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Chapter Twenty-three 6 page

"Did she also tell you that Blair knows?"

"She did. I'd like to tell Blair that I know. Keeping secrets from friends is the fastest way I know to destroy a friendship."

Cam picked up on the pain in Diane's voice. "Blair didn't tell you because she was protecting me."

"And now you're protecting her." Diane smiled. "She has quite a champion in you."

"No." Cam took two steps and then sat on the end of the lounge chair facing Diane. She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. "I just wanted you to know that she did it for me, and not because she didn't want you to know. In fact," she said with a sigh, "I think not being able to tell you has been tough on her."

"Are you sure you don't mind if I speak to her about it?"

"Not at all."

"You didn't answer my question. Don't you trust Valerie?"

"It's not a question of who I trust and who I don't," Cam said. "It's a question of protecting Blair's privacy and maintaining her security."

"You can't think Valerie is a threat," Diane said defensively.

"I don't discuss Blair in front of anyone." Again the truth, even if evasive.

"No. None of us who love her do. I understand." Diane appeared satisfied. "Tell me what you want to know."

"I want to know the name of every person who's asked you about Blair in the last year. I want to know about every new person who's come into your life in that same time period, business or personal. I want to know if there's anyone who stands out in your mind as being off somehow."

Diane laughed. "You're not serious?"

Cam merely nodded.

"My God, I run an art gallery. Sheila Blake is one of my clients, and everyone in the art world, at least, knows that Blake is Blair Powell. People ask me about her all the time with regard to her work."

"Anyone seem more interested than others? Persistent questions, repeat questions, returning to the gallery over and over for no good reason?"

"Not that I can think of, but I can go back through the gallery sales records and see if that jogs my memory."

"Good. Excellent. Ask your employees if they remember anyone inquiring about her schedule or personal information—address, phone, e-mail address." Cam leaned even closer, her dark eyes simmering. "Anything. It won't be obvious. These guys are pros. Tell them that."

"I will. I'll talk to them this morning." Diane frowned. "You said personally. You don't think someone I've been...intimate with...could possibly be involved?"

"I don't know. Have you met anyone under unusual circumstances, or anyone who seems almost too perfect in terms of the kind of woman who appeals to you?"

There was a moment of absolute silence as they stared at one another, the name hanging in the air between them. As if bidden, the doors behind them opened, and Valerie stepped out. Her ice blue blouse was an exact match for her eyes, which moved questioningly from Diane to Cam. Whatever she saw in their faces made her lift her hands in apology.



"I'm sorry. I'm interrupting, it seems." She brushed her hair back, holding it for a moment against the wind, her eyes on Diane. "I wanted to tell you that I'm leaving. I've called a cab."

"Right now?" Diane rose quickly. "Why?"

"It's a business thing. It came up just a few minutes ago—I just got a call from my employer." Valerie smiled and shrugged. "You know how these things are. When a client gets something into their head, you just can't put them off. I hate to run when you've been so kind."

Cam stood and headed inside to give them privacy. "I have some calls to make too." As she passed Valerie, she said, "Take care of yourself."

"I will. And you, Cameron." Valerie kept her eyes on Diane during the exchange. Once Cam was inside and the door closed once more, she said, "I'm so sorry about all of this."

"I thought we put that to rest last night," Diane said, moving to join Valerie. They stood facing one another, their expressions equally troubled and watchful. "We both have pasts. I won't apologize for mine, and I don't expect you to, either."

"You're very kind."

"To hell with kind," Diane said sharply. "You know damn well I'm attracted to you. More than attracted to you. Why are you leaving?"

"I told you...business."

Diane regarded her steadily. "I won't ask you this time what's really going on, because it's obvious you feel you can't tell me. But I will ask you this, and I want an honest answer. Am I going to see you again?"

Valerie hesitated, and then, instead of replying, slid her hand to the back of Diane's neck and guided her forward into a kiss. She kissed her softly at first—just a brush of lips—savoring her tantalizing taste, until suddenly she wanted more. More than just a whispered goodbye. She needed something to take away with her. Without breaking contact, she caressed Diane's mouth more firmly, a long slow slide with the tip of her tongue glancing between Diane's lips.

Diane caught her breath, first in surprise, then at the sudden tightening, in the pit of her stomach. "Oh," she murmured, "don't do that and then leave me."

"I was hoping perhaps you would remember this," Valerie said against all good judgment, "until I return."

"Will you? Return?"

"If I can."

The regret in her voice was too genuine for Diane not to believe her. She settled her arms loosely around Valerie's waist, gratified when the other woman did not move away. "When you come back, will you tell me what it is you think I won't be able to handle?"

