From the Heart (57 page)

“No, no, listen to me.” She gripped the front of his jacket. “It's insane. You can't just walk in there; you're not trained for this sort of thing. And who's to say he'll let Wyatt go when you do? He'll—he'll have more bargaining power then. You must see that.”

“He wants to talk,” Thorpe pointed out, and started to lead her away. “Wyatt can't get him national coverage; I can.”

“Oh God, Thorpe, he's not stable.” She was weeping now and unaware of it. “He'll kill you, and the senator too. You don't have to go. They can't make you.”

“No one's making me.” He signaled a member of his crew and spoke in undertones. “Call the desk. Tell them I'm going to do an interview with Morrow in exchange for the hostages. Get a camera on the building in about ten minutes; some of them should be coming out. I'll need a tape recorder.”

“
No!
” Liv's voice rose now, in direct contrast to his. She clutched at him as if she could hold him from what he intended to do. “You can't. Please, listen to me.”

“Liv.” He brushed the hair back from her face. “You'd do the same thing. It's part of the job.”

“Your life isn't worth a Pulitzer.”

He lifted a brow. “Some might disagree with that.”

“Damn it, Thorpe.” She had to think fast; she had to be rational or he'd never listen. “It's probably just a trick. He can let the two aides go, and with you and Wyatt, he'll have two important people. He must realize that the network would negotiate for your release. It's just the sort of thing he's looking for.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” He kissed her then to quiet her, and then because he needed to.

“Oh, please, don't go.” She clung to him, knowing she had already lost and unable to accept it. “I love you.” Slowly, he reached up to take her shoulders and draw her back far enough to see her face. It was tear-streaked and desperate. “I love you,” she repeated. “It's tomorrow, Thorpe. Stay with me.”

“God.” He rested his forehead on hers and let the feeling seep
through him. He pulled her close again, bruisingly close. “Your timing, Carmichael, is incredible.” When he kissed her again, he felt her lips tremble under his. “We're going to talk about this later. We're going to talk about it for a long time.” He drew her away and smiled at her. “You'd better give your station the latest developments or you're going to find yourself scooped.”

“Why won't you listen to me?” She was angry now as well as desperate. Even her love hadn't swayed him. “You can't go in there. I need you.” She didn't care if the words were unfair, as long as they prevented him from crossing the street.

“I need you too, Liv. That doesn't have anything to do with me doing my job, or with you doing yours.”

She didn't want logic; she only wanted him. She clutched at him fiercely. “I'm going to marry you.”

He smiled again and kissed her nose. “I've known that for months. You're just a bit slow.” Glancing up, he noted the camera pointing in their direction. “And now several hundred thousand people know it too.”

“I don't care.” Her penchant for privacy seemed suddenly absurd. “Thorpe, you can't ask me to face losing you.” She grabbed the lapels of his jacket in hands that were damp with fear. “Damn you, I can't face it! I can't face it all again. I won't.”

His grip was firmer now, and his eyes intense. “You listen to me. I love you, more than anything. Don't you forget it. We live with risk every day; if we don't, we're already dead. It hurts to be alive, Liv.”

Pale and calm, she faced him. “I'll never forgive you if you do this. I never wanted to love you. Now that I do, you're asking me to stand by and wait to lose you. I won't forgive you for that.”

He watched her steadily. He saw the pain and the panic. He didn't want to hurt her. He would have done anything in this power to keep that look from her eyes, but he couldn't alter who he was or what he was. “Maybe you should think about who you fell in love with, Olivia. I haven't changed. I'm exactly as I was, and exactly as I'll be tomorrow. Now I've got a job to do. So do you.”

“Thorpe—”

“Come on.” He cut her off and began to lead her back. “Daniels should have finished talking to his people by now.”

Liv stood back and watched, helpless, as Thorpe, Daniels and Morrow made the final negotiations for the exchange. There 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 the door and step away from it.”

When Thorpe obeyed, he signaled him with a jerk of his head to come forward. He eyed the tape recorder. “Set it down and take off your jacket.”

“No weapons, Ed,” Thorpe said easily as he carefully stripped off his jacket. “Just the tape recorder. We made a deal.” He gave Wyatt an apologetic smile. “You'll have to excuse us, Senator. Ed and I have a private interview.”

