CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 1 page

US Secret Service Agent Cameron Roberts has more than one secret that could destroy her career, not the least of which is that she’s in love with the president’s daughter. Blair Powell, the first daughter, returns the feeling despite her ambivalence about Cam’s role as her security chief, particularly in the aftermath of an assassination attempt that nearly cost Cam her life. In this third book of the Honor series, Blair and Cam struggle to protect their relationship from intensified media exposure even as they are unwillingly drawn into a shadowy conspiracy that puts Cam’s career and the president’s political future at risk. When Cam's previous lover resurfaces to offer support and solace, the president's daughter and her security chief are faced with difficult choices as they battle a tangled web of Washington intrigue for… love and honor.

CHAPTER ONE

Fresh from the shower, Cameron Roberts walked naked across the carpeted living room to the bar. The floor-to-ceiling windows in her top-floor apartment afforded an unencumbered view of the night skyline of Washington, D.C. The view was breathtaking. She poured an inch of single malt scotch into a heavy crystal rock glass and leaned against the bar that edged one side of the room, staring at the city lights mingling with the midnight stars. There had been a time when she'd thought this vision of piercing beauty had lost the power to move her. A time beyond loss when she had been convinced that nothing would ever stir her soul again. She had been wrong.

Drawing a gray silk robe from the back of a barstool, she slipped it on and then reached for the phone. Dialing a number from memory, she waited expectantly for the only voice she had wanted to hear all day.

"Hello?"

Cam smiled. "How's San Francisco?"

A quick intake of breath, and then a throaty laugh. "How bad can it be? It's the city of beautiful men and handsome women. And it's August, so the sun shines more than it rains."

"Sounds pretty perfect."

"It is." Blair Powell sat down on the edge of the bed and glanced out the window of the guest room in a multilevel house tucked into a niche in the slope of Russian Hill. Visible over the tops of trees and rooftops, the expanse of San Francisco Bay reflected the colors of the setting sun. It was achingly beautiful and when she continued, her voice was husky with emotions still new enough to be frightening. "Almost."

"Almost?" Cam sipped her scotch, imagining deep blue eyes and wild golden curls. She edged a hip onto the arm of the leather sofa and watched the night.

"Mmm. I can’t find a date to the reception at the art gallery.”

“Ah—I can’t help you there.” Cam sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“Really?” Blair asked teasingly, trying to hide her disappointment. They hadn't made any definite plans, but she'd hoped. “What’s happening back there?”

“The usually bureaucratic maneuvering...too many opinions, too many Section Chiefs, too many people worried about their political careers." She drained the scotch and set the glass gently down on a carved stone coaster on the end table. Forcing a lighter note into her voice, she added, "Like I said, nothing out of the ordinary for the Hill."

"So it's likely to be a few more days?"

"I think so. Is everything all right there?"

"It's fine," Blair hastened to assure her.

"Who’s at the house?" She'd reviewed the details with Mac between meetings in the early evening, but being separated from her team made her uneasy.

"Stark is in the bedroom across the hall, and Davis is downstairs playing cards with Marcea and an extraordinarily handsome man with a devastating Italian accent."

"That would be Giancarlo." Cam laughed, picturing her mother entertaining a houseful of artists, foreign visitors, and Secret Service agents. "Sounds like it's under control."

"Mac knows what he's doing, Cam. You don't need to worry."

"I'm not worried about a thing," Cam replied, glad that Blair couldn't see her face. The President's daughter seemed to be able to read the truth in her expression, when all anyone else ever saw was her neutral game face.

"You sound tired."

"I'm fine," Cam responded automatically. In truth, she still had a ferocious headache left over from the concussion she had sustained in an explosion two nights before, and she hadn't had much sleep since she'd left Blair Powell's bed the previous afternoon. Spending the entire day explaining how two Federal agents under her command had ended up in the intensive care unit hadn't helped the pounding.