"If I can." Valerie couldn't help herself. She kissed her one last time, hoping desperately to satisfy the ache inside with something as simple as a kiss. Something she could explain away, if pressed, as a moment's indiscretion in the midst of a world gone mad. She knew she'd failed hopelessly when she found herself wanting nothing more than to keep on kissing her until there was nothing in her mind or her heart or her soul except Diane.

"Goodbye," Valerie murmured as she drew away. She reached behind her to open the door, her eyes still on Diane's.

Diane let her go. For reasons she did not understand, as she watched her leave, she whispered, "Be careful."

 

Chapter Eleven

I appreciate you appearing with me at the press briefing this morning," Andrew Powell said as he passed Blair a plate of freshly baked muffins.

"You don't have to thank me, Dad." Absently, Blair broke off a corner of one of the White House chef's specialties. "I feel like there's so little I can do as it is. If it sends a message to whoever's out there that we won't be manipulated by terrorists, I'll go on television with you every single day."

"I have a feeling you'd get tired of that pretty fast, but I'll remember the offer."

"I'm glad there was no mention of what happened to me." She shivered and quickly forced a smile. "I already have my face on the front page of too many tabloids."

"It was a judgment call," Powell admitted. "The press will want to pillory me if it comes out that we held that kind of news back."

"Dad, you don't have to—"

"It was my call, honey. I'm happy with it."

"Why did you decide to keep it quiet?" Blair put down her muffin and watched her father intently.

"A number of reasons. Most importantly, your privacy. You've had the press fixated on your private life for months, and this kind of news would make you morning television news program material." Her father's voice held an edge of anger. "And I don't want whoever's out there—or here—focusing on you as a target."

"Thank you," Blair said softly.

"No need to." The president leaned back in his chair and regarded Blair with a small frown. "It's probably going to be pretty rough this afternoon."

"I know. I'll be okay."

"I never doubted it."

"I'm not coming back with you tonight." Blair pushed her half-eaten breakfast aside. "I want to go home. I can't hide here, and besides, it's already making me crazy."

"I'd like you to wait until my security advisers tell me they think it's safe," Powell suggested mildly.

"You know it's never going to be safe" Blair said with asperity. "If I have Stark and Cam looking out for me, I'll be fine."

"How about if I ask Cam's opinion as to the timing?"

Blair's eyes flashed with temper, and then she laughed. "Jeez, Dad, I can see you're going to need a crash course in the dynamics of lesbian couples. That's kind of like asking the husband if it's okay for the wife to do something."

"Ouch." Powell laughed, coloring slightly. "Okay, I've got that in focus now. So, is it all right if I ask your new security chief and your ex-chief about the situation, just so I feel better?"

"Much better. And you're going to anyhow, with or without my okay, aren't you?"

"You've been around this game too long, I can see." Powell suddenly looked serious. "Yes, I'll want to be briefed on the potential risk to you before you leave here."

"Will you tell me what they say?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll try to follow their recommendations."

"Thank you." He hesitated, then added, "I wouldn't say this to anyone else except Lucy, but we're playing catch-up here, Blair, all of us. The Department of Defense, the CIA, the FBI—all of us were caught flat-footed on Tuesday. It's going to be a scramble for months until we get a system in place to anticipate and counter another event of this kind. I'm worried about you."

Blair reached across the table and took her father's hand. "And I'm worried about you. I've always been worried about you. But that's the life we have, and we have to trust the people whose job it is to take care of us, right?"

"You sound as if things aren't quite as hard for you as they used to be. Is that true?"

She shrugged. "If you mean is it any easier for me to have Secret Service agents trailing around after me twenty-four hours a day, no." She laughed. "Even when one of them is my lover. But I'm happier because I have Cam. She makes everything easier for me."

"Then I'm happy for you." He squeezed her hand and let go. "In case I haven't mentioned it, I like her a lot. It's hard for a parent to imagine their child with an entire life that doesn't involve them. You and I have never had enough time together, and now you're building your own life. I'm glad it's with her."

"I don't think you've ever said anything like that to me before," Blair said thickly.

"I'm sorry that I haven't, because you've always been the most important person in my life."

Blair brushed impatiently at her tears. "Okay. Enough of this." She took a breath and smiled tremulously. "I'll talk to Cam later about me going home or somewhere. If she's totally opposed, then we'll figure something else out. But I'm not staying here much longer. This place is a museum. I don't how you stand it."

"I don't—" Powell stopped as the phone gave the distinctive ring that indicated an urgent call. He grimaced. "Sorry. I have to take that."

