From the Heart

by Nora Roberts

  “Want to give it a try?”

  She smiled and settled back. “Oh, that’s all right. I’m better at spectator sports.”

  “It doesn’t take much coordination,” he added. Her eyes, which had begun to close, opened again. “Any kid with a week at summer camp can manage it.” He was baiting her purposefully. He wanted to see that gleam of competition back in her eyes.

  “I’m sure I could manage it just fine.”

  “Come on then,” he invited, and locked the oars. “Give it a try.”

  She wasn’t at all certain she wanted to, but the challenge was difficult to avoid. “Do you really think we should switch around? I wouldn’t like to capsize in the middle of the Potomac.”

  “The boat’s well balanced,” he said easily. “If you are.”

  She stood up at that, though warily. “All right, Thorpe, move aside.”

  They changed positions with a minimum of fuss. Thorpe settled down on the small cushioned seat and watched Liv grip the oars. “Don’t put a lot of power into it,” he advised as she struggled for a moment to unlock them. “Just keep it as smooth as you can.”

  “I went to summer camp,” she said sweetly, then scowled as her arms refused to coordinate with each other. “But then, usually we used canoes. I’m great with a paddle. There.” She managed one shaky but reasonable stroke. “Now I’ll get my rhythm. Take that smirk off your face, Thorpe,” she added, and put all her concentration into her task.

  Liv could feel twinges from muscles she hadn’t put to use in years. It was a good, cleansing feeling. She could count to eight with each stroke and feel her shoulders strain then give with the movement. The oars scraped against her palms.

  Oh yes, she thought, I can see why he does it. They were moving—not as cleanly as before, but moving nonetheless through the water under her power. There was no engine, no sail, no dependence on anything but her own effort. Her body, her will and the oars. Yes she understood exactly what he meant. She believed she could have rowed for miles.

  “Okay, Carmichael, time’s up.”

  “Are you kidding? I just got started.” She sent him a grim look and kept rowing.

  “Ten minutes is enough the first time out. Besides”—he scooted across to her when she paused—“I don’t want you to ruin your hands. I like them the way they are.”

  “I like yours.” Taking his palm, she pressed it to her cheek.

  “Liv.” It was impossible to believe he could love her more at that moment than he had the moment before. Yet he did. Locking the oars, he drew her close to his side.

  It was late afternoon before they walked back into Liv’s apartment building. Each carried a paper sack filled with groceries.

  “I know how to roast a chicken,” Liv insisted, pushing the button for her floor. “You put it in the oven and turn it on for a couple of hours. Nothing to it.”

  “Please.” He gave her a pained look. “It might hear you.” He cradled the sack that held the chicken more protectively. “There’s an art to these things, Liv. Seasoning, timing, preparation. If a chicken’s going to give up its life for your consumption, the least you can do is have a little respect.”

  “I don’t think I like the tone of this conversation.” She glanced dubiously at his grocery bag. “Why don’t we just send out for pizza?”

  “I’m going to show you what a master can do with a two-pound roaster.” Thorpe waited until they had stepped out of the elevator. “And then I’m going to make love to you until Sunday morning.”

  “Oh.” Liv gave this a moment’s thought and struggled with a pleased smile. “Only till then?”

  “Until very late Sunday morning,” he added, stopping to kiss her before she could locate her keys. “Maybe,” he murmured against her mouth, “until very early Sunday afternoon.”

  “I’m beginning to appreciate the idea of this cooking lesson a bit more.”

  He let his lips wander to her ear. “I’m beginning to appreciate the idea of sending out for pizza. Later.” His mouth came back to hers. “Much, much later.”

  “Let’s go inside and take a vote.”

  “Mmm, I like your thinking.”

  “It’s the Washington influence,” she told him as she slipped her key into the lock. “There’s no issue that can’t be resolved with a vote.”

  “Tell that to the senators who are waiting for Donahue and his filibuster to run out of steam.”

