Chapter Twenty-three 3 page

Cam grinned. “Who said I was giving up?”

Blair rolled her eyes. “That’s exactly what I was afraid of.” She looked around to make sure no one was listening, but everyone seemed to be rushing to get to their destination and paid them no mind. Nevertheless, she lowered her voice out of habit. “I’m not having a stranger follow me around, recording my every thought and feeling, during one of the most important times of my life. God, Cam, I don’t even do that for a routine public appearance.”

Cam settled her hands on Blair’s shoulders. “Nothing is routine anymore, baby.”

“This is ours,” Blair said vehemently. She pressed her hand to Cam’s chest. “Ours. I’m not letting anyone take it away from us, not even Lucinda and my father.”

“No one will. I promise.” Cam kissed her softly while a uniformed Marine guard standing nearby stared straight ahead, seemingly oblivious to them. “But the press are going to be all over us, and that makes Stark’s job ten times more difficult. Lucinda is right on this one, Blair. It’s the best way to control the flow of information and keep some distance between you and the reporters.”

“No,” Blair said. “As far as I’m concerned, the matter is closed.”

Cam said nothing, but her eyes took on the shuttered appearance they always did when she was holding in her temper.

“And don’t think about pulling rank on me, either,” Blair snapped, the effort it took to keep her voice down making her tremble.

When it came right down to it, Blair knew that what she wanted didn’t carry as much weight as what others decided was best for her. And one of those other people who had that kind of power over her was her own lover. She resented being made a bystander to her own life, and her solution to that in the past had been to assert her independence any way she could. Sometimes in ways that weren’t particularly smart, or safe. But now she had something that mattered as much as her own personal freedom, and that was her relationship with Cam. When the two things that mattered most to her were at odds, like now, Blair’s better judgment sometimes suffered in the wake of impotent fury. “I don’t want to fight about this.”

“Neither do I.” Cam tensed as they stepped outside under the portico.

Blair noticed Cam automatically scan the grounds. Despite the fact that they were in one of the most secure locations in the world, Cam didn’t let down her guard. She never let down her guard. Blair wasn’t sure she would recognize her if she ever truly relaxed. Even as she thought it, Blair knew there was one time when Cam wasn’t thinking about danger, wasn’t thinking about guarding her, wasn’t thinking about anything at all. When they made love, when Cam gave herself to Blair, the only thing in her mind—the only thing that mattered—was what existed between the two of them. Blair was certain of it, because that was the way she felt too, and she desperately wanted to have that feeling for more than just the moments when they made love. Not just for herself, but for Cam. And if she had to stand up to Lucinda and her father and the whole goddamn world to get it, she would.

“Dana! You’re back!”

“Hiya, gorgeous.” Dana stepped around behind an old-fashioned gunmetal gray desk with dented file cabinets built into either end and kissed the silky-soft skin of the white-haired woman who guarded the door to editor-in-chief Clive Russell’s office with the ferocity of a gorgon. Rumor had it that Amanda Smith held more shares in the paper than half the board members, but preferred her role as secretary to sitting in meetings. Dana had a feeling Amanda had more power right where she was. “Thanks for arranging my ride back.”

Amanda merely smiled as her gaze swept over Dana. “Bad over there?”

“Bad and getting worse,” Dana said grimly. She had a feeling she hadn’t seen the last of Afghanistan, and considering what she’d been piecing together from her sources in the military and on Capitol Hill, Iraq was about to be added to the nasty mix.

“Those pieces you sent back were horrifying.” Amanda touched Dana’s arm fleetingly. “And brilliant. As always.”

Dana flushed at the compliment. Amanda had been known to skim a reporter’s copy and hand it back to be rewritten, declaring it a waste of Clive’s time. Only a rookie would ever argue with her. Dana eyed the closed door to Clive’s office. The lights were on but the blinds in the two huge glass windows facing into the newsroom were drawn, meaning he was unavailable. “I need to see the man.”

Still smiling, Amanda shook her head. “Not now, you don’t. It’s budget time. Try him tomorrow around nine twenty. He’ll have a few minutes then.”

“It’s important.”

Amanda regarded her steadily and Dana held her breath.

