From the Heart

grabbed Chambers’ arm as it cut off her breath again.
    “No?” The word was soft and silky. Even as Slade anticipated moving forward, Chambers shot him a warning look. “Where are they?”
    Jessica swallowed, straining to hear the sound of sirens. Why don’t they come! “I’ll show you.” Perhaps she could bargain for Slade’s life. If she could keep him alive, then get Chambers out of the shop, even for a little while . . .
    “Oh no, that won’t do.” He tightened his grip again. “Tell me.”
    “No.” Jessica managed to whisper the word. “I’ll take you.”
    Without speaking, Chambers took the gun from her temple and aimed it at Slade.
    “No, don’t! I have them at home,” she said frantically. “I have them in the wall safe in the parlor. Don’t hurt him, please. I’ll give you the combination. Thirty-five to the right, twelve to the left, five right, and left to twenty-three. They’re all there, I wouldn’t let Michael take them.”
    “Honest,” Chambers commented. “And trusting. I am fond of you, my dear, so I suggest you close your eyes. When it comes to your turn, I promise to make it as painless as possible.”
    Even as Slade made his move, Jessica screamed in protest. “No!” Using all of her weight and the adrenaline of terror, she flung herself on the arm holding the gun. She heard the shot echoing in her head as she stumbled, then was shoved roughly aside.
    Jessica landed in a heap. She felt the pain in her shoulder as it connected with the floor, tasted the iron flavor of blood or fear in her mouth as she scrambled up. As she pushed the hair out of her eyes she saw Slade’s fist fly toward Chambers’ face. The portly man seemed to crumble layer by layer on his way to the floor.
    So quickly, she thought numbly. It was all over so quickly. One moment they were both at the edge of their lives, and then it was over. She’d never take her life for granted again—not a second of it. Weakly, she leaned back against a highboy.
    “Slade . . .”
    “Get me some rope or cord from the back room, you idiot.”
    She pressed her fingers between her brows and stifled a hysterical giggle. So much for romantic endings, she thought as she stumbled blindly toward the storeroom. Blinking away the haze that covered her eyes, Jessica found some packing cord. She stared at it a moment, losing track of why she needed it.
    “Will you hurry up!” Slade shouted at her.
    Responding automatically, she brought it out to him. Ten-fifteen, she thought as she passed the clock. How could it only be ten-fifteen? Could people come so close to death andescape all in ten minutes? Slade ripped the cord out of her hand without looking up.
    “Damn it, Jess, of all the stupid things to do! What the hell do you mean by bursting in here like that? You know you weren’t to leave the house.” Binding the unconscious Chambers, Slade let out a steady stream of curses.
    “Michael told me ten o’clock,” she murmured. “And I thought—”
    “If you’d had a thought in your head you would have stayed put like you were told. What did you think you could do, racing out here like this. Damn it, I had him before you came barrelling through the door. That’s not even enough for you.” He secured the knot, then pushed passed her on the way to the phone. “Then you throw yourself on the gun.” He wrenched off the receiver and started to dial. “You could’ve been shot.”
    “Yes.” In dumb fascination, Jessica stared down at the stain spreading on the arm of her sweater. “I think I was.”
    “What?” Annoyed, he turned back to her, then dropped the phone out of suddenly nerveless hands. “Oh my God.” In two strides he was back beside her, ripping the arm of the sweater off by the seam. “Jess, you’re hit!”
    Brows lowered in concentration, she stared at the wound. “Yes, I am,” she said in the deliberately steady voice of a drunk. “I don’t feel it. Should it hurt? There’s a lot of blood.”
    “Shut up, damn it, just shut up!” He examined the wound quickly, seeing that the bullet had gone cleanly through the flesh. Jess’s flesh, he thought. His stomach rolled. He stripped off his shirt and tore it into a tourniquet. “Stupid fool, you’re lucky it wasn’t your head.” His hands trembled, causing him to fumble with the knot and curse her more violently.
    “It was a little gun,” she managed.
    He shot her a look, ripe with conflicting emotions, but her vision was