From the Heart

the scent was the same—lemon oil and fresh flowers. It stirred old memories.
    Before Liv had taken two steps behind the maid, she heard the sound of male laughter.
    “I’ll swear, T.C., you know how to tell a story. I’ll have to make sure the first lady’s not around when I repeat that one.” Dell came lightly down the stairs, trim, handsomely sixtyish and beside Thorpe.
    Liv felt her stomach muscles tighten. Always one step ahead of me, she thought on a swift rush of fury. Damn!
    Briefly, potently, she met Thorpe’s eyes. He smiled, but it wasn’t the same smile he had given to Dell as they had begun their descent.
    “Ah, Ms. Carmichael.” Spotting her, Dell extended his hand as he crossed the hall. His voice was as smooth as his palm. His eyes were shrewd. “Very prompt. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”
    “No, Mr. Dell. I appreciate the time.” Liv let her eyes pass over Thorpe. “Mr. Thorpe.”
    “Ms. Carmichael.”
    “I know you’re a busy man, Ambassador,” Liv turned her eyes back to him with a smile. “I won’t take much of your time.” An unobtrusive move put the mike in her hand. “Would you be comfortable talking to me here?” she asked, to give the soundman a voice level.
    “Fine.” He made an expansive gesture and gave a generous smile. The smile was the stock-in-trade of the diplomat. From the corner of her eye, Liv watched Thorpe move out of camera range to stand by the door. The eyes she felt on the back of her neck made her uncomfortable. Turning to Dell, she started her interview.
    He continued to be expansive, cooperative, genial. Liv felt like a dentist trying to pull a tooth from a patient who smiled with his mouth firmly shut.
    Of course he was aware that his name was being linked with the position to be vacated by Larkin. Naturally, he was flattered to be considered—by the press. Liv noted he was careful not to mention the president’s name. She was being led in circles, gently, expertly. Just as gently, she backtrackedand probed from different angles. She was getting the tone she wanted, if not the firm words.
    “Mr. Dell, has the president spoken to you directly about the appointment of a new Secretary of State?” She knew better than to expect a yes or no answer.
    “The president and I haven’t met to discuss an appointment.”
    “But you have met with him?” she persisted.
    “I have occasion to meet with the president from time to time.” At his subtle signal, the maid appeared at his elbow with his coat and hat. “I’m sorry I can’t give you more time, Ms. Carmichael.” He was shrugging into his coat. Liv knew she was losing him. She moved with him to the door.
    “Are you seeing the president this morning, Mr. Dell?” It was a blunt question, but it wasn’t the verbal answer Liv looked for as much as the reaction in the eyes of the man she asked. She saw it—the faint flicker, the briefest hesitation.
    “Possibly.” Dell extended his hand. “A pleasure talking to you, Ms. Carmichael. I’m afraid I have to run. Traffic is so heavy at this time of the morning.”
    Liv lifted a hand to signal Bob to stop the tape. “Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Dell.” After passing the mike to the soundman, Liv followed Dell and Thorpe outside.
    “Always a pleasure.” He patted her hand and smiled with his old-world southern charm. “Now you be sure to call Anna, T.C.” He turned to Thorpe and gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder. “She wants to hear from you.”
    “I’ll do that.”
    Dell walked down the steps to the discreet black limo where his driver waited.
    “Not bad, Carmichael,” Thorpe commented as the limo pulled away. “You do a tough interview. Of course . . .” He looked down at her and smiled. “Dell’s been dancing his way around tough interviews for years.”
    Liv gave him a cool stare. “What were you doing here?”
    “Having breakfast,” he answered easily. “I’m an old family friend.”
    She would have liked to knock the smile from his face with a good swift punch. Instead, she meticulously pulled on her gloves. “Dell’s going to get that appointment.”
    Thorpe lifted a brow. “Is that a statement, Olivia, or a question?”
    “I wouldn’t ask you for the time of day, Thorpe,” she retorted. “And you wouldn’t give it to me if I did.”
    “I’ve always said you were a sharp lady.”
    Good God, she’s beautiful, he thought. When he saw her on the air, it was easy to attribute the nearly