Chapter Seventeen

Cam shook her head groggily as the alarm droned beside her. She wasn't certain how long it had been buzzing as she slowly emerged from a dreamless sleep to the insistent sound. Stifling another groan, she reached out with one arm and blindly swatted in the direction of the clock. Finally, she succeeded in silencing the din. After another minute, she forced herself upright and headed for the bathroom. With the shower set more to cold than warm, she stepped in and turned her face to the pinpricks of water. It was early, and she wondered if Blair was still asleep. In that one unguarded moment, loneliness crested on a swift stab of pain. Then, just as quickly, she forced it from her consciousness.

****

At precisely 0730, Cam walked into the conference room on the seventh floor of Blair's apartment building, the level directly below Blair's and entirely occupied by the Secret Service team. The major portion of the floor was a large open space subdivided by shoulder-high walls into workstations and monitoring areas. In the far corner past a warren of cramped desks was the glass enclosed area which served as the meeting room for Cam and her agents. At the moment, most of the team was present, since the night shift was present to report before going off-duty and the day shift had just arrived to take over the watch. Usually there were one or more swing agents available as well to cover unexpected events or supply double coverage on short notice if needed.

This was the first time the team had convened at Command Central since the night the operation to apprehend Loverboy had nearly ended in disaster. Ellen Grant's absence was conspicuous.

Almost everyone had coffee in some form in front of them, carryout cups from nearby delis a subtle indictment of the office brew that was often hours old. Cam strode to the head of the table and nodded to the men and women facing her. Without preamble, she began.

"I presume all of you have seen the newspaper article from last night. Obviously, we can anticipate increased media attention whenever Egret leaves the building. There's a camera crew on the northeast corner of the square right now."

That statement was met with several groans and a few unflattering comments as to the nature of the Fourth estate.

"That means we can also expect close approach from the press--singly and in groups. Be alert for press credentials and have a very low threshold for containing or diverting anyone who is without the appropriate identification or who encroaches on her personal perimeter. If at all possible, move her quickly from the vehicle to any public venue. We'll go to high security status today. We have no reason at this point to think they know about the gym or any of her private appointments. Nevertheless, don't make any assumptions."

Everyone nodded. Then Cam looked to Mac. "I'll be meeting with Egret per usual at 1100 hours. Hopefully, I'll be able to update the weekly schedule with her and pass along that information to you for a more concrete itinerary." Surveying the group again, she added, "Mac will have your schedule assignments then."

"What are we going to do about finding the slimeball who took that picture?" Paula Stark questioned. The righteous indignation in her voice was obvious.

Briefly, Cam wondered how many of her agents knew that she was the person depicted in the photograph kissing the President's daughter.

"For now, nothing," Cam responded bluntly. She almost smiled at the expressions of outrage on the faces of her agents. The fact that they were all ferociously dedicated to Blair pleased her. She raised a hand to stem the questions that were sure to be forthcoming. "I need to brief first with DC. I can tell you this--we're not going to take this lying down."

That statement prompted an assortment of good, for sure and damn rights.

"In addition to routine matters, we need to gear up for the trans-Atlantic trip. I want status reports on my desk by this afternoon as to who will be our liaison in Paris, the itinerary, the report from the security chief at the hotel, an update on all terrorist cells known to be operating in France, with particular emphasis on Paris and its environs, and dossiers on the French security members assigned to every function at which Egret will be present."

"We're on that, Commander," Mac assured her. "I'll collate the material we have for you this afternoon."

"Very good." Cam shrugged her shoulders to ease some of the stiffness in her neck and back. "Mac, I'd like to see you, please. The rest of you, carry on."

Once the room had cleared, Cam sat down across from her second in command and briefly rubbed her eyes. Then, she leaned forward and met his steady gaze. "I want to know where that photograph came from. Make some inquiries to the wire services, contact the managing editor of the Post, and dig around at the Intel Ops center in DC. Be discrete if you can, but pull rank if you have to."

Mac, a scrupulous detail man, was conspicuously not taking notes. What she was asking was outside the Agency chain of command, because strictly speaking, someone in DC should coordinate this kind of intelligence gathering with the FBI. But then, the Secret Service did not share intelligence with the FBI, nor ask them for any. "What do we know about specifics--time frame, location?"

For a moment, Cam was silent. Mac would have no reason to know the circumstances under which the image had been captured, and she could keep her part in it under wraps--at least for now. As a Secret Service agent, she was indoctrinated in the policy of silence. One did not discuss a protectee; one did not discuss Agency business with other departments; one did not discuss procedure. Solitary since childhood, circumspect with her own emotional pain--unable and unwilling to add to her mother's agony with her own seemingly inconsequential anguish after the death of her father, she had learned to keep her own counsel. The habits of a lifetime compounded by the requirements of her profession made it difficult for her to disclose anything to anyone, no matter how much she trusted"or loved--them. The silence in the room grew, a silence during which Mac sat quietly, simply waiting.

"The photograph was taken at approximately 0130 three nights ago on the waterfront in San Francisco."

One blond eyebrow raised, his only sign of surprise, whether at the information or the fact that she knew it, Cam couldn't tell.

"I never got a report that we'd lost her at anytime in San Francisco," he said.

"We didn't."

"Then how did she manage to get away from us long enough for anyone to get that shot?"

His confusion was evident, and she made a decision that in all probability would alter the course of her career forever.

"She didn't leave our sight. The person in the photograph with her is me."

His reaction was not precisely what she had expected.

"Well then, where the fuck were the rest of our people? How in the hell did they let anyone get that close to her. Jesus, talk about a security failure."

Cam shrugged, a rueful grin on her face. "She and I were not directly in their sight line, although they should have had an excellent perimeter view. One thought I had"after the fact unfortunately--is that he was on one of the nearby piers with a night scope. He could have gotten fairly close to us but probably wouldn't have raised any particular suspicion from the team. They were most likely focusing on foot traffic on the beach."

"Commander, may I speak freely?" Mac asked softly.

"Go ahead, Mac."

He held her eyes as he said firmly, "I consider it my responsibility--the responsibility of the entire team--to protect her not just physically, but from this kind of invasion as well. I know it's not completely possible to deny the press access to her, but dammit, this is something personal. The public has no right to know this. I don't want it to happen again."

"I don't know that we can stop it, Mac," Cam replied. Frustrated, she strafed her hair with a hand. "I'm not even sure I know how to stop it. But someone released this photograph, and I want to know who they are and how they got it. I want to know--" she hesitated, because the next words came hard. Harder than almost anything she had ever said. "I need to know if it came from one of us."

His blue eyes grew dark with pain, but he answered crisply. "Yes, ma'am. If I may, I'd like to look into this personally."

"That might not be looked upon favorably by DC," she warned.

"So noted."

"It's possible I may go down for this, Mac. If I do, I want you in the clear. I need you to take my place. Blair needs you."

"I would not want to be in Egret's path if anyone tries that, Commander."

She smiled. "No, it wouldn't be pretty. Just the same, if it comes to that, I want you to disavow any prior knowledge. We never had this conversation."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Thank you, Mac."

Chapter Eighteen

As Cam stood in the small carpeted foyer between the elevator and the broad oak door to Blair's apartment, she thought of the first time she had come there and how much had changed. She hadn't wanted the job, hadn't wanted a woman in her life, hadn't wanted to feel anything at all. Now all she cared about was on the other side of that door. She raised her hand to knock, but the door opened before her fist met wood.

"Good morning," Blair said.

She wore loose, white cotton drawstring pants and a matching ribbed tank top. Her hair was down and there was a dab of brilliant blue pigment just above her left breast.

"You've been working?" Cam asked. There were circles under her normally vibrant blue eyes, and Cam caught sight of something moving in their depths, something dark and wounded.

"Yes. What else? The antidote for every problem."

Cam stayed on the threshold, waiting to be invited in. "Did you sleep?"

"Some. Did you?"

"Some."

Blair pulled the door open wide and gesture with a sweep of her hand. "Come in. This shouldn't take too long, because I don't have much in the way of plans for the rest of the week. Especially not now."