  She laughed and turned the knob. “I’ll tell you something, Thorpe,” she said as she closed the door behind them. “I don’t want to think about senators or filibusters.” She shifted the bag in her arm so that she could bring her body close to his. “I don’t even want to think about that two-pound roaster you’re so crazy about.”

  “No?” His free arm came around her. “Why don’t you tell me what you do want to think about?”

  With a smile, she began to undo the buttons of his shirt. “Why don’t I show you instead? A good video reporter knows that action’s worth a thousand words.”

  He felt her cool, long fingers roam down his chest. He set down his bag, then took hers and let it lean against the closed door. “I’ve always said, Carmichael, you’re a hell of a reporter.” Her laugh was smothered against his mouth.

  It was late Sunday evening. Liv sat close to Thorpe on the sofa. The entire weekend, she thought, had been like a dream. She had shared with him more than she had ever intended to share with anyone. But then, he had come to mean more to her than she had intended to allow anyone to mean to her again.

  Last night, they’d laughed through the cooking and eating of dinner. It was so easy to laugh with him. So easy, when she was with him, to forget all the vows she had once made. He loved her. The knowledge still staggered her. This tough, relentless man loved her. He’d shown her gentleness and understanding—traits she had needed but had never thought to find in him. How different her life would have been if she had found him all those years ago.

  But no . . . Liv closed her eyes. That would be like wishing Joshua out of existence. She wouldn’t give up the memory of those brief years for anything. He’d been the focus of her world. Her child.

  Perhaps because her time with him had been concentrated into two short years, she could remember almost every detail of it. Loving like that was the greatest wonder a woman could know. And the greatest danger. She’d promised herself never to experience it again.

  Now there was Thorpe. What sort of life would she have with him? What sort would she have without him? Both of the questions, and their answers, frightened her.

  Already, she thought as her head stayed nestled on his shoulder, he’s gotten close enough to frighten me. I’m not certain I can turn back now . . . . I’m not certain I can go ahead. If things could go on just as they are . . . But the time was fast approaching when she would have to make a move, one way or the other.

  He knows what he wants, she mused. There isn’t a doubt in his mind. I wish I could see things as clearly.

  “You’re quiet,” he murmured.

  “I know.”

  “Yesterday morning’s catching up with you.” He wanted to draw her closer, to make her forget, but forgetting wasn’t the answer for either of them. “It couldn’t have been easy for you, talking it all through, feeling it all again.”

  “No, it wasn’t easy.” She tilted her head to look up at him. Her face was in shadows, but her eyes were clear on his. “But I’m glad it happened. I’m glad you know. Thorpe . . .” She let out a little breath. It was becoming more and more important that he know everything. “There was a time, right after Josh died, that I wanted to die too. I didn’t want to live without him; I couldn’t conceive of living without him. There wasn’t enough strength in me to do anything solid about it, but if I could have died, just closed my eyes and died, I would have.”

  “Liv.” He lifted a hand to her cheek. “I can’t pretend to know what it’s like to lose a child. That kind of grief can’t be understood by anyone who hasn’t experien
ced it.”

  “I didn’t die,” she continued, swallowing. “I ate, I slept, I functioned. But I buried part of myself with Josh. What was left, I smothered when I divorced Doug. It seemed the only way to survive. I’ve lived this way a long time, without considering any changes.”

  “But you didn’t die, Liv.” His hand slipped down to cup her chin. His eyes were direct on hers. “And changes are a part of living.”

  “Have you ever loved someone completely?”

  “Just you,” he said simply.

  “Oh, Thorpe.” Liv pressed her face against his shoulder. Emotion squeezed her heart. The words came so easily to him, and the feelings. She wasn’t certain she was strong enough yet to accept them. “I need you. It scares me to death.” She lifted her face again and her eyes were eloquent. “I know what it is to lose. I’m not sure I can survive a second time.”

  He was so close, so close to having her. He could feel it. If he took her in his arms, if he kissed her now, he might urge the words he needed from her lips. They were in her eyes. It took every ounce of his control not to push. Not today, he told himself. She’s given you enough this weekend.

