From the Heart

to her. I’ll get them.”
    “For Miss Winslow’s sake, be successful. Twenty-four hours,” he repeated. “If you don’t have them by then, she’ll be disposed of. I’ll retrieve my property myself.”
    “No! I’ll get them. Don’t hurt her. You swore she’d never have to be involved.”
    “She involved herself. Twenty-four hours.”

4
    J essica had no answers. Alone, she sat on the beach, chin on her knees, and watched the early sun spread streaks of pink above the water. Yards away, Ulysses chased the surf, bounding back to the shore each time it turned on him. He’d given up on the idea of conning Jessica into tossing sticks for him.
    She’d always liked the beach at sunrise. It helped her think. The screech of gulls, the pound of water against rock, the burgeoning light, always calmed her mind so that an answer could be found. Not this time. It wasn’t as if she’d never considered marriage, sharing a home, raising a family—but she’d never had a clear picture of the man. Could it be Michael?
    She enjoyed being with him, talking to him. They shared interests. But . . . oh, there was a but, she thought as she lowered her forehead to her knees. An enormous but. And he loved her. She’d been blind to it. Where was her sensitivity? she wondered with a surge of guilt and frustration. How could a thing—a business—have been so important that it blocked her vision? Worse, now that she knew, what was she to do about it?
    Slade came down the beach steps swearing. How the hell could he keep a rein on a woman who took off before sunrise? Gone walking on the beach, Betsy had told him. Alone on a deserted beach, Slade thought grimly, completely vulnerableto anything and anyone. Did she always have to be moving, doing? Why couldn’t she have been the lazy halfwit he’d imagined her to be?
    Then he spotted her—head down, shoulders slumped. If it hadn’t been for the mass of wheat-colored hair, he would have sworn it was another woman. Jessica stood straight and was always heading somewhere—usually too fast. She didn’t curl up in a ball of defeat. Uncomfortable, he thrust his hands in his pockets and walked toward her.
    She didn’t hear him, but sensed the intrusion and the identity of the intruder almost simultaneously. Slowly she straightened, then looked out at the horizon again.
    “Good morning,” she said when he stood beside her.
    “You’re up early.”
    “So are you.”
    “You worked late. I heard your typewriter.”
    “Sorry.”
    “No.” A fleeting smile. “I liked it. Is the book going well?”
    Slade glanced up as a gull soared over their heads, white-breasted and silent. “It moved for a while last night.” Something’s wrong, he thought. He started to sit beside her, then changed his mind and remained standing. “What is it, Jess?”
    She didn’t answer immediately, but turned her head to study his face. And what would he do, she wondered, if he wanted a woman to marry him? Would he wait patiently, choose the best time, then be satisfied when she asked him to wait for an answer? A ghost of a smile touched her lips. God no.
    “Have you had many lovers?” she asked.
    “ What! ”
    She didn’t pay any attention to his incredulous expression but turned to stare out at the surf again. “I imagine you have,” she murmured. “You’re a very physical man.” The clouds skimming over the water were shot through with red and gold. As she spoke Jessica watched them brighten. “I can count mine on three fingers,” she continued in a tone that was more absent than confidential. “The first was in college, a relationship so brief it hardly seems fair to include it. He sent me carnations and read Shelley out loud.”
    She laughed a little as she settled her chin back on her knees. “Later, when I was touring Europe, there was this older man, French, very sophisticated. I fell like a ton of bricks . . . then I found out he was married and had two children.” Shaking her head, Jessica gripped her knees tighter. “After that there was an advertising executive. Oh, he had a way with words. It was right after my father died, and I was . . . groping. He borrowed ten thousand dollars from me and vanished. I haven’t been involved with a man since.” She brooded out to sea. “I didn’t want to get stung again, so I’ve been careful. Maybe too careful.”
    He wasn’t overly pleased to hear about the men in her life. Forcing himself to be objective, he listened.