms. Radcliffe, save your breath," Jeannie interrupted. "We're not. Mr. Newport's not on our short list anymore."
"Gee, I'm flattered," Dylan said dryly. "And all I had to do was almost die to get crossed off."
"No, we chucked your name a while ago." A corner of Jeannie's mouth lifted. "Like lawyers, detectives have instincts. Ours are usually right."
"Great. So where do your instincts go from here?"
Jeannie cleared her throat. "To a few different places. What are your thoughts on Etienne Pruet?"
An odd expression crossed Dylan's face. "Why? He was in Paris when Carson was shot."
"Yeah, because he was worried about C'est Moi's impact on his business," Frank put in. "Which left his worried New York staff here, angsting over whether or not their futures were on the line."
"That sounds kind of far-fetched," Sabrina rasped. "To kill a competitor to slow the market penetration of his product?"
"No. To stop penetration of his product," Frank corrected. "Remember, if your father was dead, no one else could duplicate C'est Moi."
Dylan and Sabrina exchanged glances.
"Until now," Dylan informed the detectives. "Carson shared the formula with Sabrina last week."
Jeannie's jaw tightened. "Who knows about that?"
"Just us." Sabrina's pause was uneasy. "Unless Stan found out somehow."
"What makes you bring up Stan Hager's name?" Jeannie jumped all over that one.
"I don't know." Sabrina shrugged. "He's just been acting odd. Nervous, upset. Maybe he found out that Carson told me the formula and that threw him for a loop."
"Or maybe it's more." Frank rubbed his chin.