Dana never pulled rank, even though she was one of the senior investigative reporters and could pretty much call her own shots as to what she worked on and when. She was as much a team player as she could be, given that her nature was to be solitary. She’d gotten used to being alone as a child. She had no siblings and didn’t fit in with the other kids in her working-class neighborhood. After a certain age, the boys wouldn’t play with her and she had no idea how to play with the girls, whose games didn’t interest her. She couldn’t fathom the fun in playing house and pretending that she wanted to grow up to be something that felt completely foreign to her. She didn’t want to be someone’s wife or mother. She wanted adventures like those in the books she loved to read. She wanted to explore the world like the characters she pretended to be. And most of all, she wanted to know why—why the world worked the way it did. And the more she learned, the more she questioned. Her love of words and her endless curiosity led her into journalism, and here she was. Traveling the world and asking why.

“You know I can’t do this,” Dana said, hearing the plea in her own voice.

“Five minutes,” Amanda said gently. “Don’t make me come and get you.”

Dana kissed her cheek again. “Thanks. I owe you.”

Amanda chuckled. “Of course you do. Go on now.”

As Dana walked to the door, she heard Amanda pick up the phone and murmur something. She knocked and a deep rumble that she took to mean come in emanated from the other side.

“Hi, Clive,” Dana said as she entered the cluttered office. The evening edition of the Chronicle sat in the center of the huge oak desk. Stacks of papers covered just about every surface in the room that wasn’t already occupied with the computer, fax machine, television, phones, and other equipment that kept Clive connected to the world of information. “Sorry to bother you.”

“Then why are you?” the big man behind the desk asked impatiently.

Despite the hundreds of times she’d seen him, Dana was still taken aback by not just his size, but his presence. Clive filled the room even when he was sitting behind his desk. His close-cropped red hair was sprinkled with gray, but he looked younger than his fifty-odd years by a decade. The ex-college football player’s neck was almost as wide as his head and his shoulders bigger than her refrigerator. She’d known him long enough not to be intimidated by his appearance, but she never liked being on the receiving end of his formidable temper. Fortunately, since she never missed deadlines and always gave him more than he asked for, his ire was rarely directed at her.

“I need a favor,” Dana said, hoping the fact that she never asked for one would make up for her going outside channels. “Some idiot pulled my name out of a hat and assigned me to do a celebrity personal for the next couple of weeks. I need you to get me out of it. Things are really heating up over—”

“I’m the idiot,” Clive growled.

Dana stared. “You? Why? Why would you do this to me? You know I’m not—”

“The White House called, Barnett. You know, the place on Pennsylvania Avenue where the president of the United States lives?”

She gritted her teeth. “I’ve seen it.”

“Then you probably also know that we try to be accommodating when the chief of staff over there asks us for a favor,” Clive said sarcastically.

“I get that part,” Dana said. “I understand politics, even though it’s not my favorite game.” She ran her hand through her hair. “But Jesus Christ, Clive. Me?”

He regarded her impassively.

Dana narrowed her eyes, searching her mind for what she was missing. Then she shook her head in disgust. “Obviously sleeping on the floor of a transport plane jarred something loose between my ears. It’s about me being a lesbian, right?”

“That wasn’t mentioned.”

“It didn’t need to be.” She jammed her hands in her pockets and turned in a tight circle, wishing there were room to pace. She should be more bothered that she’d been chosen for an assignment for no other reason than the fact she slept with women. Then she thought of the society reporters and couldn’t help but laugh despite her irritation. “Wouldn’t Priscilla Reynolds just love this assignment.”

The corner of Clive’s mouth twitched, as if he were actually about to smile. Priscilla prided herself on being the first to know everything that was newsworthy about everyone on the Hill. Rumor had it a lot of her information came from pillow talk, and she was unabashedly outspoken about her aversion to gays and lesbians. On the rare occasions when Dana and Priscilla ran into each other, Priscilla acted as if Dana had a contagious disease.

“A newspaper doesn’t turn down an offer for exclusive coverage, especially not when it’s something this big.” Clive passed a sheet of paper across the desk. “This is a preliminary guest list.”

Dana scanned it. It was shorter than she might have expected, but despite the public announcements regarding the event, she suspected that the president’s daughter wanted as much privacy as possible. She recognized quite a few of the names. One stood out and she raised an eyebrow. “Emory Constantine? The stem cell researcher?”

