Scent of Danger

"Mr. Newport?" Radison strode into the corridor, brows knit. "I understand you need to see me. The nurse said it was urgent."

A tight nod. "Is there somewhere we can speak in private?"

"Of course." The surgeon led him down the hall into an unoccupied room. "What is it?" he asked, shutting the door.

"Carson's on dialysis. Does that mean his kidneys are worse?"

"It means they need help. Whether they'll rally and function normally on their own, it's too early to tell." The surgeon frowned. "This isn't an unexpected crisis. We discussed the possibility of dialysis."

"Yes. But there's something I didn't know; something I just found out. It might make a huge difference if Carson's kidneys don't kick in as we hope." Dylan met Radison's gaze. "Carson has a biological child he isn't aware of—a daughter. She's twenty-seven and lives in New England. I don't have a detailed medical history on her, but I do have one crucial fact—her blood type. She's O positive."

Radison stared. "How did you come by this information?"

"That's not important. What's important is, it's accurate. Now you need to give me some facts. First of all, how likely is it that Carson's daughter's a match?"

A pause, as the surgeon weighed his response. "There are no guarantees. But, excluding an identical twin or sibling, a parent or child is the most likely individual to be a donor match. You've already overcome one hurdle by telling me that father and daughter have the same blood type. That's step one. There's still tissue-typing to check for common genes, and a crossmatch test to perform. Until both of those are done, I can't tell you if this would be a go. After that, she'd see a nephrologist, who'd do a full evaluation, including a battery of lab tests. Last, she'd undergo a renal angiogram. The good news is that, if Mr. Brooks and his daughter are compatible, there are added benefits, should a transplant become necessary. Common genetic backgrounds will lower the risk of kidney rejection. And the odds of success are improved when the donor is young—which, in this case, she is. So if you're asking me if this is an encouraging discovery, the answer is yes."

"That's good enough for me." Dylan shot a quick look at his watch. "How soon do I need to get her here?"

Radison's frown returned. "You want a timetable. Frankly, before I even broach that subject, I feel compelled to remind you that Mr. Brooks is this young woman's father. He's been shot, and is in critical condition. For that reason alone, she should be advised immediately. She has every right, and every reason, to see her father."

"Point taken." Dylan wanted an answer, not a lecture. "But with regard to the medical urgency..."

"You're not under the gun. Even if Mr. Brooks's kidneys fail completely and don't recover, we wouldn't perform a transplant until his wounds have healed, and until he's been infection-free for six to eight weeks. On the other hand, that time frame is deceptive, because it also takes six to eight weeks to complete a full donor evaluation. Bottom line? If Carson Brooks's daughter is willing, the screening process should begin right away." He gave Dylan a quizzical look. "Would you like me to make the telephone call?"

"No." Dylan shook his head. "This is a delicate situation. Very few people know the truth—including, very possibly, the young woman herself. News of her paternity could come as quite a shock to her. That's why I asked if we were racing the clock. I want a chance to do this in person. You just gave it to me. I'll fly up to her home tonight and break the news. Hopefully, I can convince her to c

ome back with me." Dylan's lips tightened. "But first I need to clear my plans with the detectives lying in wait outside."

"There's our guy." Whitman crumpled up her empty potato chip bag and tossed it into the trash as Dylan plowed his way over to them.

"Yup," Barton agreed dryly. "Certainly no need to track him down. He's heading straight for us. And, boy, does he have something on his mind."

"We're about to find out what."

"Detectives." Dylan stopped directly in front of them. "You said you had more questions for me. Ask them now. Because in ten minutes I'm leaving for the airport. I've got a plane to catch."

"Do you?" Detective Whitman shot him an interested look. "To where?"

"Manchester, New Hampshire. The flight leaves LaGuardia at six ten. It arrives at seven thirty-two. I'm staying in Auburn, just eleven miles from the Manchester airport. I'll give you the address and phone number. That way you can keep tabs on me—you know, make sure I don't flee the country."

"Sudden, isn't it?" Barton ignored Dylan's sarcasm. "Not to mention that this trip must be pretty important for you to leave Mr. Brooks during his medical crisis."

"It's for him that I'm leaving."

Whitman responded by jerking her head in the direction of the empty lounge across the way. "Let's talk in there."

With a tight nod, Dylan complied, and the three of them filed into the room.

"What's in Auburn?" Whitman demanded the instant the door was shut behind them.

"Not what—who," Dylan corrected. "And the answer is Carson's biological daughter."

Whitman's Q-tip brows shot up. "I thought he had no living relatives."

"We all thought that. We were wrong. I just found out about this woman's existence. I informed Dr. Radison. He wants her to be screened right away."

"Makes sense. So call her. Telephones are a lot quicker and more convenient than planes."