"Fine." Cam followed her in and trailed behind her to the breakfast bar, puzzling over Blair's odd detachment. It was rare for them to be anywhere alone that Blair did not touch her, however fleetingly. The absence of that small gesture echoed hollowly in her chest.

Blair set out two mugs and poured coffee. She passed one to Cam and leaned her elbows on the counter, one hip edged up on a stool. "Have you heard anything from Washington?"

Cam shook her head, settling on the neighboring stool to face her. "I plan to call Carlisle when we're done here. What about you?"

"Lucinda called just after nine. She was in a rush, because my father was on his way to an economic summit meeting and she was briefing him in the car at the same time as she was talking to me. I believe her precise words were, "Tell me it's someone you can bring home to dinner"."

"Huh," Cam snorted, wondering if she were. What would the President think? "Anything else?"

"Nope. She said she'd get back to me later. That could mean midnight."

"What are you going to tell her?"

"At the moment, I'm going to tell her it's nobody's business. Not even hers."

For the first time, Blair looked and sounded like herself. When she was angry, Cam was certain she was fine.

"I suppose at the moment, that makes sense," Cam said, nodding. She pushed the mug away and reached for Blair's hand, then stiffened when Blair eased back from the counter, just out of touching distance.

Silence fell and finally Cam asked quietly, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Something's happened."

"Are we done here? I'm in the middle of something."

"No, we're not done. Not until you tell me what's happened between now and when we said goodnight eight hours ago." Cam slid off her seat and moved to Blair's side, lightly touching her bare arm with her fingertips. "Is it because I didn't come up with you last night?"

"No," Blair said abruptly, but she didn't move her arm away.

"I couldn't think what to do," Cam said as if she hadn't heard. "Sometimes, I can't seem to figure out who I am--whether I'm your lover or your security chief. When push comes to shove, I guess I'm more used to being your security chief. I'm sorry."

"Damn it, Cameron, that's not the problem." It almost hurt to hear Cam apologize for something Blair knew she couldn't help. "Can't you just finished this goddamned briefing and go do whatever the security chief part of you needs to do?"

Cam shook her head, smiling softly. "No. The security chief is finished. It's just your lover here now."

Blair drew a manila envelope from beneath the counter and handed it to Cam. "Then maybe you should tell me which one of you I ought to ask about this."

Perplexed, Cam studied the envelope which had Blair's name printed on it in black magic marker and no return address. No stamp either. "How did this arrive?"

"Courier."

For one heart-stopping moment, she thought she had been catapulted back in time and she was about to read yet another threatening message from Loverboy. Raising her eyes to Blair's, she asked quietly, "What is it?"

"Open it."

Carefully, Cam folded back the small gold clasps that held the flap closed and withdrew an eight by ten photograph. She stared at it, anger boiling in her chest. "Christ."

"The date stamp on the print is last night," Blair remarked with no inflection in her voice.

"Yes."

"I don't know what to do, Cam. I don't even know what this mea--"

"Blair, I don't know who she is."

Furious, Cam couldn't stop staring at the photograph of herself leaning toward a woman who appeared to be in whispering in her ear. The woman's hand was resting on hers. The shot was intimate, as if it had been taken during a private moment, an image stolen from a lover's tryst. It was the redhead from the evening before, and although only their faces were in focus, the grainy background was clearly the bar where she had gone for a drink.

"Last night after I left here, I went downtown--"

"You don't need to--"

"Yes, I goddamned well do need to. We need to get something straight," Cam replied heatedly. "I haven't been with anyone else since before I was shot. I haven't wanted to be. I don't want anyone but you and I have no intention of being with anyone else. Not now, not ever."

"I feel ridiculous putting you in a position where you need to say that," Blair said, her tone somewhere between embarrassed and confused.

"Why?"

"Because I've never wanted anyone to say what you just said before."

"If it makes you feel any better, I've never said it to anyone before," Cam answered gently as she moved closer and slipped both arms around Blair's waist. They were facing one another, thighs touching, leaning back in the circle of one another's arms to look into each other's eyes. "I don't know what the hell is going on. I don't know why someone is trying to drive a wedge between us--if that's even what this is about. I can't imagine that our relationship is a threat to anyone."

At that, Blair laughed out loud. "Uh--visited the Bible Belt recently?"

"This isn't their style--the photograph in the newspaper, maybe. But even that's a stretch. You're the President's daughter, for god's sake. Even the right wingers aren't crazy enough to sling mud at you."

"Maybe. I'm sure this is only the beginning."

"I'm sorry you have to deal with this." Cam kissed her forehead, the feel of Blair's body in her arms easing the tightness in her chest that the photo had evoked.

"So--who is the bitch?" Blair asked abruptly, but there was a light dancing in her eyes that hadn't been there before.

Cam laughed. "I have no idea. I couldn't sleep last night--that seems to be a common theme when I'm not with you."

"I don't know why that makes me happy, either, but it does."

"Good."

"Hmm--I know what you do when you can't sleep, though," Blair remarked lightly, but her eyes were troubled again. Resting her cheek against Cam's shoulder, she kissed her neck above the collar of her pristine white shirt.

 "Not to worry, remember?" Cam brushed a kiss into her hair, and continued, "At any rate, I was just sitting there, trying to get my thoughts in order, and she appeared out of nowhere. I wasn't really paying any attention and, I have to admit, I really don't know who else was in the bar with us. Obviously, someone was inside watching me and took the picture."

"Do you think she was trying to set you up for something?"

"I don't know. She could have been an innocent bystander and someone just took advantage of the moment. What is clear, though, is that I was tailed from here to the bar." She rested her chin on the top of Blair's head and sighed. "Some Secret Service Agent I've been this week. I let someone photograph you in a compromising position and now I've managed to get myself a tail that I didn't even see. Maybe it is time for me to retire."

"Bullshit." Blair tilted her head while tapping a finger against Cam's chest. "You haven't had enough rest in a week to account for one full night's sleep. On top of that, you've had a concussion, not to mention more stress than any one person should have to handle in a year, let alone a few weeks. If you've missed a few things, it's understandable. I still trust you with my life."

"The problem is, you are, and if I'm not up to the job--"

"Oh, for God's sake, Cameron, give yourself a break. When I require you to walk on water, I'll let you know."

For a moment, Cam simply stared at her, and then she laughed. "Yes ma'am."

"And whatever they were trying to do with us, it's had quite the opposite effect. All they've managed to do is piss me off," Blair added. "And not at you."

"Thank god for that. I don't think I could take it."

"On the other hand," Blair said as she cupped Cam's cheek in her hand,  "if I see her anywhere near you, her life isn't worth a dime."

For an instant, Cam was worried, and then she recognized the lilt of humor in Blair's voice. It was something that had been lacking for too long, and hearing it made her heart lift. "Let's hope for her sake she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. For now, let's forget about her."

Blair insinuated the fingers of one hand through the thick, dark hair at the base of Cam's neck and pulled her head down. Just before she melded her lips to Cam's, she whispered throatily, "Yes. Let's do that."

As the kiss turned hungry, Blair's thighs began to tremble, and she edged her hips up onto the stool behind her, pulling Cam with her until her lover was pressed between the vee of her legs. Lifting both hands to Cam's shoulders, Blair pressed her breasts against Cam's chest, the thin cotton of her T-shirt doing little to blunt the effect of her nipples hardening from the heat of her lover's body alone. Moaning faintly far back in her throat, she kneaded both hands down Cam's back and then underneath her jacket, finally pulling the shirt free of her trousers until her palms found skin.

As their tongues met in a rush of possession, Cam eased her hands between their bodies and rubbed her thumbs over Blair's nipples, drawing a small cry from her. Pressing her pelvis hard into the space between Blair's thighs, Cam lifted both breasts in her hands while tugging sharply on Blair's nipples. She grunted softly as Blair thrust hard into her, her clitoris swelling instantly from the pressure.

"Oh, this is such a bad idea," Blair gasped, even as she began working at Cam's belt buckle.

"Why?" Cam's words were short and tight with challenge, her fingers still tormenting.

"Because," Blair replied before she bit her neck, "I know how you hate to be distracted when you're working."

