They left the building and headed for the parking lot. Once outside, they automatically punched their cell phones back on, having followed ICU regulations to turn them off.
Jeannie had one message waiting for her. She listened to it carefully, then turned to her partner.
"Dylan Newport called a few minutes ago. He's on his way home. He'll be landing at LaGuardia around noon. Sabrina Radcliffe's with him."
11:15 A.M.
Manchester Airport
The jet accelerated down the runway and took off, slicing the skies as it climbed to its cruising altitude of thirty thousand feet.
Sabrina stared out the window, watching the wisps of clouds rush by, wondering what was waiting for her at the other end of this flight.
"You haven't said ten words sin
ce we left CCTL," Dylan commented beside her.
"I didn't have anything to say." She angled around to face him.
"I dropped a bomb on you last night. You must have a million questions. Ask."
Right. Ask. Sabrina sighed, thinking that she'd never felt so displaced in her life. Oh, she was used to being a fish out of water. She'd learned early on to become thick-skinned, and to draw on her own inner resources to cope. But this one was a doozy to contend with, even for her.
"I'm not sure where to begin," she answered frankly. "This whole thing is still too surreal. It's also too personal. I'm not really comfortable getting into it with you. I realize Carson Brooks knows you. But I don't. I don't know you, and I don't know him." She shot Dylan a pointed look. "You, on the other hand, know my entire life history. I understand why you felt compelled to dig it up. I'm not blaming you for doing it. That doesn't mean I'm happy it was done. I'm a private person. My life is my own."
"Yeah, I figured that out. I respect it, too. Believe it or not, we're a lot alike in that way." He drummed his fingers on the armrest between them, searching for the right way to get through to her. "Look, if you think about it, I don't know the first thing about you. All I've got are biographical specs."
"Nice try. But PI's dig up a lot more than stats."
"Not in this case. I wasn't investigating you; I was just locating Carson's child. No in-depth personality traits, no activity log. The one intimate detail I know about you is that you were conceived through donor insemination. And that's pretty cut and dry. Hell, it's damned scientific and boring compared to the way most people were conceived, and by whom. Have you watched Entertainment Tonight lately?"
Sabrina had to bite back laughter. The image of Dylan Newport glued to his TV set for nightly updates on what Hollywood's stars were up to was priceless. "No, I can't say that I have. Why? Do you watch it regularly?"
A corner of Dylan's mouth lifted in a crooked smile that made Sabrina understand why Melissa had described him as hot. "Nope. Most nights, I'm at my desk around that hour, with stacks of files and a quart of roast pork fried rice in front of me. But my secretary Nina watches the show religiously. And you should hear the stories she brings in. The stuff they reveal about people is as intimate as you get. And millions of viewers tune in to see those clips. Now that's personal."
He paused as the flight attendant stopped beside their seats and inquired if they'd like a beverage. Dylan ordered a cup of black coffee for himself, then turned questioningly to Sabrina.
"Cranberry juice," she responded. The flight attendant handed her a can of juice and a plastic cup, which she took with a businesslike smile. "Thanks."
"See what I mean?" Dylan asked with a hint of teasing in his voice. "Talk about lack of personal details. I didn't even know your beverage of choice."
"Point taken." Sabrina was beginning to enjoy the lighthearted banter. It felt good to smile. Plus, a nice, superficial conversation was all she could handle right now.
The tight knot inside her loosened a bit.
"I'll fill in the missing blank for you, then," she supplied. "I usually drink either juice or water. As for coffee, I'm not crazy about decaf. So I reserve my coffee-drinking for the morning. Too much caffeine makes me nuts."
"Then I must be certifiable. I drink the leaded kind— strong, black, and all day long." Dylan punctuated his words with an appreciative swallow. "Okay, so it's juice and water. What about wine or mixed drinks? Do you do those?"
"Merlot. But only in moderation or I get a killer migraine."
"I rest my case. That's two personal preferences I didn't see anywhere on my fact sheets."
She couldn't help but chuckle. "You must be a very effective attorney. You're shrewd and disarming. I recognize the traits from my own corporate training."
"That training is something I do know about you. You've got quite a resume. So I'm flattered." Dylan set down his cup. "While I'm learning nuances about you, let me ask something about your career. You were well on your way to a partnership. What made you leave the fast track and start your own company?"
"Are you really interested? Or just choosing nice, safe topics that will help lower my guard and make me less ambivalent about meeting Carson Brooks?"