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"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.'"
"I will."
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."