By way of reply, Cam bunched the T-shirt in one fist and jerked it upward until Blair's breasts were exposed, the white fabric straining across the top of her chest, calling the blood to the surface and painting her breasts with the hot blush of arousal. Swiftly, she lowered her head and pulled one nipple into her mouth. Blair's neck arched as she closed her eyes and whimpered.

Moving from one breast to the other and then back again, Cam alternately sucked and bit until Blair's hands flew to her face and pushed her head away.

"You've got to stop. I'll go crazy if you keep doing that."

"I thought you already were crazyÉabout me." Cam's voice was thick, her eyes heavy-lidded with need. She kept one hand on Blair's breast as she yanked the drawstring loose on the soft cotton pants with the other. "Didn't you..." She worked her hand under the fabric. "...say that?"

"You know what I mean," Blair replied urgently, her lips swollen with kisses and lust. "You make me want to...Oh..." Shocked by the sudden touch of Cam's fingers on her tensely distended clitoris, she nearly came. She gripped Cam's arms hard enough to leave bruises and struggled to contain the swift surge of pleasure. "Jesus Christ."

"I love the way you feel," Cam grated, pushing deeper between Blair's thighs with the force of her whole body behind it. Blair's fingers dug into her flesh. Cam moved her hand from Blair's breast to behind her shoulders, then pulled her lover roughly against her, simultaneously stroking rapidly inside her. Blair clung to her, both arms now wrapped tightly around her neck--her face, damp with perspiration and the sweet sheen of sex--pressed to Cam's neck.

Cam breathed in Blair's ear, "I love to fuck you."

"Do it, just do it."

Before the words had completely left her throat, Blair bucked on Cam's hand, then grew rigid, crying out helplessly as wave upon wave of pleasure ripped through her.

When Blair finally quieted, sagging back on the stool, her back propped against the breakfast counter for support, Cam spread her arms on either side of her and leaned close, pressing her hips into the still tender places that made Blair gasp. With her lips brushing the outer edge of Blair's ear again, she growled, "I love you. Don't ever forget that."

Then, her legs still shaking from exertion and arousal, Cam stepped away, rapidly tucking in her shirt with trembling hands.

"What are you doing?" Blair asked, her voice thick with the lingering lassitude of satisfaction.

"I need to get out of here. I'm on duty, remember?"

"Are you out of your mind?" Blair laughed, her tone stronger this time. "Tell me you're not ready to come."

Cam grinned a little shakily. "What do you think?"

"Think? I know. Get over here and let me take care of you."

"I shouldn't. Really--I have things I have to do."

"Uh-huh." Indolently, Blair pulled her T-shirt the rest of the way off and ran one hand up her bare abdomen and over her breasts. "If you leave here the way you are now, everyone downstairs is going to know. You're shaking. You look like you're about to explode out of your skin."

As she talked, Blair absently brushed her fingers over one nipple, bringing it back to taut arousal. Cam couldn't take her eyes off those sensuous fingers. When Blair squeezed her own breast, her breath catching audibly as her hips lifted in invitation, Cam's head reeled.

"Fuck it." Pushing into the space between Blair's spread thighs, Cam rapidly unbuckled her belt and opened her trousers. Then, she grasped the counter on either side of Blair's body and leaned down to kiss her. Arms outstretched, locked in place, she waited for the touch that she knew would devastate her.

Smiling against Cam's mouth, Blair pushed past the zipper and under the last barrier of material, then slid her fingers along her rigid length and circled back up again, reveling in the swift jerk of Cam's hips into her palm. Cam's breath rasped in her ear, a choking desperate sound that might have been pain, but she knew it wasn't.

She could have teased her--she loved to tease her, but this time she knew neither of them could bear it. She worked her clitoris under her palm as she stroked back and forth through the hot swollen tissue, bringing Cam rapidly to the edge and then mercilessly driving her over. Cam shouted as she climaxed, shuddering in Blair's arms, the weight of her body collapsing into orgasm almost enough to make Blair come again, too. As if it were the first time, Blair held her and trembled"breathless with the wonder of loving her.

Chapter Nineteen

Ten minutes later, Cam stood at the door, brushing a strand of damp hair from Blair's cheek.

"I'll be back tomorrow. Noon at the latest. If there's any delay, I'll call you from DC."

"Okay." Blair regarded her seriously, her gaze probing Cam's face. "The photograph of you in the bar last night"does it have anything to do with the call in San Francisco?"

"I don't know," Cam said after a moment's hesitation. "there are too many things that don't make sense right now. I'm hoping I'll be able to find some answers in DC."

"Are you going to tell me?"

"Blair," if there were an...investigation into...irregularities, you could be called to testify. Anything you know about me--or information I've shared with you--would be fair game. I can't put you in that position."

"I'm your lover, Cam," Blair insisted quietly, realizing she had never before thought of herself that way in relationship to another person. It was so much more than physical, and the thought of being excluded from Cam's life bothered her. "I want to know what's happening to you."

Cam brushed her thumb across Blair's cheek and let her fingers trail over her neck to her shoulder. With her palm lightly stroking Blair's bare upper arm, she murmured, "I don't want to keep secrets from you, but there's more than just us involved."

"You can't forget who I am, can you?" Blair said, her tone more sorrowful than accusatory.

"You're a lot more to me than the First Daughter," Cam replied, her tone gentle. "When you're not angry with me, you remember that, right?"

"I'm not angry with you now. I just can't stand feeling like there's something standing between us, even though I know what you said makes sense. I hate that I'll miss you the minute you walk out the door, and I'll worry about what's happening to you, and I'll wonder about who you're with."

"Do you really hate those things?" Cam's eyes had gone gray black and they bore into Blair's.

"No," Blair whispered, resting her palm under Cam's jacket over the place where her heart beat beneath. "God, no."

"I promise I'll tell you as much as I can."

"All right. I don't like it, but I'll accept that for now."

"Thank you."

Blair rubbed her hand lightly back and forth over Cam's chest. "You'll be careful, right?"

"Swear." Cam kissed her, gently this time, without the urgency of earlier passion but with the certainty of belonging. "Don't disappear on Mac if you go out, okay? Take someone with you, no matter where you're going."

Sighing, Blair nodded. "Only for you, Commander."

Lightly, Cam stroked her cheek. "I love you."

 Then she opened the door and crossed the foyer to the elevator. Blair watched until the elevator doors closed behind her.

And then the longing, the other side of love, began.

*****

Downstairs in Command Central, Cam found Mac in a cubbyhole in one corner of the main room, reviewing the pre-Paris intelligence reports. "Where's Stark?"

"In the gym, I think. She's got the swing shift today. I didn't have any intel that Egret would be flying. Do you need her now?"

"Not for Egret. She's settled in the nest." Cam pointed to the ceiling and Blair's apartment above. "But I want to talk to both of you. Let's go find her."

Five minutes later, they discovered Stark flat on her back on a weight bench, a barbell poised over her chest, counting reps out loud. She was alone in the twenty by thirty foot room outfitted with weights and aerobic equipment that the team used to keep in shape and work off excess adrenalin while waiting for Egret to leave the Aerie, as they referred to her top floor sanctuary.

"You should probably have a spotter," Mac remarked good-naturedly as he lifted the bar from her hands and settled it into the cleats. She sat up, reaching for a towel as she did so. Quickly, she wiped the sweat from her face and off her bare arms. In a sleeveless T-shirt and gym shorts, her body looked sturdy and muscular.

"Sorry," Stark said glancing from Mac to Cam. "I didn't think there was anything on for me. I'll just grab a fast shower and--"

"Relax, Stark," Cam said as she slipped off her suit jacket. The air-conditioning in the workout room left a little something to be desired, and it was humid the way all gyms seemed to be. "This is not about Egret's detail."

Clearly puzzled, Stark remained silent as Cam settled onto a bench facing her and Mac sat down by her side. Automatically, she moved over an inch to give him some room and herself space to maneuver. An agent never let their personal perimeter be encroached upon.

"I have to go to DC this afternoon," Cam said. "Mac, you'll have the watch."

"Okay. Do you need me to make flight arrangements?"

