Scent of Danger

She'd made contingency plans for these circumstances as she'd tossed and turned in her bed last night The funny thing was that her line of thinking had been identical to Carson's, only shorter-term. She'd take a leave of absence until she recovered from the surgery. During that time, she'd leave Deborah in charge, with Mark as backup and Melissa in the wings. When it became feasible, she'd go in part-time, handling as much as she could by phone and e-mail.

Why couldn't the same plan work on a long-term basis? She'd physically be at CCTL every week for three-to-four day stretches—two days of which would be weekends, when Ruisseau was closed anyway. During that time, she'd run the show at CCTL and conduct her workshops. The rest of each week she'd spend at Ruisseau, learning the ropes, sharing her expertise, and working her butt off. Deborah would be her point person at CCTL. If any problem arose, she could just pick up the phone and call. By the same token, there were always telephones and e-mail for client contact, so Sabrina would never truly be out of touch. It was a feasible solution.

Maybe. Maybe not. Oh, it was doable for a while, even a long while. But for good? What if she couldn't swing it? What if there was an overlap in crises, and both companies needed her at the same time? What if she couldn't handle a steady diet of Manhattan pollution, or tolerate the corporate politics she'd gladly left behind?

Then there was her family. Her mother was due here this afternoon. How would she take this? She knew how ambitious Sabrina was. She'd understand her daughter's excitement over the opportunity she was being offered. But what if the scandal leaked out that much sooner because of Sabrina's very visible presence at Carson's side? And if she knew for a fact that it would—should that influence her decision? What if her grandparents took this as some kind of betrayal?

"Forget the what-if's.... Name your terms...." It was as if the man could read her mind. "I won't... lock you in... to anything irrevocable… You can get out... if you want to. But it's my legacy... and so are you." He licked his lips. "There's one more thing I have to dump on you... before you decide."

"I don't think I can deal with any more."

"You have to. It's C'est Moi. The scent's a breakthrough.... Momentum strong... Someone has to keep it going, build on it... and expand the line. That someone is you. You'll have to know the formula. Can't let it die with me... I'll tell it to you now... explain it step by step. But verbally. No paper. You'll have to memorize it. And no one can know about this. I want you safe from whoever went after me."

Sabrina was past reeling and into numb. The formula for C'est Moi? She'd done enough reading to know the unique cloak of secrecy that surrounded Ruisseau's newest fragrance. Carson had invented it. And only he knew what went into it. If he was going to share that information, it should be with someone who could translate formula into fact, use it to Ruisseau's advantage. Blood relation or not, she was completely unqualified to fill that role. "Carson, that's definitely a mistake. I'm not a chemist. I wouldn't be able..."

"Doesn't matter... We have chemists. Stan and Dylan will choose the right one to replace me... if it comes down to that... and he or she will work with you. But your sense of smell... and your gut instincts... you'll know where we need to go from here. You'll have to queue up timetables for other C'est Moi spin-offs after the men's version takes off.... And marketing... you're trained... and smart. You'll know what to do.... You'll see."

He eased his head over to give Dylan a pained look. "After they find the shooter... I'll share the formula with you, too. If I'm not around anymore, Sabrina will do the honors. I want both my kids to have that formula.... But, right now, it would be a mistake... for you to have it. Those damned detectives... I'd be giving them more ammo to use against you.... If you knew something they saw as motive for you to get rid of me... they'd jump on it. Better if you don't know, for now." He started coughing, and he moaned with pain, his hand going reflexively to his chest.

"Carson..." Sabrina took two steps toward him.

He waved her away. "I'm... fine... just..." Another hard wince.

"That's it." Dylan bolted to his feet. "This meeting is over." He turned to Sabrina, his expression grim, his entire body taut. "I'm going to see what the hell's keeping Dr. Radison. That gives you and Carson a few minutes alone. Decide what you want to do, about the appointment and the formula. If you've got memorizing to do, do it fast. When I get back, we're leaving. Carson's getting some sleep, if I have to call that nurse back in here to add knock out drops to that morphine drip."

Dylan was visibly freaked out. It didn't take a shrink to see that. Whether it was over Carson's decisions— which had to have shocked him as much as they had her—or over the bleak possibilities conjured up by Carson's assessment of his medical condition, Sabrina wasn't sure.

She merely nodded, staring dazedly after Dylan as he left.

"Sabrina..." She turned to see Carson studying her expectantly, gritting his teeth against the pain. "He'll be okay.... Give him space. And give me your answer."

She should need time. Leaping before she looked wasn't her thing. When it came to decisions of magnitude, she acted only after a thorough analysis of the facts. And this was the heaviest decision she'd ever had to make.

"Yes," she heard herself say. "My answer's yes. I'll do it."

Relief flashed across his face, easing the tight lines of pain. "I'm glad," he returned, a deliberate understatement. "Thank you. Although, if you're made of... what I think you are, I think that one day... you'll be thanking me."

Sabrina sidestepped that one, at least for now. Besides, she had another matter on her mind—one that needed to be addressed before this meeting ended. "What about Stan? Where does he fit into all this?"

"Same as always... Runs the company's day-to-day operations... In on almost everything... But not the formula... He's got a crappy memory.... Can't retain a damned thing... Forgot his first wife's birthday four years in a row... probably why they're divorced."

"Got it." Sabrina wasn't up for humor. Not when beads of perspiration were dotting Carson's forehead, showing her how much he was suffering. Further, she sensed there was more to this issue with Stan than he'd let on. "So you're not giving him the formula. And my guess is, you don't want me, or eventually Dylan, to clue him in to the fact that you gave it to us."

A raspy chuckle. "You're good. Damned good. And you're right. I don't."

"Which is the real reason why you didn't want him staying till the end of this meeting."

"Um-hum. Not lack of trust... Meant it about his memory... But he wouldn't believe that… He'd take it the wrong way.... Stan's insecure enough.... Don't want to add to it. Easier to say it was personal... about you coming on as president. He knows... you're my daughter.... Understands what I want for you... what you can bring to Ruisseau... No resentment there... Don't worry."

"I wasn't. Not about me."

"Not about anything... It's all under control."

So that was the missing link. Stan Hager was insecure. And insecurity made people act in strange ways, do strange things. Carson was far from naive. Regardless of what he said, how lightly he touched on—and seemed to dismiss—the subject of Stan's low self-esteem, he was aware of its significance. He didn't want to bad-mouth Stan. That much was clear. But what was also clear, at least to Sabrina, was that Carson recognized that Stan ran the risk of being a loose cannon. Bottom line? He was protecting his friend and his company.

"The basis for Stan's insecurity—is it anything I should know about?" she asked carefully.

"Nothing sinister... or specific... We'll discuss it next time.... Right now, all we've got time for is the formula."