Clive nodded. “The elusive Dr. Constantine. The one who doesn’t give interviews and has almost as many security guards as Blair Powell. Since the attack on her in Boston last month, the Johnson Foundation has been locked up tighter than Fort Knox. There’s a story there, and I want you to get it.”

“There’s talk that the foundation is doing more than just basic biological research.” Dana handed the list back to Clive. “As in biological warfare.”

“If they are, no one’s talking about it. Maybe you can change that.” He rolled his massive shoulders. “Dr. Constantine apparently likes the ladies.”

Dana snorted. “Well then, I sure as hell don’t qualify.” She folded her arms. “And I don’t get my stories in the bedroom.”

“I don’t care how you get the story. Just get it.” He pointed to the door. “Now get out. I’m busy trying to figure out how to pay your salary next year.”

“Have you factored in a raise?” When Clive placed both hands flat on the desk as if he were about to get up, Dana backed toward the door. “I’m going.”

“Make sure you get your ass on a plane to Manhattan.”

“Yes, boss,” Dana muttered as she let the door close on her last hope of reprieve. “Crap.”

“Here you are, dear,” Amanda said, holding out an envelope. “Your itinerary and tickets. You’re expected at Ms. Powell’s in the morning.”

“Pretty sure I’d be going, weren’t you?”

Amanda smiled beatifically. “Of course. You were my first choice.”

Crap.

Matheson walked carefully along the narrow rows between the plain white headstones, leaving his son’s grave behind. When he reached the banks of the Potomac, the hallowed ground of Arlington Cemetery stretching out behind him, he stared across the water. The Lincoln Memorial and the White House stood opposite him just beyond the river. Symbols of freedom and national pride, now tarnished by those who had forgotten what had made the country great. The most powerful nation on Earth made impotent by laws enacted to protect the unworthy, financially and morally bankrupted from supporting the weak, the ignorant, and the debauched. It was time to return to power those who rightfully deserved it, to reward the sons of those who had built this great land. When he showed the people the mockery their leaders had made of their heritage, when the pretenders were unveiled as nothing more than puppets for perverts and thieves, the true patriots would rise again. And he would have justice.

Chapter Five

As the plane touched down at Teterboro Airport across the river from Manhattan in New Jersey, Cam noted the two hulking black shapes with bright halogen eyes idling on the tarmac. She couldn’t see beyond the tinted windows of the Suburbans, and she considered how easy it would be for someone to intercept the assigned vehicles on their way to the airport and replace them with identical vehicles filled with hostiles. That would, of course, assume a break in communication had gone unnoticed somewhere along the approach route. How long would it take to make the switch? Thirty seconds? Would a burst of static and less than a minute of patchy radio communications signal to anyone back at the command center that something had gone wrong? Could Blair walk unsuspectingly down the stairway from the plane and directly into a fusillade of bullets?

“Just sit tight for a second,” Cam murmured to Blair and unbuckled her seat belt.

“Cam?” Blair called after her, but Cam had already edged her way up the aisle.

“Who do you have on the ground?” Cam asked as she dropped into the seat next to Paula Stark.

Stark folded the week’s itinerary she’d been studying and slid it into the inside pocket of her navy blue blazer. Without the slightest hesitation, she replied, “Phelps, Edwards, Ramsey, and Wozinski. Problem, Commander?”

“I don’t want Blair to disembark until you’ve verified the identities of everyone in both vehicles.”

Stark regarded Cam steadily. “That’s standard procedure.”

“I know.” Cam blew out a breath and looked past Stark out the window. The runway lights created sharp, flat circles of white interspersed with inky blackness, like so many pearls on an ebony chain. “And I know that you know it. I just—” She lifted her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

When Cam started to rise, Stark, in a wholly uncharacteristic move, restrained her with a hand on her arm. Cam could count on one hand the times Stark had touched her, so she sat back down and waited for Stark to speak.

“I don’t think I’ve ever said this to you, but I’ve always believed it,” Stark said, holding Cam’s gaze. “You’re the best Secret Service agent I’ve ever seen. None of our training prepared us for what happened in September, but you made the right calls and probably saved all of us. If you ever have a feeling something’s not right, I want to know about it.”