"No. I'll just catch a shuttle. I expect to be back tomorrow, butÉsomething may come up." She paused, then said briskly, "Something has come up."

She handed Mac the manila envelope. "Take a look at that. Handle it carefully--there probably aren't any prints, but we could get lucky."

Stark checked the envelope over Mac's shoulder. "No post marks."

"It came by courier this morning. Hand delivered."

Mac drew in a quick breath, no doubt having the same uncomfortable feelings of d„j– vu she'd had at first seeing the black block letters spelling out Blair's name. "It went through to her?"

"Yes."

"Who was downstairs?" Stark asked, an edge to her voice.

"Taylor. He scanned it, then had it sent up to Egret. No reason not to."

Carefully, Mac pulled the photograph out by the corner and placed it atop the envelope in his lap. The two agents studied it for a minute without comment. Finally, Mac looked up at her. "Any message with it?"

"No."

"When was it taken," Stark asked, her tone guarded. She wasn't used to questioning her commander about anything, let alone something that was obviously personal.

"Last night about 3:00 a.m."

"Jesus," Mac exclaimed. "How""

"Someone must have tailed me downtown from here, because I never went home."

Neither of them asked how it was possible that she had been followed. Ordinarily, a Secret Service agent didn't worry about their own security. They were just anonymous faces on the fringes of the spotlight, nearly identical and interchangeable. And replaceable.

"What really worries me is that someone probably tailed us from Teterboro to here. Which means that we have a problem in terms of Egret's security."

"Do you think that she's a target of some kind?" Mac asked.

"Jesus, not again," Stark breathed, unaware that she had even spoken aloud.

"Probably not physically," Cam replied grimly. "But that remains to be seen. We must assume she is. Maybe this is the same photographer who took the photo in San Francisco."

Stark stared for a second, her thoughts practically written across her broad, smooth face. "On the beach""

"Yes," Cam said quietly.

"Oh, man, I'm sorry, Commander," she said miserably. "I had the beach in view the whole time, but he must have gotten by me."

"He got by us both, Stark. Forget it." Cam tried to shrug away the anger that rose every time she thought of someone watching her and Blair together during an innocent, intimate moment. When they'd both felt safe. Christ, is this how she feels all the time? No wonder she's angry. How in hell does she stand it?

"Commander?" Mac asked uncertainly.

Cam flinched imperceptibly, her gaze refocusing on her agents. "I'd like to know who's taking such an interest."

"You want me to run this through forensics?"

"Like I said"we could get lucky. Maybe he licked the envelope and we'll get a DNA sample."

"Or maybe she did," Stark interjected.

"I suppose that's possible," Cam allowed, keeping her tone carefully neutral.

Mac glanced again at the image, seeming to be searching for words. "Do youÉuhÉknow this woman?"

"No, I don't," Cam answered crisply. "Try calling Walker in the New York City lab to run the tests. He's good."

"Uh, excuse me, Commander," Stark said, "but maybe that's not such a good idea. Respectfully, ma'am."

Cam eyed her. "Go ahead."

"Well, this photograph isÉtelling."

"Interesting choice of words," Cam remarked dryly, hating the disclosure of something so private, even to those she trusted. The younger agent colored, and Cam regretted her brief loss of control. "Go ahead, Stark."

"I think we should handle this internally as far as possible."

"Are you up on your forensics?" Mac interjected. "Cause I sure can't walk this through a lab."

"No," Stark answered tentatively, seemingly feeling her way along a narrow ledge that threatened to crumble under her feet. "But I know someone we can trust who can do it. Renee Savard."

"She's FBI," Mac exclaimed. "Since when do we trust them?"

"She's a friend," Stark insisted, holding his gaze steadily. "I know she won't betray us. And she's been assigned to a desk at the New York City field office."

"Isn't she still in the hospital?" Cam asked.

"Until today. I'm going there in a few minutes to pick her up." For the first time, she appeared unsure. "To give her a ride homeÉyou know."

Cam suppressed a grin. "Understood. But she's got to be on medical leave for a while."

Stark laughed derisively. "Sure. For about a day. She'll go in the first chance she gets."

"Mac?" Cam asked.

He thought about the conversations he'd had in the past with the FBI agent. She had always dealt with them squarely, and she had been willing to give her life for Egret. Still, he had an inherent distrust of the FBI. "Yeah, I say we keep it in house. And Savard is almost one of us."

"Agreed." Cam stood. "Stark, mind if I tag along with you to the hospital on my way to the airport?"

"I'll be ready in five," the agent responded, jumping up and heading for the shower.

"Keep me informed of any developments on this end, Mac."

"Don't worry, Commander," he assured her rapidly. "We'll be fine here."

"Of course," she said with confidence. But leaving Blair was getting harder every day, and it had less and less to do with her assignment as the First Daughter's security chief.

Chapter Twenty

"Is she okay?"

"Sure," Stark responded automatically, watching the door swing closed behind Cameron Roberts.

Renee Savard, seated on the side of her narrow hospital bed, raised an eyebrow. Her coffee-colored skin had regained its luster and her blue eyes were sharp and clear once again. If the bruise on her forehead or the healing gunshot wound in her shoulder were causing her any pain, she didn't show it. Even in a faded, shapeless hospital gown she was striking.

"She took quite a beating in the blast, you know," Stark acknowledged uneasily. "Why?"

"She looks tired, that's all. I'm guess I'm just not used to seeing her that way." Her blue eyes probed the face of the agent rocking faintly back and forth on her heels by the side of her bed, clearly uncomfortable discussing her chief. Renee noticed, too, the circles smudging the smooth clear skin under Paula's eyes, and she realized that all of them had taken a beating the last few weeks. Softly, she asked, "How about you? You okay?".

"Yeah. Fine."

"That's good," Savard replied, not really believing her. "It took guts for Roberts to come here today and show me that photo."

"She doesn't back down from anything," Stark agreed.  

"Still I am FBI. For all she knows I could send that straight to an Assistant Director and she'd have a jacket by sundown."

"Yeah"like we all don't anyhow," Stark said angrily. "You know Doyle investigated all of us when the task force was formed."

"That's just SOP," Savard pointed out gently. "But I know it sucked for all of you."

Stark's expression softened. "Sorry, I know it wasn't on you. Do you think you'll be able to help us out?"

"Shouldn't be a problem. I know a couple of people in the lab who will run things through for me with no questions asked. They're such total lab rats they probably don't even know who she is. I don't think they'll make the connection. It will buy her a little time, but sooner or later, you know something is going to come out."

Stark was silent, torn between her desire to share her concerns and her loyalty to her commander's privacy.

"I saw the photo in the newspaper last night," Savard remarked casually. "The one of Blair Powell and the mystery lover."

"Yeah," Stark said offhandedly. "The whole team seems to be a popular subject these days."

"That's Roberts with her, isn't it?"

Once again, Stark hesitated.

"Paula, anyone with eyes can see what's happening between those two. You know damn well I don't care. Why should I? It's their business."

"Yeah," Stark replied with a hint of bitterness. "It should be just their business--but considering it's the first daughter and all--and the commander being on the team--you know it's complicated."

"Complicated. Yes, I agree with that. But it's still nobody's business. It's for them to work out the complications."

"I hope they can," Stark said fervently. She'd been on Egret's team since day one, and for a few months before Ellen Grant had been assigned, she'd been the only woman. She'd watched Blair tear through one night stands and dangerous liaisons--until the Commander had come along. Now it was all different. Better.

Savard smiled, watching the concern darken Stark's eyes. "You're sweet, have I ever mentioned that?"

"Maybe," Stark said, grinning.

"They'll be okay."

"Sure, I know that." Stark straightened her shoulders. "I'm glad you didn't mind me suggesting that you help out. I didn't know that the Commander was going to brief you herself."

Savard reached out and took Stark's hand, running her thumb back and forth over the top of her hand as their fingers intertwined. "You did right. I'm glad you thought of me."

"I think about you all the time." Stark blushed, but her voice was firm and her eyes held Savard's steadily.

