Kane, Andrea (37 page)

A nod. "She knows my plan. I'll be calling my grandparents
this afternoon to fill them in, as well. That's going to be a difficult
conversation, especially if it turns out I'm a compatible kidney donor. The
president of Ruisseau part they'll handle; the surgery is another thing
entirely. But they're bright people. It won't come out of left field. And my
mother will drive over there this evening, to help field the media if they
start calling—and to ease things with my grandparents' circle of friends."

"What about you? Are you ready? The media's going to hunt you
down like a fox."

"I know. I'll manage."

"You'll stay at my place tonight," Dylan stated flatly.
"At least that way they can't hound you until the wee hours of the
morning."

Sabrina gave him a faint smile. "But you can?"

"Mercilessly. Any complaints?"

"Not a one."

Their welcome moment of banter was interrupted by the ringing of
the phone.

With a deer-in-the-headlights look, Sabrina leaned over her desk,
picked up the receiver. "Sabrina Radcliffe." A pause. "Can't you
just tell me...? Fine. I'm on my way."

She hung up, turned to Dylan. "That was Mary in ICU. She said
Dr. Radison wants to see me now. He's on his way up from the lab—with the
results."

"Did she give you any information?"

"No." Sabrina spoke slowly and calmly, but inside she
was quaking. "She said he needs to speak with me directly."
Scribbling a note for Donna, Sabrina snatched up her purse and headed for the
door. Abruptly, she stopped and turned around, wetting her lips with the tip of
her tongue and fighting her stubborn need to always appear strong. "I'd
rather not do this alone. Would you go with me?"

A tender look flashed in Dylan's eyes. He picked up the phone,
dialed his secretary's extension and got her voice mail. "Nina, it's me.
It's about seven-thirty. I'll be out of the office for a chunk of the morning.
My cell will probably be turned off, so I'll check in with you when I can. If
there's an emergency, call Mount Sinai. I'm joining Ms. Radcliffe there for a
meeting." He replaced the phone in its cradle. "Come on. Let's
go."

8:10 A.M.

Mt. Sinai

Dr. Radison was waiting when they were shown into his office. His
brows lifted when he saw Dylan, but he didn't comment, just gestured for them
to have a seat.

"I asked Mr. Newport to be here with me," Sabrina
explained in response to the questioning look. "I want him to be part of
this discussion. In all ways but blood, he's Carson's son. He's been part of
his life a lot longer than I have. So even though my biological ties are
crucial here, so is Dylan's presence."

"I have no problem with that." Dr. Radison opened a file
on his desk. "I won't waste time. Here's what we've got. Without getting
too technical, there are six criteria in the crossmatch test. If three or more
of those criteria match, a transplant is feasible. Obviously, the more, the
better. In your case, we've got five out of six."

Sabrina's heart started racing. "Five out of six? That's very
good, isn't it?"

He nodded. "In addition, it doesn't appear that Mr. Brooks
has any antibodies that would attack your kidney. In short, these results are
extremely positive."

"Positive," Sabrina repeated. "But not conclusive.
Not to the point where we know the transplant's a go."

"Assuming it's needed," Radison reminded her. "And,
no, we're not at that point. Not yet."

Dylan leaned forward. "What happens now?"

"Now, Ms. Radcliffe sees Dr. Renee Mendham, one of the finest
nephrologists in the country. Dr. Mendham's already got Ms. Radcliffe's medical
history. I forwarded that on to her. I'm sure she's reviewed it. Next, she'll
do a complete physical and a battery of lab tests. We have to make sure Ms.
Radcliffe is in perfect health. Otherwise, there's no way we'd consider letting
her undergo transplant surgery."

"And if all that goes smoothly, there's that renal angiogram
you mentioned," Dylan remembered aloud.

