From the Heart

finish.
    Idly, he picked up one of the books from a pile he’d begun to organize. She’d have to get someone to take care of this mess, he thought—once her life was settled again. Once her life was settled, he repeated silently, and he was back in New York, away from her. With an oath, he tossed the book aside. Was he ever going to get away from her? he wondered with something uncomfortably close to fear. Oh, he could put the distance between them—miles of distance. All he had to do was to get into his car and head it in the right direction. But how long would it take him to chase her out of his head? That was for tomorrow, he reminded himself and was suddenly, abominably tired. He knew better than to think of tomorrows.
    “Slade?”
    Turning, he saw Jessica in the doorway. It annoyed him that she was there, infuriated him that her face was still pale, her eyes still shadowed. “What are you doing up?” he demanded. “You look like hell.”
    Jessica managed a weak smile. “Thanks. You know how to boost a woman’s morale, Sergeant.”
    “You’re supposed to be resting,” he reminded her.
    “I couldn’t sleep.”
    “Take a pill.”
    “I never take pills.” Because her hands were clammy, she linked them together. She wouldn’t tell him of the nightmare that had woken her—of the sharp, sweating fear that had had her choking back a scream as she fought off sleep. Nor would Jessica tell him how she had reached for him only to find him gone. “Are you working?”
    Slade frowned, then followed her gaze to the pile of books beside him. “I might as well clear up some of this,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve got nothing but time now.”
    “I could help.” Uncomfortably aware that her movements were jerky, Jessica walked farther into the room. “And don’t make one of those snide remarks,” she continued hurriedly. “Iknow the library’s a disgrace and the finger points at me, but I do have a knack for organizing once I get started. If nothing else I can fetch and carry for you until—”
    He cut off her stream of hasty words by putting his hand over hers as she reached for a book. Her skin was ice cold. Instinctively he tightened his grip, wanting to warm her. “Jess, go back to bed. Get some sleep. I’ll have Betsy bring you up a tray later.”
    “I’m not sick!” The words erupted from her as she yanked her hand away.
    “You’re going to be,” Slade returned evenly, “if you don’t take care of yourself.”
    “Stop treating me like a child,” she ordered, enunciating each word carefully. “I don’t need a baby sitter.”
    “No?” He gave a quick laugh, remembering his early conception of his assignment. “Then tell me, how much sleep have you had in the last two days? When’s the last time you’ve had a meal?”
    “I had dinner last night,” she began.
    “You pushed your dinner around your plate last night,” he corrected. “Keep it up. You’ll pass out and make my job easier.”
    “I’m not going to pass out,” she said quietly. Her eyes had darkened, that much more of a contrast to her skin.
    Because he wanted to rage at her, Slade withdrew. “I wouldn’t count on it but suit yourself,” he said carelessly. “Overall it doesn’t matter whether you’re conscious or unconscious.” In dismissal, he turned back to the stack of books.
    “I’m sorry I’m not as accustomed to this sort of thing as you are,” Jessica began in a tone that started off calm, then became more and more agitated. “It isn’t every day I’m investigated by the FBI and shot at by a professional gunman. The next time I’m sure I’ll be able to enjoy a banquet after I see a dead body on my property. All in a day’s work for you, isn’t it, Slade? Killing a man?”
    A hard knot lodged in his stomach, another in his chest. Casually, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it.
    Chest heaving with the emotion of her words, she watched him. “Don’t you feel anything ?” Jessica demanded.
    He made himself take a long slow drag, made himself speak calmly. “What do you want me to feel? If I’d been slower, I’d be dead.”
    Swiftly, she turned away, then pressed her forehead to the window glass. The few clinging raindrops blurred and seemed to multiply until she shut her eyes. And so would you, she reminded herself. What he did, he did for you. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I’m sorry.”
    “Why?” His voice was as cool as the pane she rested upon. And just as hard. “You