U.S. Treasury Assistant Director Stewart Carlisle closed the door behind him and regarded the First Daughter's Secret Service security chief expressionlessly. "You okay?"

"Bumps and bruises. Nothing serious." Cam sat in the chair on the right side of the head of the table where she knew Carlisle, her immediate supervisor, would be seated during the upcoming debriefing. They were the only two people in the room, but that would change in fifteen minutes. Representatives from the FBI, the National Security Agency, and the President's personal security adviser would be arriving shortly to discuss the assassination attempt on the President's only child.

"If you're not, Roberts, tell me now."

"I'm fine, sir." He didn't need to know about the intermittent double vision or the persistent nausea or the dizziness.

He blew out a breath and took the chair at the end of the table. "Okay, run it down for me. How did things get so Goddamned fucked up?"

Cam rubbed the bridge of her nose and shook some of the tension out of her shoulders. "How do things ever get fucked up? The guy was good, a professional...he knew how to anticipate what we would do, where we would deploy. He got by us. He was always a little ahead of us the whole time. On top of that, interdepartmental intelligence broke down...nothing out of the ordinary there, either. Someone should have picked up on his identity months ago—before he ever got close. We were lucky to get away with only the casualties we sustained."

"I can't put that in a report to the Security Director," Carlisle snapped.

"You asked me what happened. That's what happened...we got our asses kicked."

Carlisle stared at the ceiling. "Give me an assessment of your team."

"High marks all around." Cam sat up straight, her eyes suddenly sharp and intense. "There are no fall guys on my detail. If somebody swings for this, it will be me."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

"Cam?" Blair repeated, "You there?"

Cam jumped. "What? Yeah. I'm sorry."

"What aren't you telling me? Are you in trouble back there?" Blair stood up, reaching under the bed for her suitcase. Something was definitely wrong. "I can get the midnight flight back to D.C ..."

"No." Rising abruptly, Cam swayed with a sudden rush of lightheadedness and swore under her breath. She was forced to sit down before she could continue. "First of all, I shouldn't even be discussing this with you."

"Don't start quoting protocol to me now, Roberts." Blair dropped the suitcase, her heart sinking as she heard the distance creep into Cam's voice. Still, after all we've been through. God, why won't she let me help?

"Secondly," Cam continued, smiling faintly as she imagined the fire leaping in Blair's eyes, "this is not the sort of thing you can be involved in. You need to stay above this..."

"I'm sorry? Above what...life? Us?” The room suddenly felt cold, the sunset no longer seemed quite so welcoming. I thought we’d gotten past all this.

"You aren't supposed to know anything about the details of your security.”

“Jesus, Cam. How can you say that now after all that's happened?" Blair crossed rapidly to the window, trying to imagine Cam in her apartment, needing more than her voice. I've never even been there. She knows everything about me, and I know practically nothing about her.

“You can’t be seen as concerned about it—or about me,” Cam said gently. "It will raise flags."

"I know the people lying in the intensive care unit. And in case you hadn't noticed, I have pretty strong feelings about you, too."

This is not going well. Not for the first time, Cam reminded herself why personal relationships between Secret Service agents and protectees were forbidden. It wasn't exactly illegal, but it was an unwritten law throughout the Agency. And blatantly violating it could get you posted to a backwater embassy pretty fast. She wasn’t worried about her career, but she was worried about fallout tarnishing Blair and her father. Her headache suddenly ratcheted up a notch and she spoke sharply without thinking.

"This is Agency business, Blair. You’re the President's daughter, for Christ's sake. It would be partisanship of the worst order for you to get involved. If it came out, it could damage him politically—even if catapulting your private life all over the front page didn’t."

“I’ve been managing my private life and my father’s career for a long time without your help.”

The silence that followed on the line sounded ominous even to Cam, 3000 miles away. She took a deep breath, blinked back the pain, and regrouped. "I'm sorry. I only meant..."

