From the Heart

think so?” Donaldson countered.
    “An itch,” Thorpe said amiably.
    “You’d better scratch it, T.C.,” Donaldson advised. “I’ve got nothing for you.”
    As if considering the matter, Thorpe sipped his coffee. “Summerfield wasn’t popular with the IRA.”
    Donaldson gave a dry chuckle. “Or the PLO, or a dozen other radical organizations. Is that a news bulletin, T.C. ?”
    “Just a comment. Can I get a statement from the president?”
    “Pertaining to what?”
    “His views on Summerfield’s policy with the Irish Republican Army, and thoughts on the new prime minister.”
    “The president’s views on the IRA are already documented.” Donaldson chewed on the stem of his pipe. “Let’s get Summerfield buried before we start on the new P.M.” He shot Thorpe a straight look. “It might not be wise to talk about your hunch, T.C. No use giving people ideas, is there?”
    “I only give people the facts,” Thorpe said carefully, and rose. “I want to get some film.”
    Donaldson pondered a moment. “I’ll arrange it, but no sound. We’re going to a funeral. Let’s keep this low key.”
    “My thoughts exactly. You’ll let me know if there are any changes?” Without waiting for an answer, Thorpe wandered back to the card game.
    “I want some film as soon as Donaldson clears it,” heinstructed the crew. Glancing down, he noted the cameraman held two pair. “Silent,” he told the sound technician. “You can relax. Get a shot of the first lady working on her needlepoint.” He grinned as the cameraman raised the bet.
    “Looking for the homey touch, T.C. ?”
    “That’s right.” Leaning closer, he lowered his voice. “And see if you can get in a pan of the secret service.”
    The cameraman cocked his head to shoot Thorpe a look and met the cool stare. “Okay.”
    “Call.” The lighting technician tossed in his chips. “What d’ya got you’re so proud of?”
    “Just a pair of eights,” the cameraman said with a smirk. “And a pair of queens.”
    “Full house.” The lighting technician spread his cards. Thorpe went back to his seat with mumbled curses following him.
    He had always had an uncanny sense of intuition. The few moments with the press secretary had sharpened it. There was definitely more security on this trip than usual—enough to alert Thorpe.
    Terrorism was a common word in the world today. It didn’t take heavy thinking to conclude that when you brought heads of state from all over the globe together, political violence was more than a remote possibility.
    A bomb threat? An assassination attempt? A kidnapping? Thorpe studied the quiet, three-piece-suited secret service agents. They’d be on the lookout, and so would he. It would be a long three days.
    And the nights? he wondered. After the president’s safely tucked away out of the reach of the press? He and Liv would stay at the same hotel. With luck—and a little strategy, he added thoughtfully—he could arrange to keep her close for most of the trip. At the moment, Thorpe considered proximity his biggest asset. Proximity, he amended, and determination.
     
    Restless, Liv set aside her notes. She was unable to concentrate. She could not get Thorpe off her mind. It didn’t help to be aware of how often they were going to be thrown together on this assignment. At least in Washington there were anumber of stories to cover in the course of a day. This time, there would be only one. And Thorpe had the upper hand.
    If she wanted a concise, thorough report, she would have to take whatever information he would give her. She would have to meet and talk with him on a scheduled basis. Of course, she reminded herself, regardless of everything else, he was a professional. That she couldn’t fault him for. The information would be clear and incisive. If only it didn’t have to come from him.
    Kicking back her seat, Liv shut her eyes. Why was it her luck that Thorpe had been chosen as press reporter? If circumstances had been different, she would soon be three thousand miles away from him. Though she didn’t like admitting it, she needed the distance. There had to be a way to stay clear of him. For the next couple of days, she would have to be on her toes just to keep up with the story and all the angles. He’d be busy too. That should solve a great deal of the problem.
    When it came to free time, Liv decided she would make herself scarce. He was too thick skinned to respect her refusals or her coolness. If a no