"Good. Now let's get me dressed so you can take me home," Savard said, reaching for the clothes on her bed. Carefully, she worked each leg into her pants and stood up by the side of the bed, frowning as she contemplated how to close buttons and zippers with only one functioning hand. Her left hand was held tightly across her chest in a sling. "Uh... I think I'm going to need some help here. Sorry."

"No problem," Stark said nonchalantly, stepping forward and sliding up the zipper on the FBI agent's pants, being careful not to touch the taut smooth skin of her abdomen as Renee held the hospital gown up with her good hand. Then she worked the button closed on the waistband and looked around for Renee's shirt.

Renee hooked a finger inside Stark's belt and tugged playfully. "This is where I should say something clever about how I wish you were undressing me."

Stark colored and lifted the dark blue polo shirt from the bottom of the bed. She held it in front of her and said, "Here. I guess we'll have to take the sling off to get this on." She frowned. "Is that okay? I don't want to hurt you."

"I can't raise my arm. I think we're going to have to use something with buttons," Savard observed. "Is there anything in the bag like that?"

Stark rapidly looked through the contents of the gym bag which Renee's sister had brought earlier that day. "No. Everything pulls on over your head."

"Well, I don't intend to leave here in this hospital gown--and I'm not staying one more minute longer than I have to." Savard was silent for a few seconds, and then she smiled, her eyes twinkling. "You're about my size. Give me your shirt."

"My shirt!"

"Well, it buttons, which is the primary thing. You can wear my polo shirt."

"There's a problem," Stark said, her face reddening again.

"Paula, I work mostly with men. I went through the FBI Academy with a class that was 90 percent male. A little sweat, especially yours, is not going to bother me."

"That's not the problem," Stark said stiffly. "I'm not...uh...wearing anything under it."

"Even better. A shirt and a bonus." Renee Savard laughed out loud at Stark's expression. "Take off the jacket and give me the damn shirt. I want to get out of here--and don't even think about asking me to close my eyes."

Stark shed her jacket and pulled her pale-blue button-down collared shirt from the waistband of her black trousers. Her gun was clipped on the right side of her pants and she steadied the holster with one hand while she worked the buttons free on the front of her shirt with the other.

"You want me to do that?" Savard asked innocently.

"You only have one hand remember?" Stark was smiling now. She liked the way Savard's eyes widened slightly as the material over her breasts parted with each button that she loosened.

"You'd be amazed what I can do with one hand." Renee's voice was lower, a bit husky. She reached out her hand, and Paula stepped back a foot.

"I've got it."

"Don't trust me?" Renee asked teasingly, her eyes on the muscled chest and small, firm breasts now nearly completely exposed.

"No," Stark said quietly. "Don't trust myself."

"I do," Renee whispered, moving closer and placing a kiss on her lips. She held it, savoring the soft full lower lip exploring hers and the barest press of breasts against her own. It was going to be very easy to get lost in Paula Stark's arms. Sighing with a mixture of pleasure and regret, she broke the kiss. "Time to go."

"I have to work tonight," Stark managed, her throat thick. She held out her shirt, unmindful of her nudity now. Her skin felt so hot all she wanted was the cool touch of Renee's fingers. "I'm sorry."

Savard shook her head and took the shirt. "Until when?"

"Midnight."

"I'll nap." Savard tossed her the polo shirt. "You can return my shirt when you get off work."

Stark grinned. "Roger that."

*****

Not long after Cam left, Blair set aside her palette and brushes and washed her hands in the work sink tucked into the corner of the loft that served as her studio. Then she lifted the nearby phone and punched in a familiar number. A moment later, a woman answered.

"Hello?"

The whiskey tones were huskier than usual, and Blair smiled fondly. "Don't tell me you just woke you up? It is the middle of the day, you know?"

"Listen, love, some of us have to work at night."

Blair tossed back her head and laughed again. "Oh, please, Diane. I know the kind of work you do after midnight."

"How do you know that I wasn't busy selling one of your paintings?" Diane Bleeker, her business agent and oldest friend, inquired indignantly. "And how do you know that I was sleeping just now?"

"If you were slaving on my behalf, I appreciate it. If you weren't, I'd love to hear all the details."

"Where are you?" Diane asked, beginning to sound awake.

"Back in Manhattan."

"Is everything all right?"

The concern in her friend's voice was genuine. As many times over their fifteen year friendship that they'd disagreed over the direction of each other's relationships--or been at odds over the same woman, their deep-rooted affection for one another persisted.

"I'm fine," Blair hastened to assure her. "I wouldn't mind seeing you, though--if your associate from last evening isn't still there."

"Well," Diane said as if thinking it over. "Let's say by the time you get here, my calendar will be clear."

"Don't let me rush you."

"Oh my dear, never that. Some things should definitely be savored."

"Is an hour good enough?"

"Perfect. Now, let me get back to what I was about to do. I'll see you soon."

After hanging up, Blair stripped off her soiled clothes and headed toward the shower. On her way, she picked up the bedside phone and dialed another number. It was answered immediately.

"Yes, Ms. Powell?"

"I'm going out in an hour, Mac."

If he were surprised by the advance notice, which was a distinctly unusual phenomenon for the notoriously unpredictable First Daughter, his voice didn't reveal it. "Very well. I'll call for the car."

"That would be fine, thank you, Mac."

Fifty minutes later, dressed in jeans, a white, short-sleeved ribbed cotton top and running shoes, she keyed the penthouse elevator and rode down to the lobby. When the doors opened, Felicia Davis and a small, bespectacled agent, Vince Taylor, a relative newcomer to the team, were waiting for her. She assumed that one of the others was in the car which idled at the curb. It didn't really matter to her, because her mind was elsewhere. She had told Cam she had no intention of discussing their relationship with Lucinda Washburn, but she knew it was only a matter of time before she would need to. The only reason her proclivities had not become a matter of record much sooner was only because she'd never had a serious relationship. It was much easier to remain anonymous when one's love interests were anonymous as well. As she stepped from beneath the awning over the entrance to her building, reporters hurried down the sidewalk toward her, microphones extended and cameras at the ready. Clearly, her days of anonymity were numbered.

After the early morning briefing, her security team was prepared for exactly this occurrence and quickly surrounded her, escorting her rapidly to the Suburban, whose doors stood open to facilitate her entry. Once she was inside, the driver pulled quickly from the curb, and she was able to avoid making any kind of comment whatsoever in response to the shouted questions. Fortunately, New York City traffic prohibited easy pursuit, and by the time day reached Diane Bleeker's upper East side condo, they had left the press behind. Felicia Davis accompanied her to Diane's door and took up a post just outside after Diane answered Blair's knock.

"That's one I don't think I've seen before," Diane remarked after a quick glimpse of the tall ebony-skinned woman who somehow managed to look Paris runway elegant in the standard dark, two-piece suit. "She's absolutely gorgeous."

"Forget it. She's straight."

"And your point would be?" Diane tossed a grin over her shoulder as she led them through the apartment to a sitting area facing the balcony. Through the open French doors, the green expanse of Central Park was visible far below.

"Don't you have your hands full with your many other...ah...interests?" Blair teased.

"Well, variety is the spice of life and all that."

"Riiight."

"You want something to drink? Beer or wine?"

Blair shook her head and settled into one corner of the broad beige sectional. She kicked off her shoes, propped her feet on a footstool, and dropped her head against the back of the sofa. "No, I'm fine. Thanks."

"Yeah, I can see that." Diane walked to a nearby serving cart and poured herself a glass of white wine, then returned and sat near Blair. Resting one hand on Blair's blue-jeaned leg, Diane said, "So. Tell me."

Blair raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think there's anything to tell?"

"Come on--save me the trouble of teasing it out of you." Suddenly, she held up a hand. "No wait--let me guess. Roberts has done something to annoy you again."

"Why do you say that?" Blair asked in honest curiosity.

"Because you always get those double frown lines between your brows when she's driving you crazy."

Blair shook her head and smiled. "No. She hasn't done anything. In fact she's--fabulous."

"Oh my God." Diane's voice registered true shock. "You can't be serious."

"What are you talking about?"

"Are you really, truly in love?"