"No problem, Dad." Blair rose. "I'll see you later." She expected no answer and got none as her father turned his attention to the newest problem at hand. Still, for perhaps the first time in her life, she felt that her father truly understood what was important to her, and that was enough.

Cam left Diane and Valerie on the balcony and returned to the kitchen, where she sat at the round, glass-topped table in front of the windows with her second cup of coffee. She dialed the residence and ran down her mental to-do list while answering the White House operator's usual questions. A minute later she was put through to her lover. Blair answered immediately.

"Hello?"

"Hey, good morning."

"Mmm, it is now."

"Yeah." Cam smiled. "How was your night?"

"Long. And lonely. How was yours?"

"Same." Cam leaned back in the chair and stretched her legs out in front of her. She was stiff and sore and tired, but listening to Blair's voice eased some of the tension that had knotted the muscles along her spine into a taut ladder of pain. "Have you been up long?"

"A few hours. I had breakfast with my father—well, part of one, at least, before he was called away."

"Everything okay?"

Blair sighed. "Okay is relative, isn't it? Apparently there was some kind of scare in a government complex in New Jersey. I'm not sure what it was all about, but I heard that he had to meet with someone from the NIH right away."

Cam frowned. She didn't like being outside the intelligence loop, even for a few hours. Ordinarily, something like this would have been brought to her attention immediately as Blair's security chief. She made another mental note to call Stark and inquire about significant developments that came up at the morning briefing. "How are you ?"

"I want to see you. I want to be where you are." Blair made a small sound of disgust. "God, I sound pathetic. But I've made my obligatory media appearances with my father—we've shown the world we're not afraid, and they'll believe it when they see us in Manhattan this afternoon if they're not convinced yet. I've done my part, which hardly seems enough."

"You're doing everything you can, baby."

"Thanks for saying that." Blair hesitated. "Do you feel like I do when we're apart? Like nothing is quite right?"

"Every minute."

Blair laughed. "Even if you're lying, I don't care. I love you for saying it."

"I'm not lying," Cam said with utter seriousness.

"Did you sleep?"

"Some."

"I know you, Commander. That means probably not at all. You can't run yourself into the ground, Cam, or you won't be any good to your investigation or me."

"I know. I won't."

"Uh-huh. Right." Blair made a low murmuring sound in her throat. "But I know how to put you to sleep. We'll take care of that later."

Despite her fatigue, her worry, and her hyperadrenalized awareness, Cam felt herself respond. "Jesus, don't do that now. I have to work."

"What's the matter, did I just make you twitch?"

Absently, Cam brushed her palm over the inside of her thigh. "More than that."

"Oh, good."

Cam laughed and closed her eyes, allowing herself the simple pleasure of enjoying the company of the woman she loved for just a few minutes.

Savard bolted awake, bathed in sweat. She rapidly scanned the space around her as if it were a battlefield, searching for danger, until she placed the room— bedroom, Stark's...no, our place now.

With a jerk, she threw the damp sheet aside and stumbled into the bathroom, then directly into the shower. She twisted both knobs on full and barely flinched when the first blast of icy water struck her in the chest. Her skin tingled, and it felt good. She was alive. She was alive.

Five minutes later, wrapped in a towel, her hair still dripping, she sat on the side of the bed and dialed Stark's cell phone.

"Stark."

"Hi, sweetie. Are you busy?"

Stark had to forcibly hold back a surge of wild laughter. Oh hell, no. Not busy. She suddenly was responsible for guarding the first daughter in the midst of a national crisis, with a team of newbies and a reluctant protectee. Hell no, she wasn't busy. "I've got a couple minutes. We just briefed."

"How was it?"

Stark lowered her voice. "My legs aren't shaking anymore."

"You're going to be fine. You were a good agent before the commander came on board, and now you've spent almost a year watching her work. You know what to do. Just do it your own way, and you'll be fine."

"Thanks, honey. What about you? How are you doing?"

"Fine," Savard said quickly. "Is it still a green light for today?"

"Yes. This afternoon."

"Any chance we'll be able to get together later?"

"I don't know. I want to. It's going to depend on...well, you know."

Yes, Savard thought. From now on, my lover's life is going to be determined by Blair Powell's schedule. It's going to be even harder now for us to connect. Maybe it's just as well. Maybe I shouldn't see her until I don 't feel so...crazy.

Stark picked up on the silence. "I'm sorry. I want to see you so mu--"

"Hey. It's okay." Savard glanced at the clock by the bedside. "God, it's almost nine. I'm late. Listen, sweetie, I've got to run. Call me if you can."