  “Needing someone,” he said carefully, “doesn’t mean you have to lose them.”

  “I’m trying to believe that.” She took a deep breath. “For the first time in five years, I want to believe that. It matters, when I thought it never would again.”

  After a moment, he lifted her hand and pressed the palm to his lips. “How much time do you want?”

  The tears came instantly, silently. She hadn’t had to ask. He had known. He was giving her what she needed with no questions, no demands. “I don’t deserve you.” She shook her head. “I really don’t.”

  “That’s my risk, isn’t it?” He smiled. “In my opinion, I deserve you completely, so that balances things.”

  “I need to do some thinking.” She kissed him, then held on. “I have to be alone, because you make it hard for me to think.”

  “Do I?” He kissed her again. “All right,” he agreed, pulling her with him as he rose. “But think fast.”

  “Tomorrow.” She held him close for another moment. “Just until tomorrow.” The arms around her had such strength. The man had so much to give. “Oh, God, am I a fool, Thorpe?”

  “Yeah.” He drew her back to frame her face in his hands. “I’m a hell of a catch, Carmichael; just remember that.”

  “I will,” she murmured as he walked to the door. He paused, and turned back with his hand on the knob.

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow,” she repeated when she was alone.

  15

  Things were not as clear as Liv would have liked them to be. Once before she had thought herself in love, and she had been wrong. What she had felt for Doug had been the impulses and dreams of youth. She was older now, and more cautious. Perhaps too cautious, she mused as she settled behind her desk. Yet, when she told Thorpe she loved him, she wanted to say the words without any cloud of doubt. He deserved that from her.

  She didn’t want to lose him. That above all was crystal clear. He had become the focal point of her life in a very short time. Dependence. No, she couldn’t deny that she was dependent on him. But was that love?

  Was it love when a man kept drifting into your mind? When you began to associate the tiny details of your day with thoughts of him? When you stored up the little pieces to share with him?

  Liv could remember what it was like to lie beside him in the morning—the quiet, the warmth, the easy unity. She could remember how a look in his eyes could make her tremble with need even in a crowded room.

  Was she in love with him? Why was she searching for another name for what she felt? The truth had been locked inside her for days. Now it was time to accept it. If she was going to ask Thorpe to take a risk, she had to be willing to take one herself. Love equaled vulnerability. He could hurt her, undoubtedly would from time to time. The shield was gone now. She would never be able to hide behind it again. Abruptly, she realized she didn’t want to. What she wanted could be said in one word: Thorpe.

  “Liv!”

  She turned to the frantic assignment editor with a brilliant smile. “Yes, Chester.” It was going to be a beautiful day.

  “Take a crew. On the double. New Senate Office Building. Some guy, unidentified, is holding three hostages, including Senator Wyatt, in the senator’s office.”

  “Good God.” She was up, grabbing a pad and her purse. “Anybody hurt?”

  “Not yet. As far as we know,” he added, streaking toward Carl’s office. “There’s been some gunfire. Be careful. We want a bulletin fast.”

  “Twenty minutes.” She was already out the door.

  The Capitol Police had the building surrounded when Liv arrived. She glanced around for telltale signs of Secret Service men and FBI. When you knew what to look for, they stood out clearly. On the rooftops of neighboring buildings, she caught glimpses of sharpshooters taking position. Men armed with ugly-looking guns were going over strategy and positions on two-ways. The press area was already partitioned off and jammed with reporters and technicians. Everyone was talking at once, demanding answers, trying to sneak their way through the barricade to secure a closer position.

  Liv pushed her way through and managed to get a mike out to a nearby uniformed officer. “Olivia Carmichael, WWBW. Can you give us a rundown on what’s happened? Do you have an identification on the man who’s holding Senator Wyatt? What are his demands?”

  “He’s a former aide; that’s all I can tell you.” That’s all you will tell me, Liv corrected, noting the flicker in his eye. “He hasn’t made any demands yet.”