For moment, Blair wavered. She had said the words to Cam, but only rarely. She'd told Marcea. Still, saying it, she was sure, would destroy the last barricade that stood between her heart and everything that had always threatened to hurt her. Maybe it had started with the loss of her mother, or maybe it had been the betrayal of her first love in prep school, or maybe it had been the long procession of women who had claimed to want her when it was only the spotlight that accompanied her father's name they wished to experience. She had managed to protect herself from the disappointment of a love lost by never allowing it in. Into the expectant silence, she loosed the fear and breathed the truth. "Yes. Utterly. Madly. "

Diane stared at her, her face blank and unreadable for what felt like an endless moment. Finally, she sipped her drink and said quietly, "I envy you. And I'm happy for you."

Almost shyly, Blair nudged Diane's leg with her toes. "Thanks."

"So, if it's not Roberts, what's the problem?"

"I guess you haven't seen a newspaper recently."

Diane laughed, a deep throated purr that at one time had been enough to make Blair want to throw her down on the bed and ravish her. But they had been teenagers then and they had not been lovers for many years. "There's a picture of me on the front page of the Post in a compromising position. You can't tell that it's Cameron, but eventually someone is going to put it together. I am, to put it bluntly, about to be outed."

"You've had a pretty good run, you know," Diane pointed out quietly.

"I know. I'm just not sure how to handle it. The White House needs to be prepared, because my father is going to catch the fallout."

"I've always thought that a preemptive strike was the best way to deal with things like this."

"You think I should make a statement?"

"Do you intend to keep on with her?"

Blair gasped, as if from a sudden pain. "God, I hope so."

"Well, that's the answered then, isn't it?" Diane shrugged. "If you aren't willing to give her up, then you're going to have to deal with the publicity that goes with the relationship. Better have it on your own terms than end up always needing to defend yourself."

Blair ran her hands through her hair, then sighed. "It would be so much easier if I didn't have to worry about the spin doctors in D.C. wanting to control what I say and when I say it and who I say it to."

"Screw them. You're an adult--do what you want to do."

"I have been, but I can't pretend that my father is not the President of the United States. He's got sort of an important job. I think I'm going to need to run this by some people in the West Wing before I shoot him in the foot."

"I suppose you're right. You want me to come with you?"

"Thanks, I really appreciate it. I'd better do this alone."

"So what do you plan to do?"

"I'm going to catch a plane to Washington."

She leaned over, kissed Diane on the cheek, and stood.

"Any chance you could lend me one of your spookies?" Diane asked as she rose and threaded her arm through Blair's.

"Anyone in particular?" Blair asked playfully as the two friends walked toward the door.

When Diane opened the door, Felicia Davis stepped away from the wall and glanced in at Blair.

"She would do nicely," Diane said sotto voce.

Felicia raised one elegant eyebrow. "Ready Ms. Powell?"

"As I'll ever be," Blair replied seriously.

Chapter Twentyone

At 1830 hours that evening, Cam sat in a deserted anteroom in front of a plain varnished door with a small sign bearing Stewart Carlisle's name. She settled in to wait, but just a few minutes passed when his administrative assistant appeared around the corner and said, "He's ready for you."

When she opened the door and stepped into the unadorned office that had little in the way of personalized touches other than a small framed photo on the wall of a very young Stewart Carlisle with John Fitzgerald Kennedy and his brother Robert, her immediate superior was making a notation on the bottom of a report.

"Grab a chair," he said without looking up.

She chose the right hand one of a pair of institutional fabric covered office chairs in front of his desk and crossed her right ankle over her knee, her hands resting loosely on the thin wooden armrests. When he finally closed the folder and pushed the pile of papers away with his right hand, looking up to meet her gaze, his face revealed nothing.

"What happened with that newspaper photograph?" he began without preamble. "That's just the kind of thing the White House likes to chew my ass over."

"I was going to ask you the same thing," she said calmly. "We should have had intelligence that the photo was going out over the wires and been prepared for the article in the Post. As it was, we walked into a hornet's nest of reporters at Teterboro when we arrived last night. We were lucky it didn't turn into a free for all. So where was the breakdown in the system?"

A muscle bunched in his jaw, but his voice, too, was even as he replied, "Since you were there when the picture was taken, I assumed you'd be able to tell me."

For a second, Cam thought he was referring to her presence on the beach with Blair, before she realized that he simply meant San Francisco. Oddly, it didn't bother her. There was not one moment in her relationship with Blair that she would deny to anyone. On the other hand, in a world rife with double dealings, political blackmail, and constant struggle for bureaucratic superiority, she had learned never to divulge information that could be used as a weapon against her or anyone she cared for.

"The photo was taken with a long-range telephoto lens, probably across the water from an adjacent pier. We had close physical surveillance in place, but no substantial perimeter. I had no reason to believe in that particular location it was required."

"The camera could just as well have been a long-range rifle equipped with a night scope," he pointed out as if discussing an inconsequential notation in the margin of a not particularly interesting article. "She could be dead instead of just caught in an embarrassing moment."

A pain like a shard of glass tore through her chest and it even hurt to take a breath, but outwardly her expression didn't change. "I've thought of that. Unless we keep her at highest priority twenty-four hours a day, we can't prevent it if someone decides to do it. Ordinarily, that kind of perimeter is not required for her, and I felt our security status at that time was adequate."

"It's going to be one more piece of ammunition against you."

"Meaning what?"

"I received a call from Justice this morning. Apparently, a petition for a formal inquest into the outcome of the operation in New York has been lodged by the NSA chief and the Deputy Director of the Bureau."

"That's precedent setting, isn't it?"

He shrugged. "It was a joint operation, so the Bureau is within their rights to ask for it. Bottom-line though, it's the casualties that resulted that make it difficult to fight without looking like we have something to hide. There's not much I can do about it."

"All right. I understand."

"I'm not sure that you do. They want you relieved of duty until the inquiry is completed."

Gray eyes hardened, but she didn't move a muscle. "What did you say?"

For the first time that day, and for one of the very few times she could ever remember, he looked uncomfortable. "I told them no, but I don't know how long that will last."

"Since when do you let outside departments tell the Secret Service how to run its business?"

"Since the President was forced to accept an FBI Director who is just a little bit further right than Joe McCarthy. Damn it, Roberts, you know that ever since William Morrow was appointed that the FBI has been working nonstop to expand its investigative reach and confiscate as much power as possible from the other security divisions."

"And you think that the Bureau is behind this move to investigate me?"

"That's my best guess."

"Why? What difference does it make to them who's in charge of Blair Powell's security?"

For a moment, he didn't speak and she knew he was making a decision as to whether he could ultimately trust her or not. Bureaucratic politics superseded even friendship. Finally, he leaned back in his chair and grimaced.

"Think about it. In another six months, Andrew Powell will need to consolidate a reelection platform. He'll need money and backers and a very high popularity rating or he may not win a bid for reelection. His liberal left of center views haven't always gone over well--with either party. He's not a shoe-in to get the nod from his own party." He shrugged, as if that explained things, but went on to say, "In the days of J. Edgar Hoover, the FBI had dossiers on every important political figure in the country, as well as leaders of industry, civil rights organizers, Hollywood stars--everyone with any conceivable connection to the men who held the reins of power--citizens and criminals alike. They used information as a weapon and bought and sold Presidents at will. Some suggested that if they couldn't buy them, they killed them. Or at least looked the other way while someone else did."

"But that was thirty, forty years ago," Cam protested.

"And you think that couldn't happen again? Look at the direction the Supreme Court has taken in the last twenty years--they don't even pretend to be non-partisan. Andrew Powell is a very liberal president, and there are a lot of people in Washington who aren't happy that he was elected. Right now, my best guess is that some powerful people who want him out are gathering as much ammunition from every quarter that they possibly can. Having an edge on the President's daughter, having some degree of control over the information flow to and from the quarter, might be parlayed into political leverage at some point."

"That seems like a stretch to me," Cam argued.

"Not if someone heading her task force reports directly to the FBI, and not to me."

Cam stiffened. "If I'm out, Mac Phillips would replace me, and I guarantee he's not a mole for anyone."

"It wouldn't necessarily be Mac Phillips who replaces you," Carlisle said slowly.

"But that would be up to you. You'll name my successor."

