Scent of Danger

That clinched it.

"I can fly to Manchester in an hour. I'll talk to Carson's surgeon. Then, I'll jump on a plane. In the meantime, you keep Carson's name out of the press, just like we discussed. Cash in some favors. Do whatever you have to. It'll just be for a day, until I can get to Sabrina Radcliffe. And Stan—thanks. This could be Carson's best chance, maybe his only chance."

"Wait a minute, Dylan." Stan cut him off before he could hang up. "Are you nuts? You can't just burst into that training center tonight—no phone call, no warning, and lay this on that girl."

"Watch me."

"But..."

"Look, Stan. This isn't just a sentimental request anymore. We're talking about Carson's life. You know the kind of man he is; he won't accept a damned thing from anyone. Long-term dialysis? Depending on hospitals, tubes, and machines? That would destroy him."

"I'm not arguing with you. But someone has to be the voice of reason here. What you're about to do will turn Sabrina Radcliffe's life upside down. To begin with, you don't even know if she's a compatible donor. More important, you don't know if she's willing. Yeah, Carson's her biological father. But they've never even met. It's possible she's not even aware he exists. Who knows what her mother's told her? The path Gloria Radcliffe took was pretty radical for the seventies; I doubt she shared the details with her kid."

"That kid is twenty-seven now. She'll handle it."

"Maybe. Maybe not. You have no clue how she's going to react, or if she'll cooperate."

"I'll cross that bridge when I come to it."

"She might throw you out on your ass."

"And her mother might sue me," Dylan added dryly. "She'd win, too. She's got enough grounds to have me disbarred and a bunch of us tossed in jail. Obtaining confidential medical records and divulging their contents without permission—that's criminal and unethical. But it's a chance I'll have to take."

"Dylan..."

"Don't worry. Your name won't ever be mentioned. I'm in this alone. But come hell or high water, I'm flying up to Manchester. I've got to."

"Yeah... I know you do." As Stan spoke, Dylan's fax machine started to ring. "That's everything you'll need— all seven pages' worth. Good luck."

3:15 PM.

Mt. Sinai Hospital

Dylan blew by the ICU waiting room and went straight to the desk. "I need to see Dr. Radison," he told the nurse. "It's urgent."

She glanced up from the chart she was reading. "Mr. Brooks is resting comfortably, sir. There's no cause for alarm."

"I'm not alarmed. I'm time-stressed. I've got to talk to Dr. Radison—now." He glanced back over his shoulder, noting the cop posted outside Carson's door, and eyeing the ICU with a somber expression. "That's a dialysis machine Carson's hooked up to, isn't it?"

"Yes. Dr. Radison started the procedure about an hour ago. But there haven't been any complications. Mr. Brooks is responding well; his blood pressure's steady and he's showing no major side effects or discomfort."

"That's because he's too drugged up to understand what that machine means to his life." Dylan leaned forward. He wasn't about to be placated or put off—not on this one. "Is Radison in surgery?"

"No, but..."

"Then page him."

The nurse eyed Dylan for a minute. Something in his expression must have convinced her, because she picked up the phone and complied.

Across the waiting room, Detective Barton slid forward in his chair and started to get up.

"Wait." His partner stopped munching on her potato chip long enough to stretch out an arm and deter him.

"Why? Newport's a wreck. His defenses are way down. It's the best time to put the screws in."

"I agree. But let's get the whole picture first. Let's find out why Dylan Newport's so freaked out. Whatever it is, it must be pretty serious if he's insisting on paging the surgeon. Let him do his thing. Then we'll do ours."

Dylan felt the detectives scrutinizing him. He didn't give a damn. If Radison responded as expected, he'd have to tell the cops about his plans anyway.