"I understand what you meant, Commander." Blair's tone was icy. "I know very well who I am to the public and how to behave in the political arena. I was under the mistaken impression that we were discussing something private. Something between us."

"Look, I..."

"There's no need for you to explain. Is there anything else?"

"I should speak with Mac." Cam rubbed her eyes wearily.

"I suggest you try him at the hotel. I'm sure you have the number."

"Yes."

"Goodnight then, Commander," Blair said.

"Goodnight," Cam said softly, but she was listening to a dial tone. She set the receiver carefully in its cradle and leaned back on the sofa. Lifting a remote from the end table, she shut off the room lights and closed her eyes, knowing she wouldn't sleep.

CHAPTER TWO

Blair stripped off her sweatpants and reached for her jeans. She tucked in her T-shirt, closed the buttons on the fly, and pulled on her sneakers. Then she sorted through the clothes in the dresser until she found a favorite hooded black sweatshirt with NYU stenciled on the left chest and shrugged into it. As she crossed to the bedroom door, she checked to be sure she had her wallet in her back pocket. She opened the door and stepped out into the hall.

Paula Stark was leaning against the wall opposite. The two women stared at one another, the silence deepening as the seconds passed.

"I'm going for a walk," Blair said at last.

"I'll notify Mac," Stark said without a single inflection in her voice, lifting her wrist to speak into her radio mike. To her complete and utter shock, Blair Powell stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"Don't. I just want to walk. I'm not going anywhere."

"You can't go alone," Stark responded emphatically, forgetting to appear impassive. She was still working on that. "Besides, the Commander—"

"Isn't here, is she?" Blair retorted sharply.

"Well, it's not like she won't know...Hey!"

Blair turned and walked away, Stark close on her heels.

"Please—Ms. Powell, just let me call the cars."

"If you want to come along...fine. But just you." She started down the back stairs, and would be outside, free, in a few seconds.

Stark had no choice but to follow. She knew the President’s daughter well enough by now to know that arguing would not work. She also knew that if provoked, Blair was perfectly capable of giving all of them the slip and disappearing. It had happened before, and that was a worse threat to her safety than going out with only one agent as protection. Oh man, Mac is going to kill me. Thank God the Commander is in D.C.

It was just after 9:00 P.M., and the sky was clear, nearly cloudless except for wisps here and there that glowed silver with reflected light from the full moon. In a city famous for romance, on a night made for lovers, Blair was lonely.

Starting down the steep, twisting wooden stairs that led from the rear of Marcea Cassells' house to Lombard Street at a pace too fast for the terrain, especially in the near dark, she steadfastly ignored the ache. She hadn't been aware of loneliness for a very long time, and on the rare occasions when she had been, she'd known just what to do about it. A few hours lost in the arms of an attractive stranger, anonymous pleasures at no cost to anyone, had served her well until Cameron Roberts had come along less than a year before and changed everything.

"Like I ever asked her to."

"I'm sorry?" Stark asked, trying to stay within touching distance of the President’s daughter without actually touching her.

“Nothing.”

They reached the street and began wending their way down the sharply curving road in the general direction of the Bay. When it became apparent that Stark wasn’t going to do anything except dog her steps, Blair relaxed infinitesimally.

“What are you doing here any way? I though you were off for a while.”

Stark blushed, overjoyed that her companion couldn’t see it. The question caught her off guard—she hadn’t realized that Blair Powell, code name Egret, gave any thought to the schedule of her security team. Although Stark was the lead agent in Egret’s personal security detail, and spent hours with her every day under every imaginable circumstance, they had not had a personal conversation in months. Not since the night six months before when they’d spent a number of frantic hours together in bed. Well, I was pretty frantic. And come to think of it, we didn’t do much talking even then.