He stared at her silently. Her heart began to pound and her throat suddenly felt dry. "Is someone squeezing you on this? Stewart, if you're in trouble, I'll help if I can. But not at the expense of Blair Powell's safety."

Methodically, he straightened the file folders on his desk and when he looked up, his face was expressionless again. "For the time being, consider yourself notified of a formal inquest. You'll remain on duty until such time as the panel convenes and makes a determination as to whether suspension is recommended."

"She's due to go to Paris in less than a week. It's a high security agenda, and I intend to lead the team. If you try to take me off before that, you'll have to put me in jail to do it."

When he didn't answer, she got to her feet and walked to his desk, then leaned down with her palms flat on the surface. Her voice was low and strong. "Do whatever it is you have to do as far as I'm concerned, but don't put her at risk because of it."

"That will be all, Agent Roberts."

She continued to look at him for a long moment, then straightened. "Yes, sir."

When she reached the lobby, she signed the log and retrieved her cell phone. Once outside, she punched in a number and waited until a familiar accentless female voice answered. Then she repeated her anonymous account number and requested an appointment, again using only an identifying code.

"I'm sorry, that employee is not currently available. May I substitute someone with similar qualifications?"

"No, thank you. Please check your priority list and cross-reference this account number, please."

"Just one moment."

A minute later, the pleasant tones returned. "I'm so sorry to have inconvenienced you. For what time shall I record the appointment?"

"Just relay the request and note this is an open ended appointment for this evening."

"Certainly. If you would call the following number and note the appointment address."

Cam memorized the number, thanked her, and rang off. Briefly, she considered calling Blair, and then realized that there was nothing she could tell her that she wanted to say over the phone. She wasn't certain how much she really wanted to share with her in person"because she didn't know how to make Blair understand what she might need to do.

Chapter Twenty-two

Blair nodded hello and a murmured brief "Good to see you" as she walked hurriedly through the corridors of the West Wing toward a large office that was about as close to the center of power as you could get without actually being in the Oval Office. She stopped by the desk of a pale, sandy-haired, intense looking young man and asked, "Is she in for me?"

In a flat Midwestern baritone, he replied "Let me check. She was on the phone with the Secretary of State."

In another minute, she was getting a quick hug and a peck on the cheek from a woman she had known since childhood and who still managed to instill in her a certain amount of awe and temerity the way no one else could.

"I figured I'd save you the quarter for the phone call," Blair said as she sat down on the leather sofa that bordered one wall in the office of the White House Chief of Staff.

Lucinda Washburn, a statuesque auburn-haired woman in her early fifties, was dressed in a navy dress accented by a minimum of tasteful gold jewelry. She leaned her hips against the front of the wide desk that was covered with thick binders, stacks of memos, and a computer and regarded Blair with an amused smile.

"Must be serious if it got you to the White House voluntarily."

"I guess that's for you to tell me."

Lucinda sighed and her eyes darkened. "Well, I think that depends."

"On what?"

Lucinda fixed Blair with a look that was known to make the Joint Chiefs sit up straight in their chairs. Blair didn't flinch. She knew Lucinda's stare and at least had learned not to let its effect show in her face.

"Let's cut to the chase, Blair. It depends on who was in the picture with you and whether it's something that's likely to come up again. Aaron Stern has already fielded questions at this morning's press briefing about the picture. The press and the public want to know why they haven't heard about this romance of yours before this. Everyone wants details."

Blair did her best not to bristle, but it took every ounce of her formidable will not to snap back that the public could go screw itself. Instead, she said, "I don't see why we need to give any explanation whatsoever. This will be yesterday's news by this time tomorrow."

"You may very well be right. On the other hand, there's nothing that the newshounds like better than something juicy involving the First Family to use as filler while waiting for the next meteorological catastrophe or military atrocity."

"Fine. Tell them it was a date and let it go at that."

"Oh, come now. A middle of the night assignation on a beach in a city half the mid-West thinks is the reincarnation of Sodom and Gomorrah? Don't pretend to be naive because I know better. Here in the White House our motto is to be prepared. I don't like to be blindsided by anything, but particularly not by something that reflects directly on the President's family."

Blair was silent, because she knew that already and that was part of the reason she had come to see Lucinda. Finally, she said, "What do you want?"

"If you're going to embark on a public relationship, then we need to be able to say something about it when asked, and you know damn well we will be asked. So, give me the details now."

"You can say that I'm seriously involved with another woman. I won't give you her name."

Lucinda's expression didn't change. Blair assumed that this news was probably not a surprise, because Lucinda was too astute not to have known before this. But there was a world of difference between assumption and knowledge.

"Well, that will take some handling," Lucinda answered in a controlled tone. "If you refuse to name her, it will only make people think you have something else to hide. You'll be hounded to death over it. Is there something I need to know about her--some scandal, some dark hidden past?"

"No."

"And I don't suppose you'd be willing to put this affair under wraps until after the President has the party endorsement for reelection?"

"That's more than a year away."

"Do you want to tell me that you think one year is too long for you to wait? Or is it her? If the woman has any substance--"

"You're stepping over the line, Luce."

Lucinda Washburn's dark eyes flashed with ire, but she held her breath for a long second, then exhaled slowly. "Blair, your father has only eight years--maximum--to hold the most powerful position in the world. He can accomplish amazing things for this country and for the future of the world during those eight years. Tell me you don't care about that. Tell me you're willing to risk that."

That had always been the issue, of course. Everyone in her father's inner circle, Lucinda included, had sacrificed their personal life to put him where he was. Some never had time for relationships, and those who did rarely kept them long. As his daughter, it wasn't as simple as balancing her father's political ambitions with her own need for an independent, honest life. It was the rightness of placing the personal above the greater good. Looking at it the way Lucinda had put it, her desire for personal happiness seemed selfish. "I've been quiet about my life for over ten years. I've avoided any kind of public statement or disclosure. I didn't mean for that photograph to be in the newspaper. I can't change who I am, even for my father's benefit."

"I'm not asking you to change. I am asking you not to advertise."

"I've tried the "Don't ask, Don't tell" approach to life. It's a lot like living in a prison."

For one brief instant, Blair saw sympathy in Lucinda's face. Then it was gone. "You're your father's daughter, Blair. You'll make the right decision."

They didn't embrace as they parted, and as Blair passed the closed door to the Oval Office and the pair of Secret service agents flanking it, she saw Cam's face and wondered if she had the strength to do the right thing.

*****

Shortly before midnight, Cam opened the door to her apartment and ushered Claire inside. Claire was in street clothes with only the barest hint of makeup, and she seemed younger, more vulnerable. Nevertheless, in only a plain white blouse, dark slacks, and low heels, she was still beautiful.

"Are you all right?" Cam asked immediately as the two of them stood facing one another just inside the door.

"Yes, I'm fine," Claire assured her, although her voice rung hollowly.

"Did you notice anyone following you?"

Claire shook her head and smiled wanly. "No, I don't think so, but I'm not certain I'd notice if they did. Subterfuge is not something I ordinarily need to employ. The security built into our business is enough to insure everyone's safety."

"It probably doesn't matter at this point. Come sit down."

Claire laid her purse on the table just inside the door and walked across the living room to the sofa. Cam joined her, and without being asked, handed her a glass of wine.

"Thank you." She sipped the wine and said quietly, "I called you because there've been more questions. I'm apparently on the list now, too."

"Who approached you--a client?"

"Yes."

"A man?"

"Not the first time, no."

Cam didn't let her surprise show. She'd thought it might have been Doyle. Now she didn't know what to think.

"Someone you knew?"

"A new client. Apparently referred by an impeccable source, but I don't know who. I wouldn't."

"And she asked about me?"

"Not directly. Just vague questions about how many people from the Hill used the service. Wondering what kind of company she was in"nothing very specific, and if I hadn't known about the others being questioned, I might not have noticed." She drew a breath, as if steeling herself to continue. "Then a man asked about you."

"What exactly did he ask?" Cam inquired quietly.

"He didn't actually use your name. He showed me a photograph and asked me if I knew you."

"Was he a client, too?"

