From the Heart

was nothing she could say, nothing she could do to stop him. He had told her she would do the same thing. She understood it, but it didn’t matter. He was her love, her life. Everything that was important to her was bound up in him.
    It’s not fair! she thought on a fresh surge of desperation. She’d been given her second chance. Now she had to stand back and watch while it was put on the line. Myra’s words played back in her head: life’s not short, but it’s never long enough. Thorpe! Her whole being cried out to him while she dug her teeth into her lip to keep silent. Don’t go! I have so much to say to you. So much time to make up for. She wanted to tell him what he meant to her, how he had opened up everything she had closed.
    Thorpe was checking the tape recorder as he listened to Daniels’s instructions. Liv watched them, her eyes blinded by tears. Oh, Thorpe, she thought, I can’t face the emptiness again. Not now that I know what it is to have you. I need to know you’re there when I reach out. I want to love again, to hold your child in my arms. Oh, please, don’t shut me off when I’ve just started to feel.
    With a deep shuddering breath, she pressed her fingers to her eyes. She watched him again—the sharp athletic profile, the deep, intense eyes. Is he frightened? What’s going on in his mind? Is he remembering that none of us is indestructible? But you have to be, Thorpe. For me. For us.
    What does he need from me? Not this, she realized abruptly. He needs support, not a hysterical woman pulling at him, begging him to think of her. He needs his wits about him now . . . . If only I could go with him. But I can’t. I can’t go with him, but I can send something with him.
    As she watched, the two aides were hustled out of the building and out of range. So Morrow had kept the first part of the bargain. There was only Wyatt now. Thorpe for Wyatt.
    Drawing on all her strength, Liv stepped up to him. “Thorpe.”
    He turned to her. There were still tears on her cheeks, but he recognized the control.
    “You always did go out of your way to scoop me on a story,” she managed in a reasonably steady voice. “I hope this one’s worth it. You better do a hell of a job in there. I need the copy for my broadcast.”
    He grinned as he kissed her. “Just don’t step too close to my turf, Carmichael.”
    Liv clung for one last moment. “Catch my report at five-thirty.”
    “I’ve always been fond of you, T.C.,” Daniels commented. “And it seems this lady is too.” He gave Thorpe a long look. “You’ve still got time to back out.”
    “Thorpe walk away from an exclusive?” Liv pulled back and ordered herself not to shake. “You don’t know him very well.”
    “You.” He pulled Liv back a last time. “Think about where you want to spend your honeymoon. I lean toward Paris.”
    “You warned me you were a romantic.” Then he was turning, preparing to cross the street. “Thorpe!” Liv couldn’t prevent herself from calling out. When he turned she held back the plea and smiled at him. “If you get yourself killed, the deal’s off.”
    He grinned. “Tonight we send out for pizza. I’ll be back.”
    He was gone quickly, swallowed up by the building. The waiting began.
    Thorpe had a pretty good idea of what he should do. The questions were already forming in his head as he rode the elevator with an armed guard. The trick would be to keep Morrow pacified, at ease. Talking. Keep him talking. He fully intended to come out in one piece. Lebanon had taught him a few things.
    He’d ridden this elevator before, countless times. It was part of the routine. Hadn’t Alex Haley interviewed Rockwell while the American Nazi leader had played with a gun? And that had been a hell of an interview. Reporters couldn’t always choose the sane and the reasonable.
    The elevator opened and he started down the hall. The tickle at the back of his neck told him there were more guns. He ignored them and knocked on Wyatt’s outer office.
    “T.C. ?”
    He heard Morrow’s voice, strung out with nerves.
    “Yeah. I’m alone.”
    “Come in slow. I’ve got a good view of the door.”
    Thorpe did as he was instructed. Morrow stood in the archway to Wyatt’s inner office with his gun held to the senator’s head.
    “T.C.” Wyatt’s normally florid face was gray. “You’ve got to be crazy.”
    “How are you, Senator?”
    “He’s fine,” Morrow snapped, his eyes darting behind Thorpe. “Shut