Scent of Danger

Until now.

Sabrina loved her grandparents dearly. But she also understood what they were about. They'd been elitist and rigid in their youth. Now, vital as ever but well into their eighties, they were positively implacable. Their reaction to this bombshell would be predictably severe. Not to mention the fallout Gloria would experience from them as a result.

And that was just from being told that this forbidden secret had been dug up, and that Sabrina knew her father's identity. If things progressed beyond that point and Sabrina went ahead with the tissue-typing, then all hell would break loose. There'd be no chance of keeping her relationship to Carson Brooks under wraps, the tabloids would burst onto the scene, and her grandparents would totally freak out. And, no matter how you sliced it, she'd be responsible for their angst—angst that would only escalate if it turned out she was a compatible donor and decided to go through with the transplant. She meant everything to her grandparents—and to her mother. Putting her health at risk might just push them over the edge.

With a huge sigh, Sabrina climbed out of her car, wishing she knew how to bypass the land mines and arrive at a decision that was right for everyone. Any way she viewed this, it was a lose-lose situation.

Except maybe for Carson Brooks. He might stand to win. If that were the case... well, when one weighed physical survival against emotional well-being, the scales tipped heavily in favor of survival.

Sabrina was halfway up the front walk when Gloria pulled opened the door and stepped outside, rubbing the sleeves of her robe against some internal chill that defied Indian summer.

"I tried your cell phone three times," she said in greeting, eyeing Sabrina anxiously as she crossed the threshold. "I wanted to make sure you were calm enough to drive. You didn't answer. After the way you sounded on the phone, I was really starting to get frightened."

"I'm sorry. I guess I forgot to turn on my phone," Sabrina replied, slipping off her lightweight jacket and hanging it up.

"That's a first. You're never unreachable, especially since you started CCTL." Gloria's features were tight with concern. "You're really upset. What's this about?"

Sabrina studied her mother, noting that she looked tired—not a surprise given a week-long business trip. She also looked out-of-sorts, thanks to Sabrina's cryptic phone call and mystery visit. Well, things were about to get a lot worse. Her announcement was about to blow the lid off Pandora's box.

"Sabrina, whatever's bothering you is serious." Gloria was watching the play of emotions on Sabrina's face, her concern tangibly mounting. "I've never seen you like this. You're sheet-white." She drew her daughter over to the living room sofa. "Sit. I'll pour you a glass of merlot."

"Pour one for yourself, too," Sabrina advised. A wary look. "All right."

Once she'd dispensed with that task, Gloria settled herself on the sofa next to Sabrina and handed her daughter one of the two wine goblets. "Now tell me what's happened."

With a fortifying sip of merlot, Sabrina turned toward her mother. From her peripheral vision, she spied the matching pieces of Louis Vuitton luggage clustered just inside the master bedroom and was reminded again how late it was, how intrusive her barging in this late must be. "I'm sorry, Mother. You haven't even had a chance to unpack."

"I'll do that later." Gloria waved away the notion. "You're stalling. That's not like you either."

"You're right. It's not. But the subject I'm about to get into was a closed chapter in our lives. Unfortunately, it's been pried open with a crowbar."

"What subject?"

"My conception."

That was obviously the last thing Gloria had expected. "Your conception? Why on earth would that come up? And why would it cause you a problem?" An angry spark lit her eyes. "Don't tell me we have another con artist on our hands."

Sabrina shook her head. "Unfortunately not. That would be old hat, certainly not enough to freak me out like this. No, Mother, no con artist. This time we have the real thing. And he comes with a built-in crisis we have to deal with."

Gloria had gone very still. "You'd better explain."

"That's why I'm here." Sabrina steeled herself. "Mother, I know who the sperm donor was. I have more than enough proof. We'll get to that part later. First things first. You'll recognize his name. He's an extremely visible man. Visible enough so I doubt my biological ties to him can be kept under wraps for long. It's Carson Brooks, head of Ruisseau Fragrance Corporation."

Slowly, Gloria blew out her breath. For a long moment she said nothing. When she spoke, her voice was filled with quiet resignation. "Yes, I know. I don't need proof." She cleared her throat. "Now, how do you know, and what's this crisis you're referring to?"

Sabrina's jaw had nearly struck the coffee table. "You know?"

Another pause, as Gloria forced herself to address an issue she'd clearly wanted to avoid. "Not through any concrete proof. But, yes. I figured it out a long time ago."

"How long ago?"

"Maybe ten years."

Okay, Sabrina was about to lo

se it. This night was turning into The Twilight Zone. "How could you figure it out? Based on what? I thought the donor was anonymous."

"He was—at least by definition."