“Even if it’s just nerves?” Cam said self-critically.

“It’s not nerves, Commander. It’s instinct.”

Cam smiled faintly. “I don’t think I’ve ever said this to you, but I believe it. You’re the right person to head Blair’s detail.”

Stark blushed and, for the first time, looked down. “Thank you.”

“There are some things you need to know about Colorado. Let’s talk when we get back to base.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“What was that all about back there in the plane?” Blair asked once she and Cam were settled in the back of the Suburban. Greg Wozinski, six-five and two hundred fifty pounds of blond-haired, blue-eyed beefsteak, managed to appear invisible as he occupied the facing seat in the rear of the armor-plated SUV. His expression was impassive and he might have been deaf for all the reaction he gave to their conversation. Nevertheless, she kept her voice low. She leaned into Cam’s body and kept one hand on Cam’s thigh. “What happened?”

“Nothing important,” Cam said.

“Stark doesn’t usually keep me strapped in that long after landing. Did you tell her to do that?”

“I don’t tell Stark what to do.”

“You’re hedging.”

Cam took Blair’s hand and held it against her middle. “I would have asked her to do it, if she hadn’t been planning to already. Your security is going to be doubled until after the wedding.”

“It could hardly be any heavier,” Blair said tightly. “I’ve got people with me all the time. And let’s not forget, soon I’ll have my very own personal reporter.”

“That hasn’t been confirmed.”

“Oh, please. Lucinda has decreed it.” Blair leaned her cheek against Cam’s shoulder. “I love her. I really do. But I can’t believe I let her use me the way she does. Is nothing sacred?”

“For Lucinda? Yes. The presidency.” Cam kissed Blair’s temple. “But she loves you too.”

“That doesn’t stop her from manipulating my private life.”

“She doesn’t see any difference between the personal and professional.”

“I used to think that about you,” Blair said.

“For most of my life that’s been true.” Cam shrugged. “It’s that way for most agents.”

“If you had to choose between me and your duty…” Blair shook her head. “Never mind.”

“You. I’d choose you.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you that. I’m just tired.”

Cam released Blair’s hand and slipped her arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer. “We’re all tired. But you can ask me anything you need to know, anytime.”

“I don’t want Dana Barnett inside my life.”

“You’ll be safer this way.”

Blair pulled away. “I’ve already got all the security I need. You said so yourself.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Forget it. Let’s just forget it. I already know how you feel. You agree with Lucinda.”

“Yes,” Cam said, feeling a barrier settle between them. On this one issue, Blair’s safety, she would never compromise, no matter how much Blair needed her to. Not even when it drove a wedge between them.

Diane held open her apartment door and peered at Blair, who’d arrived unannounced. Seeing Blair in tight jeans and a tighter black sweater, with her hair down and a wild look in her eyes, Diane was reminded of old times. Old times when Blair was unhappy and looking for trouble to take her mind off her troubles. What was different was that Patrice Hara, one of Blair’s Secret Service agents, stood just to the left of the door with her back to the wall in a position that gave her a view up and down the hallway to the elevator and the stairwells. In the pre-Cam days, Blair would have given her spookies the slip. “Hello, darling. You do know it’s after midnight?”

“The night is young.” Blair tossed her leather jacket on the chair as she crossed Diane’s living room to the minibar tucked into one corner. She pulled a bottle of wine and a corkscrew from underneath and set about opening it. Diane’s platinum blond hair fell loose to her shoulders and, barefoot and wearing pale blue silk pajamas, she looked ready for bed. “Am I keeping you awake?”

“Of course not—I was reading. I still keep New York hours.” Diane settled onto the arm of the sofa, watching Blair curiously. “Since you’ve gone domestic with Cam, you’re the one on a DC schedule. Up at an ungodly hour and no carousing until dawn anymore.”

Blair paused, the wine bottle suspended in one hand as she looked around the apartment. “I didn’t even think to ask if Valerie was here. I can’t get used to you living with someone.”

“She’s not here. And I’m not living with her.”

“Uh-huh.”

“She’s still…at work hardly seems to cover it.” Diane walked over to the bar, picked up an empty wineglass, and held it out. “And even if I were cohabitating, you can drop by anytime. What’s going on?”

