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A shaky nod. "Did you talk to her about the idea?"
"Yeah. She hasn't given me an answer."
"I don't... blame her. Christ... it's a huge sacrifice. I'm a stranger...."
"You're her father."
The barest hint of a smile. "Not really... Not in the ways that matter... You know that, too. You're just too stubborn to admit it... and too close to me to be objective.... Those are lousy traits for a lawyer...."
"So sue me."
"Give her room, Dylan.... Her family won't make this easy on her.... They're old money—lots of it.... Grandparents are very proper.... They're also in their eighties, and not about to mellow.... It was hard enough on their daughter.... She's made quite a name for herself in the fashion industry...."
Dylan's brows rose. "For someone fighting for his life, you've managed to do lots of homework."
"Stan ran the check for me. It wasn't hard to get a profile on the Radcliffes.... They're very visible.... I had to know something about my daughter's family... her real family...."
"And did they meet your expectations?" Sabrina inquired from the doorway.
"Actually... yeah." Carson angled his head in her direction, not missing a beat. "Come in... and pull up a chair."
Curiously, Dylan watched Sabrina, gauging her reaction. She was leaning against the doorjamb, arms folded across her breasts. Her expression was unreadable. If she was expecting contrition, she was talking to the wrong guy. Carson never apologized for being thorough.
"You're only allowed one visitor at a time," she reminded him. "I'll wait."
"The hell you will," Carson refuted, gesturing for
Dylan to stay put as well. "Forget the rules.... Radison's gone for the day... and I won't tell."
Sabrina's lips twitched. "All right." She walked over, nodding her thanks to Dylan as he dragged over an armchair for her. "So, Dylan, are you the one who played Magnum, PI again?"
"Not this time," Carson supplied. "This time it was Stan. You met him?" He waited for her affirmation. "He and I go way back.... He's the only other person who knows about you."
A troubled frown. "You told him?"
"I didn't have to.... He worked for the fertility specialist your mother went to.... He's the one who clued me in to the donor search... she was doing... twenty-eight years ago...."
"Oh. Wow. I didn't know that."
Carson regarded her steadily. "I won't tell anyone about your relationship to me.... That choice is yours."
"I doubt it'll work out that way," she murmured. "But that's life. It'll be up to me to do damage control."
"You're worried that news of who you are will leak out."
"Not leak... pour. And it's my family I'm worried about, not me."
"Speaking of that... are you ticked off that I... checked them out?"
"No. I would have done the same thing. The difference is, I didn't have to. I already knew a fair amount about you professionally. And Dylan filled me in personally." She broke off, drawing an unsteady breath, then sweeping her hair up and off her neck and sitting quietly, as if she felt light-headed. Studying her more closely, Dylan wondered if maybe she did. He was struck by how pale and strained she looked, even more so than earlier today. The hotel break hadn't done her much good, other than giving her a chance to shower and have it out with her family. She'd changed her clothes, too, and in her khaki slacks and light blue short-sleeved sweater, she looked younger and more vulnerable than the sophisticated corporate woman he'd dealt with until now.
She also looked on the verge of collapse.
"Sabrina, you're still white as a ghost," he heard himself say. He got up, poured her a glass of water and pressed it into her hand. "Have you eaten?"
"Um-hum." She managed a weak smile between sips. "Not fifteen minutes ago. Cranberry juice and crackers."
"What kind of a meal is that?"