“Couldn’t stay away?” Blair probed. She still couldn’t quite figure out why one human being was willing to risk their life for a person to whom they worked so hard to appear invisible. Although she knew all the agents on her detail by name, she knew very little about most of them personally. They rarely looked directly at her because they were too busy looking everywhere else. If she stripped naked in front of them, they wouldn’t blink. She grinned to herself—well, Stark would. But that was because the agent hadn’t mastered the game face yet. And besides, I wouldn’t do it to her.

“After everyone left for the airport last night, I felt useless,” Stark confessed, stepping slightly to the right of Blair so that she could get between her and the traffic side of the sidewalk.

“You need to get a life, Stark,” Blair commented, not unkindly.

“After what happened, I just…I don’t know. I just wanted to be here.”

Blair caught her breath, because she understood. All of them—the whole team—had been through hell together, and although they were strangers in many ways, they were also bonded by shared victory—and by shared loss. Despite understanding, she was amazed that Stark could admit it. “Don’t you ever worry about saying things like that? It will ruin your macho image.”

“Macho?” Stark laughed, and very unobtrusively stopped at the corner of Hyde and Beach, blocking Blair’s body from the intersection while glancing up and down the street. Thankfully, it was a weeknight and not many tourists were about. As they crossed, heading steadily downhill toward the water, she added, “As long as the Commander trusts me, I’m not too worried about my image.”

“It matters that much to you—what she thinks?”

“Of course,” Stark replied, clearly surprised. “I mean—she’s—well, she’s what we all want to be.”

“Be careful what you wish for.” Blair’s tone was sharp, but it wasn’t anger. It was pain. Can’t you see what it costs her?

Stark fell silent and Blair walked on rapidly, eventually turning left onto Jefferson until they reached the beach. She threaded her way with Stark by her side down stone stairs to the sand, and finally sat, knees drawn up, watching the moonlight play across the waves.

“How’s Renee?” Blair finally asked, her voice low and pensive. She drew the fine white sand through her fingers, letting the grains fall in a steady stream by her side.

“She’s okay,” Stark replied hesitantly, still unsure how to talk to the woman she spent more time with than anyone else in her life. “She pretty much kicked me out this morning, which is why I decided to fly out here in the afternoon. Catch up to you all.”

“Why did she chase you off? Were you hovering?”

“Uh—well, maybe. Some.”

Stark shifted in the stiff vinyl-cushioned chair, peering at her watch in the semi-darkness. Ten after five. In the morning. She’d slept all the previous afternoon after the Commander had declared the entire first team off duty. As soon as she’d awakened, she’d come to the hospital, found Savard too sedated to talk, and had decided to sit for a while in case the FBI agent woke up. That had been at 8:00 p.m.

She stretched and leaned closer to the bed, peering at the injured woman. In the dim light from the hall, Renee’s usually deep-coffee-toned skin seemed pale, almost lifeless—

Quickly, heart racing, Stark reached for the hand that lay on the covers, folding it in her own. It was warm. She closed her eyes, drawing a shaky breath, as she rubbed her cheek against the backs of the long, slender fingers.

“Hey,” Renee said quietly, closing her hand weakly around Stark’s.

Stark jumped. “Hey. You’re awake.”

“Kind of. Is there any water?”

“Yeah—right here. Wait a minute.” Stark hurriedly poured tepid water from a green plastic pitcher into a Styrofoam cup and fumbled the paper off a straw. Carefully, she tilted the cup and placed the straw between the other woman’s lips. “Here you go.”

After a few swallows, Renee dropped her head back against the pillows. “Thanks.”

“Should I call a nurse? Do you need something for the…pain?”

“No—not yet. Talk to me a little.”

Savard’s voice was faint but her eyes seemed clear.

“Okay. Sure.”

“What happened?”

Stark’s heart thudded with anxiety again, because she’d already told her the story the day before. That was probably normal. Right?

Patiently, she recounted the tale from the beginning, leaving out the parts about the blood. And how fucking scared she’d been, kneeling by Renee’s side with her hands pressed to her shoulder and the blood that just kept coming.

“Paula?”

“Huh?” she said too loudly, jumping again.