"I will. I love you," Stark said hastily.

"Me too. Bye."

Savard pulled the towel off and wrapped it around her hair as she hurried to the closet. She was surprised someone hadn't already called her to find out why she hadn't shown up for her shift. As she pulled clothes from a hanger, her cell rang.

"Damn," she muttered as she grabbed it off the bedside table. "Savard."

"This is Roberts. Where are you?"

"Stark's."

"Good. I'll pick you up in fifteen minutes."

"Uh.. .what about my other assignment? Should I call—"

"Already taken care of."

"Yes, ma'am," Savard said briskly. "I'll be waiting downstairs."

"Very good. Goodbye."

"Yes, ma'am," Savard whispered. Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes to get herself together enough so that no one would notice she wasn't who she used to be.

It was the smell that plummeted Cam back in time—that unmistakable mixture of antiseptic and death that permeated the air in the hallway leading to the intensive care unit. Six months before it had been her lying in one of the glassed-in cubicles, tubes and monitors attached to her body, swimming in an ocean of pain. She had only fragments of recollection of the first three days following the shooting—her mother's voice, Blair's touch, and always the fucking pain. Suppressing a shudder, she shoved her hands into her pockets and shook off the memories. Despite what she insisted to Blair—that the chance of her ever being shot again was infinitesimal—it was always a possibility. And that was something you didn't think about if you wanted to do the job.

"Davis told me they're supposed to move him out of here today," Cam said to Savard as they pushed through the double gray steel doors with the red letters proclaiming Trauma Intensive Care Unit.

"Good. That's good," Savard said quietly.

Two minutes later, after clearing their visit with the nurses, they approached Mac's bedside. To Cam's great relief, he no longer had a breathing tube and was able to croak a hello. Her former second in command, Mac Phillips, was ordinarily a vigorous thirty-three-year-old—tall, blond, and handsome. Now he looked pale and vulnerable, and Cam felt the fury rise again.

"How are you doing, Mac?"

He smiled weakly. "Not bad, Commander."

Cam nodded at the statuesque African American woman with the model-perfect face standing on the opposite side of the bed. "Agent Davis."

"Commander," Felicia replied in her smooth alto voice. "Hello, Renee."

"Hi." Savard leaned over and kissed Mac lightly on the cheek. "Hello, honey."

"My day.. .is looking.. .up," Mac said, grinning.

"We heard they're moving you to a regular room later today. That's terrific," Cam said as she stepped over and closed the door. They were all completely visible to anyone in the rest of the intensive care unit, but their conversation would not be overheard. Turning to face Mac and Felicia again, she said, "The whole team—with the exception of Stark—has been placed on administrative leave until Justice completes the investigation of Tuesday's events."

"God," Felicia said, "that could take months."

"Probably will. But you've been detailed to a special team," Cam informed her. "As of now, you and Savard are with me, and our only job is to find out where those bastards who hit the Aerie came from."

"What about...me?" Mac said immediately.

Cam squeezed his shoulder. "Your assignment is to get better. Once you're out of this place, I'll pick your brain to make sure we're not missing anything, but no field work for you."

"The bullet...missed the good stuff," Mac said. "I'll be good...to go...in a week or so."

"That's not exactly what the doctor said, baby," Felicia interjected. "Six to eight weeks is what I heard."

"We'll keep you in the loop," Cam assured him, "but you're an armchair quarterback on this one."

"Yes, ma'am," he said weakly, his eyes flickering closed as he obviously tired.

"So, Davis," Cam said, "we need a new command center. I should have an address for you later today. You can transfer the equipment then."

"Yes, ma'am."

"The first order of business is an ID on the four men who hit the Aerie. You and Savard are on that."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Savard will coordinate when I'm not available."

Savard jerked slightly at the announcement, but Felicia appeared unfazed. "Understood."

Cam looked at her watch. "For now, get copies of everything the FBI has that relates to the attack—forensics, intelligence, background on paramilitary groups and terrorist cells, gossip, rumor, innuendo—I don't care. Everything."

Felicia glanced at Savard. "Can you get me into the computers?"

Savard nodded. "Yes."

"Then you'll have it within twenty-four hours, Commander."

"Good," Cam said briskly. "You've got eighteen. We brief tomorrow at 0700. Now I've got to meet Marine One."

 

Chapter Twelve

Cam made the thirty-mile trip from Manhattan to White Plains in just under an hour. She pulled into the parking lot of a small private airfield and walked toward a line of four gleaming black Suburbans that were idling on the far side of a chain-link fence. She hadn't gotten twenty feet from her rental car before the passenger doors of each vehicle opened and three men and a woman jumped out and hurried through the gate on an intercept path with hers. Anticipating this, Cam held out the badge case she carried in her right hand.

