Scent of Danger

Frank shook his head. "If that were her plan, she'd have gone about it differently. A bullet in the back? That runs a high risk of being fatal. An inch in the wrong direction, and he'd be dead. It's too chancy. If she wanted him hurt and needy, she'd have had her punk attack him in the alley, steal his wallet, and break a few ribs. No, Mr. Newport. What happened in Mr. Brooks's office was attempted murder."

Jeannie was studying her notes. "Let's get back to opportunity, and see that through, before we even try to figure out motive. Ms. Lane was at the U.S. Open. The game began at five after seven. She caught a cab there, since Mr. Brooks had the limo. She'd have to leave her apartment by sixish."

"It was a holiday," Frank reminded her. "That means no rush hour."

"Still, there'd be holiday traffic heading in and out of the city. Tuesday was going to be a workday. The world was coming back to life after the summer. Anything less than an hour would be pushing it." Jeannie chewed the end of her pen. "She'd need time to get dressed and ready...."

"That would take an hour by itself," Dylan muttered. "Between her wardrobe, her hair gunk, and her layers of makeup, it's a full-time job."

A corner of Jeannie's mouth lifted. "Yeah, she is the put-together type, isn't she? Okay, let's say an hour, including showering, makeup, the works. That means she'd have to be in her apartment around five o'clock in order to get to the Open on time. Mr. Brooks was shot at approximately five-forty."

"It doesn't fit," Sabrina murmured.

"Unless..." Jeannie's head came up. "We're all assuming Ms. Lane was on time for the match. Maybe she wasn't. Maybe she was late. If she shot Mr. Brooks, for whatever reason, she could have been dressed and ready when she headed over to Ruisseau. A light trench coat would have been enough to hide whatever she was wearing so she couldn't be identified. It would also provide her with deep enough pockets to conceal her weapon. She could have fired the shot, left the building, and headed home. She'd be there by six-fifteen, even in heels and walking leisurely, so she wouldn't look suspicious. She'd have enough time to lose the overcoat, throw the gun in the Hudson, and hail a cab by six-thirty. She'd be late, but not by a lot."

Frank considered that scenario, and nodded. "Makes sense. It's certainly possible. The question is, how do we find out? We can interview every damned cab driver in the city to find the one who drove her to Queens. But that's going to take more time than we've got."

"We don't need to do that." Jeannie turned to Dylan. "Mr. Brooks was a big tennis fan, right?"

"Right."

"Then my guess is, he was a regular at the U.S. Open. After all, it's the premier tennis match in the world, and it's played right here in Queens."

"He was. He went to every game he could. Why?"

Rather than answering his question, Jeannie asked another of her own. "And when he attended these games, where did he sit?"

Realization dawned in Dylan's eyes. "He has a court-side box. He reserves all six seats for the entire two weeks of the U.S. Open, for important customers and Ruisseau employees."

"Bingo." Jeannie gave a triumphant nod. "So we have a couple of options here. Let's get some footage of the televised network coverage of that Monday night match and see if we can spot Mr. Brooks's courtside box, which should be empty except for Ms. Lane. That should make it easier to spot her arrival. Also, let's find out who reserved tickets in the nearby courtside boxes. Ms. Lane's a very attractive woman. I'd bet money that someone noticed when she got there, and if she was in her seat when the game began."

"That's brilliant." Sabrina felt her adrenaline begin to pump.

"Don't get too excited," Jeannie warned. "At least not yet. Besides, even if we do find proof that she was late, there's still the problem of motive. We have none. We've got to take this one step at a time. Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

"Okay. You're right."

Inclining her head, Jeannie shot Sabrina a probing look. "Tell me something, what made you become suspicious of Ms. Lane to begin with? I have a gut feeling you didn't go down to YouthOp for a friendly visit. I think you went to check out Ms. Lane. Am I right?"

"Yes." Sabrina met directness with directness. "In my case, I can't say the word suspicious applied, at least not yet. I was bothered, especially after talking to Dylan. And I was protective, since Carson

is my father, and Susan's a big part of his life."

"What about you, Mr. Newport? I take it your feelings in the matter were stronger."

"Stronger and more definitive—yes." Dylan was equally frank. "I've known Susan longer than Sabrina. I've spent a fair amount of time in her company, both with and without Carson. And she makes me feel uneasy, irked, and worst of all, mistrustful. I could elaborate with a few more adjectives, but you get my drift."

"We get it," Frank said. "What's it based on? Elaborate on that instead."

Bluntly, Dylan filled them in on his ambivalent take on Susan, from her me-first attitude, to her desire to be in the limelight, to his misgivings about her priorities at YouthOp.

"Wait." Jeannie help up her palm. "Stop at the YouthOp issue. Are we talking about a woman who's promoting her own agenda, or about something more serious—something criminal?"

Dylan blew out his breath. "I just don't know. I can't give you facts. I was hoping to get those today, but our visit took a different turn. All I can say is her office looks like something out of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, her charity events cost as much as an inaugural ball, and her publicity campaigns are huge."

"None of that's illegal," Jeannie pointed out. "Not if it's properly funded."

"We asked her point-blank if she designed her own office," Sabrina said. "She said she hired a decorator, and claimed she cashed in one of her stock holdings to pay for the whole shebang. She probably did. Like Dylan said, the office is a real eye-catcher; far too conspicuous for Susan to assume there'd be no questions asked about how a charitable organization could financially swing such a costly decor. Plus, the sale of stock is too easy to verify. I doubt she was lying. But as for subsidizing everything else out of her own pocket? That's highly unlikely. I agree with Dylan—she's just not the philanthropic type. She's also not a Rockefeller. And we're talking about big bucks here. YouthOp's got only local funding, not state or federal. Susan told me so herself."