"Exactly. That will give us a look at Ms. Radcliffe's
kidneys, the surrounding arteries and veins that transport the blood supply to
and from them, and the ureters that do the draining into the bladder. The idea
is to get a technical look at the area to determine which kidney will be taken
for the transplant—preferably the left because the vein is longer—and to
establish the details of your specific procedure. Obviously, we also want to
make sure there are no anatomical complications that would preclude the
surgery. Dr. Mendham will describe the test to you in detail. It's an
out-patient radiological procedure, using a local anesthetic."

"There are still so many question marks," Sabrina
murmured. "I want guarantees."

"There are none. But concentrate on the fact that you've
cleared some major hurdles. The results of the tissue-typing and crossmatch put
you right up there in the probable category. Let's move forward with that in
mind."

"How soon can I see Dr. Mendham? Today? Tomorrow? Say the
word, and I'll clear my schedule."

Radison shot her a wry look. "I'm beginning to see the family
resemblance. Father and daughter steamrollers. Lucky for you, I'm getting used
to it, after two weeks with Mr. Brooks. So I jumped the gun and called Dr.
Mendham. She moved her schedule around, as well. She'll see you Wednesday
morning at ten." He passed a business card across the desk. "Here's
her office address and phone number. She's a shoot-from-the-hip, top-notch
nephrologist. You'll like her."

"I'm sure I will. Thanks for accelerating the process."
Sabrina picked up the card and studied the information. Then, she raised her
head. "Have you filled Carson in yet?"

"Of course not. These test results are yours, to hear and to
share. If you're asking if you can share them with him now, the answer is yes.
He woke up about five minutes after you called. Let me warn you, he's ornery as
a bear. He's also forbidden me to let you donate your kidney, no matter what
the tissue-typing results show. Have fun."

"I might not have fun, but I'll get my way." Sabrina
rose, acknowledging Radison's droll warning with a stubborn lift of her chin.
"Like you said, father and daughter steamrollers. Well, when I'm on
overdrive, there's no stopping me. Be prepared for some choice words from
Carson to rock the halls of ICU. Ignore them. I promise to keep him from going
overboard and jeopardizing his condition. Besides, it won't take him long to
figure out that this is one battle he won't win. He's getting my kidney if I
have to transplant it myself."

"How reassuring." Radison came to his feet as well.
"I'll go alert the nurses, tell them to man their battle stations. Mr.
Newport, I hope you're a good referee."

Dylan's lips curved in amusement. "Actually, I think I'll let
Sabrina and Carson duke this one out. It should be quite a showdown. It'll also
be a once-in-a-lifetime chance to see Carson bested." His amusement
vanished, and a look of intense emotion crossed his face. "He couldn't
have picked a better time to lose. And, as a result, to win."

8:35 A.M.

Carson was in heated argument with a nurse when Sabrina and Dylan
walked in.

"Don't bother bringing me that liquid crap, because I'm not
eating it," he was barking. "No Jell-O. No applesauce. No hospital
shit period. Starting tonight, I want steak, medium-rare, and a baked potato.
Or some grilled red snapper. Move me to that cushy floor, Eleven West. The one
that's more like the Ritz-Carlton than a hospital. Over there, they'll bring me
some
real
food."

The trim, middle-aged nurse finished taking his vital signs,
glaring at him as she jotted them down. "Believe me, Mr. Brooks, moving
you out of here is one of our top priorities. The second Dr. Radison gives the
word, you'll be on your way. Eleven West's already been alerted. As a result,
half the staff members there have requested transfers."

Sabrina cleared her throat to stifle a chuckle.

The nurse glanced up, spotting Dylan and Sabrina. "Ah, you
have visitors. My cue to go. What a shame." She leveled a no-nonsense look
at Carson. "Your bland, uninspiring breakfast should be here any minute
now. Eat it. It's the only way to build up your strength so you can make that
move to Eleven West." She hurried to the door, rolling her eyes at Sabrina
and Dylan. "Good luck," she muttered under her breath. "He's in
top form today."

"So I see." Sabrina folded her arms across her breasts and
gave a resigned shake of her head as she walked toward the bed. "I go away
for a few days and you escalate your campaign to terrorize the staff. Okay, I'm
back. Now you can pick on someone your own size."