“Have you had any sleep?”

“Yeah—lots.”

“You seem—spooked.”

“No. I’m fine.”

“Good.” Savard closed her eyes.

After a few minutes of watching her breathe, Stark figured she had fallen asleep. Gently, she disentangled her fingers from Renee’s laid the slumbering woman’s hand down on the covers. When she looked up, Renee was watching her.

“Are you leaving?” Savard asked.

“Not if you don’t want me to.”

“I want you to.”

“Oh.” Stark looked away, swallowed.

“Paula.”

“Huh?”

“Look at me.”

Slowly, Stark brought her gaze to Renee’s. The room had lightened enough to see the brilliant blue of them and she couldn’t help but smile.

Savard smiled back. “I’m going to get well—soon as I can.”

“I know that,” Stark said quickly.

“No—really. And you can’t sit here worrying while I do.”

“I’m not worr—“

“Go back to work if you don’t want to take time off. Call me every day.”

“Every day, huh?” Stark grinned. “Morning or night?”

“Either.”

“Both?”

“If you like.”

Stark’s voice was husky when she replied. “Oh, I like.”

“Hovering. Yeah—pretty much,” Stark finally admitted with a faint laugh. “Yep.”

Blair turned her head in time to catch the smile that even the darkness couldn’t hide. Ah ha. Our young Stark has a crush. I wonder—

The phone on Stark’s belt trilled, breaking the silence, and they both jumped.

“Don’t answer it,” Blair said quickly.

Stark shook head, her hand already at her waist. “I have to.”

When she heard the familiar deep voice, she was very glad she had.

CHAPTER THREE

"Is she with you?"

Stark leaped to her feet, her body rigid...nearly at attention as she pressed the phone to her ear. "Yes, ma'am. She is."

"Anyone else?"

"No, ma'am."

Stark heard a muffled curse. Protocol dictated that three agents be with Egret whenever she was outside the residence. Stark had known from the moment that they'd left the house that the President's daughter was seriously under-protected, and she also knew that it was her own fault for allowing it.

That’s it. I’ll be back doing site prep and background checks by morning.

The process of gathering the information necessary to organize and coordinate any public outing for a high-profile protectee was desk work, and the assignment a death sentence for most agents who coveted the excitement of field duty.

"Put her on, please."

Stark turned and extended the phone. Blair reached up from her seat on the sand and took it.

"Hello?"

"You turned your cell off."

"I know." She turned slightly away from Stark, although she knew that the agent would do her best not to listen. It’s not as if she doesn’t suspect. Not as if they all don’t wonder. But suspecting and knowing are not the same thing.

It was fully dark, the water black now beneath a blacker sky broken only by shafts of moonlight and pinpoints of stars. "I just brought it along it in case...just...in case." If there was trouble, I could call for help.

"Thank you for that."

"How did you know I was out here?"

Across the country, Cam shifted on the sofa, watching the lights of an airplane blink rhythmically as it banked over Washington D.C. on its approach to Reagan National Airport. "I didn't know where you were. I called the house and got Davis when you didn't answer your cell. She checked upstairs and discovered that both you and Stark were missing. You weren't in the bedroom."

Blair laughed. "You didn't really think ..."

"No."

"It's not her fault."

There was no response, and Blair repeated, "Cam, it's not Stark's fault. I didn't give her any choice."

"No, you rarely do. However, that's no excuse."

Blair ran a hand through her hair and got to her feet. She moved ten feet away and glanced back over her shoulder. The Secret Service agent had moved to within three feet of her. Whispering stridently, she said to Stark, "Will you back off?"

"I can't do that, I'm sorry. There's just me here and I need to be close."

"I’m fine. Look around—we’re alone. So go away."

Stark didn't budge.

"God, she's almost as stubborn as you are," Blair said into the phone again.

"She'd better be, if she's your only security."

"Why were you calling me?"

A second passed, then another.