“Yeah.” Morrow stared at Thorpe a moment, then loosened his hold on Wyatt. “Yeah. You can go.”

“T.C.—”

“I said you can go.” Morrow's voice lifted. So did the gun. “He's here for me this time.”

“Sorry, Senator.” Thorpe's voice was calm and unruffled. His fingertips were prickling as he watched the gun hand tremble. “Ed and I have a lot to discuss. We'll set something up later.”

With a nod, Wyatt started to turn.

“No.” Morrow stopped him with the word. He licked his lips, then ran the back of his hand over them. “You back up, all the way out.”

Thorpe waited as Wyatt followed Morrow's instructions. There was fear in the room; he could all but taste it. It didn't lessen even after the door closed behind Wyatt. Morrow stood a moment, staring at the door.

Thorpe didn't want him to start thinking too carefully. “All right,” he said, and took a seat. “Let's get started.” He turned on the tape recorder.

Outside, Liv watched the building steadily. Everything but her mind was numb. She couldn't feel her hands, her feet. She knew there was activity all around her—in the
communications van, in the press area. Things were starting to hum. Her mind was focused on one thing. Thorpe.

 

Thorpe kept his questions brief. He wanted as little emotion as possible. “Ed, it might be more comfortable for both of us if you . . .” He made a gesture with his hand, palm lowered to indicate the gun. Morrow glanced at it, then shifted the revolver until it was no longer aimed at Thorpe's chest. “Thanks. Obviously, you chose Wyatt's office because you worked here,” he went on. “Did you feel the senator was unjust in letting you go?”

“He's clean as a whistle, you know,” Morrow answered. “Couldn't blackmail him. God I needed the money. In deep, T.C.—too damn deep. I thought about juggling some funds, but I didn't have enough time. He found out about the gambling, about the people I've been dealing with. Not the senator's kind of people.” He laughed in a quick nervous giggle and shifted the gun again. It was pointed back at Thorpe, but Morrow didn't notice. “I thought I'd get something for taking him hostage, but they'd never let me get away with it, would they?” The look he gave Thorpe was lost and fatalistic. “I'd be a dead man before I got my hands on the money.”

Thorpe changed the line of questioning. A man with nothing to lose was the most dangerous. “How much are you in for?”

“Seventy-five thousand.” The phone rang and Morrow jerked up. The gun was pointed at Thorpe's head.

“Fifteen minutes, Ed,” Thorpe reminded him calmly. “We arranged for me to check in every fifteen minutes, right?”

 

Someone pushed a cup of coffee into Liv's hand. She never tasted it. Thorpe's voice came suddenly, low and calm, from behind her through the machines in the van. Jolting, she dropped the cup. Coffee splashed warm around her ankles.
You can't stand here and do nothing,
she told herself, steadying. Do your job. Turning, she went back to her crew to send out the next live bulletin.

* * *

Thirty minutes crawled into sixty. The office was stuffy. Thorpe knew he was dragging out the interview. All had been said. But his instincts told him Morrow wasn't ready yet. The man was slouched in his chair, his eyes filmy. There was a thin bead of sweat over his top lip, and a muscle twitched in his left cheek sporadically. But the gun was still in his hand.

“You're not married, are you, T.C. ?”

“No.” Carefully, Thorpe drew out a cigarette, offering one to Morrow.

Morrow shook his head. “Got a woman?”

“Yeah.” Thorpe lit the cigarette and thought of Liv. Cool hands, cool voice. “Yeah, I've got a woman.”

“I had a wife—kids too.” The film in the eyes became tears. “She packed up and left last week. Ten years. She said ten years was long enough to wait for me to keep my promises. I swore to her I wouldn't gamble anymore.” Tears rolled down to mix with the sweat. He wiped neither away. “I always swore I wouldn't gamble anymore. But I needed to get even. You know what they do to you when you can't get even.” He shuddered.

“There are people who can help you, Ed. Why don't we go outside. I know some people.”

“Help?” Morrow sighed on the word. Thorpe didn't like the sound of it. “No help now, T.C. I crossed the line.” He looked up and stared into Thorpe's eyes. “A man should know what's going to happen when he crosses the line.” He raised the gun again, and Thorpe felt his heart stop. “You make sure,” Morrow sobbed, “I get my airtime.” Before Thorpe could move, Morrow had turned the gun on himself.