"You're not my size. You're tiny. Only your mouth is
big."

"That's heredity for you," Sabrina retorted. "Like
all my obnoxious qualities, I got that one from you." She used her
sparring time to scrutinize Carson, noting the changes that had taken place
since she saw him on Friday. She was relieved and encouraged by what she saw.
He had real color in his face, his breathing was even, and his chest tube was
gone, as were several of the contraptions he'd been hooked up to last week.

For the first time, Sabrina knew in her gut that her father was on
the mend.

"Sit," Carson ordered, gesturing for her and Dylan to
pull up chairs. "You're even crankier than I am," he informed
Sabrina. "And you look lousy. Didn't you get any sleep this weekend?"

"Not a wink. I was too excited about rushing over here for a
dose of emotional abuse."

Carson's lips quirked. "When did you get back?"

"Late last night." Sabrina pulled her chair directly up
to the bed. "And before you ask, yes, I did Ruisseau work on the
plane—both ways."

"She was also at her desk before dawn today, reviewing stacks
of departmental updates," Dylan added, lowering himself into his seat and
crossing one long leg over the other. "She comes in earlier than you do
and stays later. Frankly, I don't think you're paying her enough."

"Great. Now I've got two wiseasses to contend with."
Carson eyed Dylan, his caustic words belied by his affectionate tone and the
warmth in his gaze. "Why are you here this early? Did you just miss me? Or
did Nina boot you out?"

"I asked Dylan to come with me," Sabrina provided.
"I wanted him here when
I got the tissue-typing results— which I
just did. I came here straight from Dr. Radison's office."

"How are things going at CCTL?" Carson demanded,
pointedly ignoring the subject Sabrina wanted to broach. "Are you
satisfied with the way it's being run in your absence? And how did things go
with those two mega-corporations that dominated your weekend? Did you get them
on track, or were they the old-school types whose mind-sets are so rigid there's
no getting through?"

"CCTL's running like clockwork," Sabrina replied without
missing a beat. "Deborah and Mark are doing a bang-up job. The weekend was
a success. Both companies went home with a clearly delineated strategy, and as
a far more cohesive team than when they arrived. And the blood test says you
and
I are a match made in heaven. So, if you need a kidney, you're
getting mine. Anything else?"

Carson's jaw set, and he gave a hard shake of his head. "It's
not happening, Sabrina. I already told that to Radison."

"I know. And I told him I was coming in here to set you
straight. This isn't your choice to make. It's mine. And I've made it."

"Not if I say no, you haven't."

"I beg to differ with you. I'm twenty-seven—way too old for
you to order around. You wanted to meet your daughter. Well, you have. You
wanted me in your life. You've got that, too. Now I want something from you. I
want you to learn how to grit your teeth and accept my help. Because you're
getting it whether or not you want
it. I'll declare you
incompetent if I have to, and sign the papers as your next of kin."

"Really." Carson was clearly enjoying this battle of
wits. "And how will you manage that? I'm not incompetent. I'm more lucid
than you are."

"I'll he." A corner of Sabrina's mouth lifted, and she
slid a sidelong glance at Dylan. "I know an amazing lawyer who, I'd be
willing to bet, would take the case— to protect Ruisseau's interests, of
course."

"Don't bet," Carson cautioned. "You'd lose. The
lawyer you're looking at doesn't lie. He also doesn't screw me over."

"True." Dylan took his cue, jumping in with both feet.
"But, in this case, I'd make an exception."

Carson's head snapped around, his stunned gaze boring into Dylan.
"You're kidding."

"Nope. The way I see it, I might be lying, but I wouldn't be
screwing you over. I'd be doing you the biggest favor of your life. You're just
too goddamned stubborn to see it." Dylan blew out an exasperated breath.
"Carson, stop being an obstinate pain in the ass. Give in gracefully.
You're not going to win."

"The hell I'm not."