"Secret Service. Roberts."

"Stay where you are, please," the lead man, a stocky African American in a well-cut dark blue suit, called out.

Dutifully, Cam stopped. These field agents had probably been pulled for emergency duty from regional offices all over the country. It was doubtful that anyone in the service didn't know that an Agent Roberts was the first daughter's lover, but they didn't know her, not by sight.

"Hold the badge in two fingers and put your arms out at your sides, please," a tight-bodied blond woman ordered brusquely. Her eyes never moved from Cam's body as she plucked the badge from Cam's loose grip, handed it to the first agent, and flipped open Cam's jacket. "She's carrying. Service-issue weapon."

"You might contact Paula Stark. She'll verify that I'm expected." Cam kept her arms straight out while the female agent removed her automatic from the shoulder holster below her left breast. She didn't move a muscle as every inch of her body was patted down, quickly and efficiently.

"This is a restricted area," the male agent said, studying her credentials. "How did you get in here?"

"The same way you did," Cam replied mildly. "I showed my badge to the officers at the checkpoint you set up at the main entrance. They let me pass." She could tell by the expression on his face that he wasn't happy. Despite the fact that she had a Secret Service ID, someone should have called the ground team for clearance. It would take time before the various state and federal agencies were able to coordinate the new level of security required, which was one of the major reasons she didn't want to be too far away from Blair. No matter how good the first team might be, there were too many other links in the chain that might weaken and break, leaving Blair at risk.

"Christ," he muttered under his breath, then handed Cam her ID. "Stay here."

"You can lower your arms," the blond said, her expression impassive behind impenetrable sunglasses.

Cam did, slowly, and glanced up at the sky as she heard the distant sound of rotors. Ten seconds later, the lead agent jogged back through the gate.

"Give her back her weapon, Calhoun. Sorry, Commander."

"No problem," Cam said as she holstered her automatic and accepted her ID. "I would've been a lot more upset if you hadn't braced me."

"Let's go," he said, already heading back to the airstrip on the other side of the fence. "They'll be on the ground in a minute."

Cam fell in behind the ground team, her eyes on the sky as the VH-3D presidential helicopter descended. With the rotors still churning, a stairway unfolded from the side of the Sea King and four fully armed Marines from the elite HMX-1 squadron based at Quantico clambered down to flank the exit route from the chopper. The Secret Service ground team stationed themselves in a similar fashion, creating a continuous corridor that led to the waiting vehicles. Cam stayed by the side of the third Suburban in line. Andrew Powell and Blair stepped out together and descended the stairs briskly. Stark flanked Blair, and Turner had a similar position on the president's opposite side. There were two men and a woman behind Stark whom Cam recognized as senior Secret Service agents. These would be the new members of Blair's first team. As the president and the first daughter approached the vehicles, the local Secret Service agents split into two groups and fell in behind the first teams. Blair walked directly up to Cam and kissed her.

"Hi," Blair said.

"Hi." Cam threaded her arm around Blair's waist and turned with her toward the Suburban, where Stark stood holding open the rear door. "Chief," she said with a nod toward Stark.

"Good to see you, Commander."

Cam and Blair slid into the spacious rear compartment with Stark and the female agent taking the seats across from them. One man joined the driver and the other took the keys to Cam's rental from her to drive it back to the city. While Stark murmured into her microphone, ensuring everyone was in position, Cam extended her arm on the seat and Blair settled naturally against her side.

"How are you doing?" Cam asked quietly.

Blair smiled. "Good now."

As they pulled out of the airport, Stark said, "Commander, this is Agent Patrice Hara. That's Greg Wozinski up front and Leonard Krebs in your car."

"Ma'am," the woman next to Stark said.

"Agent," Cam said, shaking the outstretched hand while making a rapid assessment. Five-four and compact, forty years old, jet black hair that fell straight to her shoulders, dark almond-shaped eyes testifying to her Japanese heritage, wedding ring on her left hand. Hara accepted the scrutiny with no sign of discomfort. Satisfied, Cam turned back to Blair. "Trip go okay?"

"Fine." Blair laughed. "Every time I see that thing settling down on the South Lawn, I think there's no way I'm getting into it. But it beats Beltway traffic all to hell."

Laughing, Cam dropped a light kiss on Blair's temple. Across from them, Stark and Hara stared out their respective windows. "Diane says hello."


Date: 2015-12-11; view: 802


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