“Cam is working late too.”

“That’s nothing new.”

Blair filled their glasses and sipped from hers. “We have a new member of the wedding party.”

“Really? I was about to tell you the same thing.”

“You tell first. I think your news is probably better than mine.”

Blair flopped onto the couch and propped her scuffed brown boots on the gleaming wood coffee table.

Diane curled up beside her on the deep red sofa, drawing her legs up beneath her and turning sideways to face Blair. “I got an e-mail from Emory. She’s coming into the city tomorrow for some kind of grant meeting and she mentioned she was going to spend a few days here before heading out to Colorado. I invited her to get together with us while we put the finishing touches on the wedding plans. Do you mind?”

“No, that’s great. I like Emory.” Blair stared moodily into her wine. “I’d offer for her to stay at my place, but who would want to stay there? I don’t even want to stay there.”

“I already told her she could stay with me, but she said she was fine at the hotel.” Diane tapped a polished fingernail on Blair’s knee. “What’s Cam done, sweetie?”

“What makes you think it’s her?”

“You’re fretting. Lucinda annoys you. Nosy reporters make you swear. I have even been known to irritate you now and then. But only Cam makes you fret and pine.”

“I’m not pining. I’m pissed off.”

“Okay.” Diane stroked Blair’s leg, then patted it. “So. Tell.”

“Lucinda had the bright idea of assigning a reporter to cover the wedding, and Cam agrees.”

Diane frowned. “You knew you were going to create a buzz. After the press announcement this morning, I’m surprised you don’t already have a news van parked in front of your building.”

“I do. Three of them.” Blair grimaced. “Fortunately, they can’t come within thirty feet of the entrance, so all they can do is yell questions. This situation is different.”

“What, Lucinda promised some reporter a one-on-one? You’ve done plenty of interviews before.”

“We’re not talking an interview,” Blair said glumly. “We’re talking a member of the wedding. She’s showing up tomorrow and she’s going to be with us all day, every day, until this is over.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

“And you agreed?” Diane got up to refill their glasses. “Why?”

“I didn’t agree. Lucinda ordered it and Cam backed her.” Blair waved Diane and the wine away. She hadn’t even finished half a glass yet. She hated being at odds with Cam. For so many years, anger had fueled her life. Her resistance to the restrictions imposed by her father’s career had actually invigorated her. Certainly, her rage had inspired some of her best paintings. Since Cam, she had learned to compromise, and the new balance in her life had led her in surprising new directions in her art. She didn’t resent the changes, but there were times, like now, when she needed Cam to take her part. And it hurt when she didn’t. “You know what it’s like saying no to Lucinda.”

“But that’s not what has you drinking wine on my sofa in the middle of the night.”

“It’s silly, but I want Cam to care about the wedding like I do.”

Diane wrapped her arm around Blair’s shoulders and hugged her. “Congratulations. I don’t think I’ve ever actually heard you say that you wanted something from a lover before. Other than hot sex, that is.”

Blair laughed. “That’s one thing I never have to request from Cam.”

“Don’t gloat.”

“You should talk,” Blair teased. “If wanting something from her is such a good thing, why does it feel lousy?”

“Just because we want something doesn’t mean we’re going to get it, or even that we should. But we rarely want things from people we don’t care about, and you never let yourself care before.”

“You already know I’m crazy about her.”

“I know,” Diane said, “but that’s not the same thing.” Diane rubbed Blair’s shoulder. “But she probably can’t read your mind, so you’ll have to tell her what you need.”

“It sounds silly when I say it out loud.”

“No it doesn’t.”

Blair sighed. “Besides, she’s not going to change her mind about the reporter.”

“Cam doesn’t strike me as the type who likes publicity any more than you do. Why is she going along with it?”

Blair said nothing.

“Aha. What aren’t you telling me?”

“Cam thinks it will make security easier because we’ll be able to limit my exposure. Fewer press conferences, fewer interviews. You know the drill.”

Diane laughed. “You don’t really expect Cam to say no to anything that’s going to keep you safe?”

“I am safe,” Blair said vehemently. “Have you looked outside your door? Hara will be there until I come out. And there are more downstairs, outside the building and in the car.”

