From the Heart

down on the beach. One thing at a time. That was one of the reasons for his success in his field. He’d only had the contract for four hours and was relatively pleased that it would take him little more than that to complete it.
    After snapping on the sight, he pulled out a handkerchief.The brisk wind wasn’t doing his head cold any good. But then, ten thousand dollars bought a lot of antihistamines. After sneezing softly, he replaced his handkerchief, then drew a bead on the figures on the beach.
     
    Jessica felt some of her strength returning. “Why was it a mistake then?”
    Slade let out an impatient breath. Because I’m a cop from the Lower East Side who’s seen things I could never tell you about. Because I want you so much—not just now, this minute, but tomorrow, twenty years from now—and that scares me.
    “Oil and water, Jess, it’s as simple as that. You wanted to walk, we’ll walk.” Slipping his hand from her arm, he interlaced his fingers with hers, then turned away from the shore.
     
    He lowered his rifle as Slade blocked his clear shot of Jessica. The contract was for the woman only, and business was business. The wind fluttered at his drab-colored overcoat and snuck underneath it. Sniffling, he brought his handkerchief out again, then settled down to wait.
     
    Jessica kicked a pebble into a clump of rocks. “You are a writer, aren’t you?”
    “So I tell myself.”
    “Then why do you do this? You don’t like it—it shows.”
    It wasn’t supposed to show. The fact that she could see what he’d successfully concealed from everyone—including himself from time to time—infuriated Slade. “Look, I do what I have to, what I know. Not everybody has a choice.”
    “No,” she disagreed. “Everyone has a choice.”
    “I’ve got a mother waiting tables and living off a dead cop’s pension.” The words exploded from him, stopping her. “I’ve got a sister in her third year of college who’s got a chance to be something. You don’t pay tuition with rejection slips.”
    Jessica lifted both hands to his face. Her palms were cool and soft. “Then you made your choice, Slade. Not every manwould have made the same one. When the time comes, and you publish, you’ll have everything.”
    “Jess.” He took her wrists, but held them a moment instead of pulling her hands from his face. Her pulse speeded instantly at his touch, drawing an unwilling response from him. “You get to me,” he muttered.
    “And you don’t like it.” She leaned toward him, lashes lowering.
    He crushed her to him, devouring the willing mouth. It was as cool as her hands but heated quickly beneath his. Already frantic, he grabbed her hair, drawing her head back farther so he could plunder all the sweet, moist recesses. Her arms went around his neck, imprisoning him in the softness, the fragrance, the need.
    The back of his head was caught in the crosshairs of the scope of a high-powered rifle with a sophisticated silencer.
    “Jess.” His lips moved against hers with the sound of her name. He broke away only to catch her close to his chest, holding her there while he tried to steady himself. “You’re tired,” he said when he heard her sigh. “We’ll go in. You should get some more sleep.”
    She allowed him to shift her to his side. Patience, she told herself. This isn’t a man who gives himself easily. “I’m not tired,” she lied, matching her steps to his. “Why don’t I give you a hand in the library?”
    “That’s all I need,” he muttered, casting his eyes up. In his peripheral vision, he caught a quick flutter of white among the thinning leaves in the grove. He tensed, muscles tightening as he strained to see. There was nothing more than a rustling, easily caused by the wind. Then the flutter of white again.
    “I’m terrific at organizing if I put my mind to it,” Jessica claimed as she stepped in front of him. “And I—” The breath was knocked out of her as Slade shoved her to the ground in back of a small outcropping of rock. She heard a quick ping, as if stone had struck stone. Before she could fill her lungs with air, he’d drawn out his gun. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
    “Don’t move.” He didn’t even look at her, but kept her pinned beneath him as his eyes swept the beach. Jessica’s eyes were locked on his gun.
    “Slade?”
    “He’s in the grove, about ten feet to the right of where we are now,” he calculated, thinking out loud. “It’s a good