From the Heart

She wasn’t going to fall apart again.
    “Very efficient,” Thorpe commented.
    Liv looked at him. He was all quiet intensity, all understated strength. It disturbed her that for just a brief moment she had needed him—simply needed to know he was there to lean on. It was a luxury she couldn’t afford to allow herself.
    “The trick is being good at it,” Liv repeated. “Let’s say we finally have a point of agreement.”
    He smiled and brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead. “Want me to hang around?”
    She stared at him, struck with conflicting emotions. Why was he so easily able to move her? “Don’t be nice to me, Thorpe,” she murmured. “Please don’t be nice to me. It’s simpler when you’re a louse.”
    He bent and touched her lips with his. “I’ll call you tonight.”
    “Don’t,” she returned, but he was already walking away. Swearing, Liv spun around. She couldn’t worry about Thorpe. She still had information to gather and a story to finish.
     
    Liv watched the tape on the eleven o’clock news. It was a different feeling than she had experienced during her own earlier broadcast. Sitting behind the desk, giving her report and watching herself on the monitor, she could separate her emotions from her job. Now, alone in her apartment,watching the tape as any other viewer, the tragedy washed over her again. Sixty-two people had died, and fifteen more had been hospitalized, including four fire fighters. The reports weren’t official yet, but it looked as though a pilot error had been responsible.
    Liv thought of the woman she had tried to comfort on the curb—the precious photo album she had clutched, the stunned grief, then the mourning. There had been no survivors from the sixth floor.
    The time of day had been a blessing. Liv had said so herself in her report. Most of the apartments had been vacant. Children had been in school, adults at work. But the little Dawson boy in 610 had had the flu.
    Rising, Liv snapped off the set. She couldn’t think about it, couldn’t dwell on it. She pushed at her temples. It was time to take a couple of aspirin and go to bed. Nothing could change what had happened in the morning hours, and it was time to find her distance again.
    It occurred to her, as she crawled into bed, that she had missed dinner. Hunger might be partially responsible for the severity of her headache, but she was too weary to take anything more than the aspirin. Shutting her eyes, she lay in the darkness.
    This is what she had decided she wanted. Quiet, privacy. No one to depend on—no one to answer to. What she had now was hers; what mistakes she made were hers. That was the best way.
    She opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling, wondering just when she had begun to doubt that.
    The phone beside her shrilled, and Liv sat straight up. She fumbled for the bedside lamp, then picked up a pencil even as she lifted the receiver. Who but the desk would call her at midnight?
    “Yes, hello.”
    “Hello, Liv.”
    “Thorpe?” Liv dropped the pencil and lay back. He was incredible.
    “Did I wake you?”
    “Yes,” she lied. “What do you want?”
    “I wanted to say good night.”
    She sighed, then was grateful he couldn’t see her smile. She didn’t want to give him any encouragement. “You woke me up to say good night?”
    “I’ve been tied up. I just got home.” Thorpe yanked off his tie. If there was one thing he hated about the job, it was ties. “Want to know where I’ve been?”
    “No,” Liv returned dauntingly, and heard him chuckle. Damn it, she thought, then propped her pillow behind her. She did want to know. “All right, where were you?”
    “At a meeting with Levowitz.”
    “Levowitz?” Her attention was caught. “The bureau chief?”
    “That’s the one.” Thorpe pried off his shoes.
    “I didn’t know he was in Washington.” The wheels began to turn in her head. Levowitz wouldn’t make a trip from New York to D.C. without good cause. “What did he want?”
    “Harris McDowell’s going to retire at the end of the year. He offered me the spot.”
    The news wasn’t nearly as surprising as his casualness. Being offered McDowell’s job was nothing to take lightly. Exposure, power, money. To be considered capable of stepping into McDowell’s shoes was no idle compliment. It was an accolade.
    Liv searched around for something to say, and settled on, “Congratulations.”
    “I didn’t take it.”
    Now she waited a full beat.