She clutched her knapsack in her lap and suddenly longed for escape, longed to be on the road to somewhere else, anywhere else. That was how she’d survived these past few weeks—the quick escape, the shadowy exit. That, too, was how she’d always resolved her romantic relationships. But now there was no avoiding the encounter that lay ahead.
She’d simply have to be straight about this. Lay her cards on the table and be brutally honest. She owed it to Jordan; it was the kindest thing she could do.
By the time they reached the hospital, she had talked herself into a benumbed sense of inevitability. She stood stiff and silent as they rode up the service elevator. When they got off on the seventh floor and walked toward Jordan’s hospital room, she was composed and prepared for what she knew would be a goodbye. Calmly she stepped into the room.
And lost all sense of resolve.
Jordan was standing by the window, a pair of crutches propped under his arms. He was fully dressed in gray trousers and a white shirt, no tie—casual for a Tavistock. At the sound of the door’s opening, he turned clumsily around to face her. The crutches were new to him, and he wobbled a bit, struggling to find his balance. But his gaze was steady on her face.
Her escorts left the room.
She stood just inside the door, longing to go to Jordan, yet afraid to approach. “I see you came through it” was all she said.
He searched her face, seeking, but not finding, what he wanted. “I’ve been trying to see you.”
“Your uncle told me. They were afraid to move either one of us.” She smiled. “But now Van Weldon’s gone. And we can go back to our lives.”
“And will you?”
“What else would I do?”
“Stay with me.”
He stood very still, watching her. Waiting for a response.
She was the first to look away. “Stay? You mean…in England?”
“I mean with me. Wherever that may happen to be.”
She laughed. “That sounds like a rather vague proposition.”
“I’m not being vague at all. You’re just refusing to recognize the obvious.”
“The obvious?”
“That we’ve been through bloody hell together. That we care about each other. At least, I care about you. And I’m not about to let you run.”
She shook her head and laughed—not a real laugh. No, it felt as though her heart had gotten caught in her throat. “How can you possibly care about me? You’re not even sure who I am.”
“I know who you are.”
“I’ve lied to you. Again and again.”
“I know.”
“Big lies. Whoppers!”
“You also told me the truth.”
“Only when I had to! I’m an ex-con, Jordan! I come from a family of cons. I’ll probably have kids who’ll be cons.”
“So…it will be a parenting challenge.”
“And what about this?” She reached into her knapsack and took out the pocket watch. She dangled it in front of his face. “I stole this. I took something I knew you cared about. I did it to prove a point, Jordan. To show you what an idiot you are to trust me!”
“No, Clea,” he said quietly. “That’s not why you stole it.”
“No? Then why did I take it?”
“Because you’re afraid of me.”
“I’m afraid? I’m afraid?”
“You’re afraid I’ll love you. Afraid you’ll love me. Afraid it’ll all fall apart when I decide you’re hopelessly flawed.”
“Okay,” she retorted. “Maybe you’ve got it figured out. But it does make a certain amount of sense, doesn’t it? To get the disillusionment over with right at the start? You can put a nice romantic spin on all of this, but sooner or later you’ll realize what I am.”
“I know what you are. And I know just how lucky I am to have found you.”
“Lucky?” She shook her head and laughed bitterly. “Lucky?” Holding up the pocket watch, she let it swing in front of his face. “I’m a thief, remember? I steal things. I stole this!”
He grabbed her wrist, trapping it in his grip. “The only thing you stole,” he said softly, “was my heart.”
Wordlessly she stared at him. Though she wanted to pull away, to turn from his face, she found that her gaze was every bit as trapped as her hand.
“No, Clea,” he said. “This time you don’t run away. You don’t retreat. Maybe it’s the way you’ve always done things. When life gets rough, you want to run away. But don’t you see? This time I’m offering you something different. I’m giving you a home to run to.”
She stopped struggling to free herself and went very still. Only then did he release her wrist. Slowly. They stood looking at each other, not touching, not speaking. His gaze was all that held her now.
That and her heart.
So many times I’ve tried to run away from you, she thought. And it was really myself I was running from. Not you. Never you.
Tenderly he stroked her face and caught the first tear as it slid down her cheek. “I’m not going to force you to stay, Clea. I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. But I’ve already made a decision. Now it’s time you made one, too.”
Through the veil of tears blurring her vision, she saw his look of uncertainty. Of hope.
“I…want to believe,” she whispered.
“You will. Maybe not now, or next year, or even ten years from now. But one of these days, Clea, you will believe.” He edged his crutches forward and pressed his lips to hers. “And that, Miss Rice,” he whispered, “is when your running-away days will finally be over.”
She looked at him in wonder through her tears. Oh, Jordan, I think they already are.
She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him close for another kiss. A sealing kiss. When she pulled away, she found he was smiling.
It was the smile of the thief who had stolen her heart. And would forever keep it.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-1473-0
IN THEIR FOOTSTEPS
Copyright © 1994 by Tess Gerritsen
THIEF OF HEARTS
Copyright © 1995 by Tess Gerritsen
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Tess Gerritsen, In Their Footsteps / Thief of Hearts
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