  “How many weapons does he have? How did he get inside the building?”

  “We don’t know. We’re only sure about the handgun. He isn’t even answering the phone yet.”

  Liv was left with little more than nothing in the midst of a pack of hungry reporters. She had to find someone else—with a looser tongue. She could manage a quick bulletin, but she was going to have to do a lot of digging to put anything solid on the air.

  Senator Wyatt. Liv remembered him very well from the embassy party. Jovial, pink-cheeked Senator Wyatt who had joked with her and told her to dance with Thorpe. She glanced across the street and studied the dozens of windows. It didn’t seem possible he was in one of those rooms with a gun held to his head.

  On the edge of the crowd, Liv spotted a familiar face. It was the receptionist who had kept her cooling her heels for two hours in an office two floors below Senator Wyatt’s only a few days before.

  “Ms. Bingham.” Liv blessed the two hours and the innumerable cups of coffee she had consumed in the woman’s office. “Olivia Carmichael. WWBW.”

  “Oh, Ms. Carmichael, isn’t it dreadful!” She stared up at the windows with her eyes wide and stunned. “They’ve cleared the whole building. I just can’t believe it! Poor Senator Wyatt.”

  “Do you know who’s holding him?”

  “It’s Ed. Ed Morrow. Who would have thought it? Why, I’ve ridden in the elevator with him just dozens of times.” She lifted her hand to her throat at the memory. “I heard the senator had to let him go last week, but . . .”

  “Why?” Liv had the mike under her arm and was scribbling quickly on her pad. The woman never seemed to notice.

  “I’m not sure. Rumor is Ed got himself tangled up in gambling—something illegal. He’s always so polite. Who would have thought it?”

  “The senator fired him?”

  “Just last week.” She nodded quickly three times, and her eyes were still wide. “He was supposed to clear out his desk today. He must have gone crazy. Sally said he shot twice in the hallway.”

  “Sally?”

  “The senator’s secretary. She was just down the hall when it happened. If she had been in the office . . .” She swallowed and fixed her eyes back on the building. “He’s fired twice through the window since I’ve been out here. Do you think the senator’s going to
be all right?”

  “I’m sure he’s going to be fine.” Even as Liv said the words, the sharp report of gunfire split the air.

  “Oh God!” The receptionist gripped Liv’s arm. “Is he killing them? He must be killing them!”

  “No, no.” Liv felt the cool lick of fear. “He’s just shooting out of the window. It’s going to be all right.” She had to corroborate the woman’s identifications of the gunman before she put it on the air. That was the job—one step at a time. She couldn’t think about what was happening to the people inside. Not yet. “Is the senator’s secretary still here?”

  “She had to go with the police. She’s back there somewhere.”

  “All right, thank you.” Quickly, Liv began to work her way through the crowd again. Spying Dutch, she headed straight for him. If anyone could give her the details, he could.

  It was closer to half an hour than the twenty minutes she had promised, but Liv delivered a straightforward, detailed stand-up with pans of the police and the crowd. The building across the street was quiet—too quiet for her liking. She would almost have preferred another volley of gunfire to the silence. Terror, she realized abruptly, was always silent.

  “When the hell is he going to do something?” Bob muttered beside her. The tension was seeping into them all—police, bystanders, press. Everyone was waiting for the next move. “Major league coming up,” he added. “There’s T.C.”

  “I’ll be right back,” Liv told him. “Make sure the engineer’s ready to patch us into the station if anything goes down.” She made for Thorpe like a homing pigeon heading for roost. “Thorpe.”

  “Liv.” He touched her cheek briefly. “I figured you’d be here.”

  “Is there anything new?” she asked, knowing there was more than a story involved this time. They both knew the man inside.

  “They’ve established communications with Morrow. Wyatt’s not hurt; neither are the aides. Yet. He doesn’t seem to be quite rational. One minute he wants a half million in cash and a plane, the next gold and an armored car. He changes his mind every time they talk to him.”