“Well, I happen to be glad about that. I wish Valerie had people following her everywhere she went.” Abruptly, Diane stood and strode to the balcony doors. She wrapped her arms around her body as if she were cold. “I know the lack of privacy is horrible for you.” She spun around, her eyes fierce. “But you have a team of experts to keep you safe. No one is protecting her.”

“I’m sorry,” Blair said softly. “I should be grateful, and I’m not. And you must be sick with worry over her.”

Diane pushed her fingers through her hair and heaved a deep breath. “I want to believe that no one cares about her or about what she might know any longer, but it’s hard. I know that agents like her have very little connection to one another, and almost no one except their handlers even know who they are. But every time she walks out the door…”

“You’re afraid she won’t come back,” Blair said, voicing their shared nightmare.

“I can’t tell her because she already thinks I’ll be better off without her.”

“God, they don’t get it, do they?” Blair said in exasperation.

Diane laughed. “Which part? That if we’d be better off without them, we wouldn’t be so terrified of losing them?”

“For starters.” Blair held out her hand and Diane took it, settling beside her on the couch once again.

“So,” Diane said. “Tell me about this reporter.”

“The only good thing about this,” Blair said, “is that she’s not any happier about it than I am. Dana Barnett. She’s—”

“The investigative reporter? I’ve seen her on television. God, she’s gorgeous.”

Blair leaned back and regarded Diane through narrowed lids. “I thought you were off the market?”

“Off the market, yes. Dead and buried, no.”

Blair laughed. “She’s very good looking. She also seems tough and smart and doesn’t want this assignment. So maybe she won’t bother us very much.”

“She can bother me all she wants,” Diane muttered.

“Well, don’t expect me to run interference. I’m out of practice.” Blair nudged her. “And don’t forget that Valerie is armed.”

Diane smiled. “I never thought I’d say this, but I really can’t imagine being with anyone except her. God, that is terrifying.”

Blair leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “Tell me about it.”

Paula Stark rubbed her eyes and picked up the most recent stack of intelligence reports in one hand and a cold cup of coffee in the other. She sipped absently while scanning the memos from that day’s summaries, focusing on the sections that had been highlighted by Iggie Jackson, the acting communications coordinator while Mac was in Colorado. She paid particular attention to anything mentioning Andrew Powell, New York City, the Midwest, patriot organizations, or Blair. Five of the twenty pages were devoted to excerpts from newspaper articles, Web posts, speeches, or other responses to the official White House press release regarding the upcoming wedding. All of the usual suspects were represented—fundamentalist Christians, the Roman Catholic Assembly of Archbishops, the Anglicans, and any number of other religious institutions opposed to gay marriage—but what interested her most were several statements from patriot organization leaders. She circled one from Randolph Hogan.

“Something interesting?” Cam asked as she dropped into a swivel chair next to Paula.

“One of the right-wing paramilitary guys posted a blog blaming Blair for the decline of…just about everything. The family, the church, and the state of the nation.”

Cam frowned and held out her hand. She read the excerpt and handed it back. “He’s on our list of possible Matheson contacts.”

“I know. I got the update from Renee while we were in Washington.” Stark set the stack of papers aside. “Coincidence?”

“What do you think?”

“I think all these guys are in bed together. On the other hand, if he’s got ties to Matheson, he’d be pretty stupid to make a public statement like this.”

“Ego often trumps judgment,” Cam noted.

“It would be nice to have someone inside his camp.”

“Maybe we do, but the FBI has not been forthcoming about their sources.” A muscle bunched along the edge of Cam’s jaw. “And apparently they didn’t get the directive about interagency cooperation.”

“It’s going to take a while for everyone to adjust to this new hierarchy,” Paula said. “I’m not even sure who I work for anymore.”

Cam regarded her steadily.

Stark grinned. “Well, I know who I report to, Commander.”

“Nice save.” Cam laughed briefly, then her eyes grew serious. “We’re going to have serious chain of command issues in Colorado. You know about Tom Turner?”

Paula frowned. “I do now. He called this afternoon to tell me his people were on the ground out there. Coordinating with Mac and Ellen. He was very friendly and made it sound like we’d all be one big happy family.”

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 551