"Cam?"

"I couldn't sleep."

It was Blair's turn for silence. Suddenly, there was a fist in her throat, blocking her breath, stealing her words. Cam always did this to her...took her by surprise just when she thought she was too angry to be touched. Somehow, Cam reached past the hurt and the anger and found the places that mattered most. "The last time you couldn't sleep, you came to my bed."

"I would now, if I could." After a moment's hesitation, Cam asked, "Would I be welcome?"

"You need to ask?"

"You left the house in the middle of the night with no word to the team. Your phone's off. You're three thousand fucking miles away and I can't see your face. Yes. I need to ask."

"You make me so angry."

"I know. I don't mean to."

"I know."

"You piss me off pretty well, too."

"Yeah." Blair's voice was softer now, wistful. Lowering her voice, she added, "I just wanted to get out. Nothing else."

"I'm sorry I upset you.” A regretful sigh came through the line. “Will you go home now, please?"

"Well, I had planned on a ferry ride to Alcatraz..."

"Blair," Cam said threateningly. "My sense of humor is running rather thin right now."

"All right then, Stark and I will head for home."

"No. I'll call Mac and have him send a car."

"Cam, no one noticed us, and we're only ten blocks from the house. Please. We'll be fine."

"Only if Davis walks down to meet you."

"All right."

"Put Stark back on the phone. Wait..." After a beat, she added, "Call me later when you get settled."

"Won't Stark do that?"

"It's not the same thing."

"I should hope not." Smiling, Blair held out the cell. "The Commander...for you."

CHAPTER FOUR

Felicia Davis met them halfway to the house as they climbed back up Hyde Street to the top of Russian Hill. The tall, lithe, ebony-skinned woman nodded cordially and silently fell into step beside Stark, who moved slightly to her left so that the two Secret Service agents walked slightly behind and on either side of Blair Powell.

Almost oblivious to their presence, Blair replayed the conversation with Cam in her mind as she climbed. She couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. Even though they'd known each other less than a year, and for a good part of that time, they had been estranged, she could sense the tension in Cam’s voice, and it was more than fatigue.

They’d been lovers for the last two tumultuous months...following an even more harrowing four months during which Cam had been in the hospital and then on medical leave after being struck by a bullet meant for Blair...a bullet that had nearly killed her. A bullet which the Secret Service agent had intentionally blocked with her own body.

For the first time in her life, Blair had to face the stark truth that her life...by virtue of her father's position...was somehow valued more than that of another human being. It was a realization which she could not accept, and because of that, and the haunting image of what that reality had almost cost the woman she loved, it was increasingly difficult for her to allow anyone to place themselves between her and danger.

Intellectually, she understood the need. If she were kidnapped, it would bring unbearable pressure on her father to give in to threats and manipulation. Something that as a man, and as a father, she knew he would want to do. However, as the President of the United States, it was something he would never be able to do. For that reason, she also bore the responsibility of seeing that he was never placed in that position. The conflict for her was a lifelong struggle, because she had been in the public eye since the time her father was a governor, and during the eight years of his Vice Presidency when he was being very publicly groomed for the office of President. And now, she was having an affair with the chief of her personal security detail.

Life was a lot simpler a year ago.

"Do you need something, Ms. Powell?" Felicia Davis asked, inclining her head slightly at the sound of Blair's voice.

"No. I'm fine."

The three women walked on in silence. When they reached the house, entering this time through the front door, Marcea Cassells, Cameron Roberts' mother, was just bidding her other house guests good night. The dark-eyed, strikingly beautiful woman turned as the trio came through the door and smiled.

"I see you’ve found each other."

"Yes," Blair replied, smiling in return. In a casual, emerald green silk blouse and darker slacks, Marcea looked like a softer, only slightly older version of Cam. That alone would have drawn Blair's smile, but she liked and respected the other woman. An artist herself, Blair was still slightly in awe of the critically acclaimed painter.

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 1307