"He posed as one," Claire said with just a hint of distaste. "I could tell immediately that something was wrong, because he was uncomfortable."

Cam raised an eyebrow in question.

"The type of people I'm used to dealing with are not uncomfortable by our transactions."

"Of course." They were all civilized and business-like and emotionally remote. Like she had been--at first. When did that change? When we exchanged names?

"At any rate, he wasn't interested in anything physical. He was clearly stalling--trying to get me to talk about the business. When I didn't, he resorted to strong-arm tactics."

"Did he touch you?" Cam stiffened and loosely clasped her fingers over Claire's forearm.

"No, not like that," Claire quickly replied, covering Cam's hand with hers. "He mostly blustered and threatened and suggested that I could go to jail."

"For what?"

"That's what I asked him," Claire said with a dismissive shrug. "This is not some backroom operation with a shady client list. In every sense of the word, this is a high-powered business with even higher-powered clientele. Anyone who tried to expose some of our clients would probably end up in jail themselves."

"That's when he showed you the picture?"

She nodded. "Yes. I think at that point he realized he wasn't going to get anything from me and just decided to see how I would react."

"Claire," Cam said gently, placing her hands back on her own thighs. "I don't want you to protect me. You need to protect yourself, even if that means revealing your association with me."

Claire turned on the sofa until her knees were touching Cam's. She rested her hand on Cam's blue jean clad leg. The touch was intimate but not seductive. "I wouldn't do that."

"No matter what happens in the future--if for some reason you have to testify to anything, don't perjure yourself on my account. There's nothing illegal about what we've done. No one can prove the financial transaction, and even if they could, it's debatable whether any crime was involved."

"You're right about that. It would be virtually impossible to trace the business' income to any particular person."

"What are you going to do?"

Claire smiled sadly. "I'm going to retire."

They were both silent, because they both knew what that meant. In all likelihood, they would never see one another again.

"Are you leaving DC?" Cam asked softly.

"I don't know yet. Probably."

"This whole thing may blow over. I have a feeling it's just a fishing expedition--probably a small group of people trying to dig up any kind of inflammatory information on anyone they possibly can. There may be no point or direction to this investigation at all." She rubbed her eyes and grimaced. "Still, I think it's best if you get out since they've clearly identified you as part of the organization."

"I have a feeling there's going to be an imminent restructuring of the business. Probably a complete turnover of the escorts, too. At this point, everyone is suspect."

"If you need anything," Cam said, "anytime--you know how to find me."

"Thank you. Part of the reason I was in this business is that it's been very lucrative. You needn't worry about anything like that."

"I just meant--"

Claire placed her fingers gently against Cam's mouth. "I know what you meant."

They were both very still, Claire's fingers motionless against Cam's face. Finally she moved her hand to Cam's neck and held her gaze steadily. In a low voice, her body trembling, she asked, "Is there someone?"

Cam raised her hand and drew Claire's fingers to her lips again, then kissed them softly before letting them go. "Yes."

"I thought there must be. These last few months--you've been gone."

"I--"

The sound of the doorbell interrupted her sentence and Cam murmured, "I'm sorry. Excuse me."

Surprised that the doorman had not phoned to announce a visitor, she quickly crossed to the door and glanced through the peephole. Too stunned even to curse, she opened the door to Blair Powell.

Chapter Twenty-three

"What are you doing in DC?" Cam asked incredulously.

"Sorry to show up unannounced," Blair replied lightly. Hands in the pockets of her jeans, her face was alight with a smile of pleasure she couldn't hide. When Cam didn't answer, her smile faded. Then, aware of the consternation on Cam's face she asked, "What's wrong?"

Cam stepped into the hall and glanced up and down, pulling the door nearly closed behind her. "Where's the team?"

"My primary detail is at a hotel. The White House detail thinks I'm asleep."

"Goddamn it, Blair, I thought we were passed this by now."

"Listen, Cameron," Blair said sharply, confused by Cam's anger even though she had expected her to be annoyed. "I wanted to see you. No, I needed to see you."

Cam closed her eyes and sighed. When she spoke, her voice was soft, the edge gone. "I'm sorry. I just can't seem to impress upon you that you can't be running around the city by yourself."

"I wasn't running around. I took a cab." She brushed her hand over Cam's chest and bumped Cam's leg playfully with her hip. "So can I come in?"

"I'm sorry. No."

Blair stared at her, bewildered. "Why not? Don't tell me that you're going to get all huffy about the fact that the team doesn't know where I am. If it will make you happier, I'll use my cell phone to call the White House detail commander. I've done it before."

"It's not that." She hesitated, searching for the right words, and then realized that there weren't any. "There's someone here."

"Someone--" Blair stared at her, searching Cam's eyes and finding nothing but sorrow. "Are you finished or is she staying the night for round two?"

"Of course not. Damn it, Blair--"

"My mistake--I should have called."

Before Cam could protest, Blair turned on her heel, rapidly crossed the hallway, and pushed through the fire door to the stairwell. The last thing Cam heard were her boot heels echoing hollowly on the stairs.

*****

Blair was leaning against a lamp post in a faint circle of light on the corner in front of Cam's apartment building when a woman came through the front door ten minutes later. She didn't need to be told who the blond was--she just knew. As if by design, the woman turned in her direction and their eyes met. Blair pushed away from the pole and started up the sidewalk as the other woman walked towards her. They met on the edge of the flickering shadows cast by the streetlight.

"I'd introduce myself," the woman said in a smooth, rich alto, "but that might not be a very good idea."

"No," Blair agreed. "Cameron would only remind us that what we don't know, we can't testify to."

"Precisely."

"Your idea to leave or hers?" Blair asked conversationally.

"Hers. Did you doubt it?"

Blair shrugged. "Now and then."

"You don't have to."

"I might believe that in a decade or two."

The blond smiled wistfully. "I should go"she's pretty worried about you."

"I seem to have that effect on her."

"Apparently much more than that. You're very lucky."

"I could say the same thing about you," Blair said without rancor. "She's come to you for comfort, hasn't she?"

"No--only to forget. You have her heart." The blond extended her hand. "Goodnight then. I don't believe I'll be seeing you again."

"Goodnight."

And then she was gone.

*****

When the elevator doors opened on Cam's floor, Blair found herself face to face with a very harried-looking Secret Service agent.

"Where are you going?" Blair asked, one arm holding the doors open as the bell sounded behind her in the car. Cam wore only threadbare jeans, a plain cotton shirt and loafers without socks. She didn't even appear to have her gun.

"To look for you."

"What made you think I didn't go straight back to the White House?" Blair asked as she stepped out of the elevator and the doors closed behind her, leaving them in the sudden hush of the deserted hallway.

"I knew you wouldn't go there."

Blair leaned one shoulder against the wall and studied Cam's face. Only the lingering hurt of imagining Cam in the arms of the alluring blond kept her from reaching out and stroking away the pain that was etched in her face. "Where did you think I'd go?"

Cam shrugged. "A club."

"And someone else's bed?"

Cam flinched as if struck. "Blair, please --"

Blair took Cam's hand and pulled her across the hall toward the apartment door. "We can't do this out here."

Wordlessly, Cam fitted her key to the lock, unable to stop the faint trembling in her hands. She'd been more than frightened when Blair had disappeared down the stairwell. She'd been terrified that Blair would rush headlong into the night, driven by pain and anger and betrayal into the solace of someone else's arms. She'd seen her do it before, and it had been agony to watch even the first time"before she'd loved her. Now, it would kill her.

Finally, she was able to get the door open and the two of them stepped inside. The room glowed faintly with moonlight and a sliver of illumination that slanted into the room from beyond a partially closed door on the other side of the apartment.

"She's very beautiful, isn't she," Blair said abruptly, stopping just inside the entrance to the large living room.

"Blair--"

"Do you love her?"

"No," Cam exclaimed hoarsely, struggling not to touch her. The hard ring of Blair's voice, like steel striking stone, warned her to keep her distance.  "Let me expl--"

"You've slept with her though, haven't you?"

"Yes. But""

"Tonight?"

"No! Not for a long time. Will you--"

"Did she make you co""

"Christ, Blair. Stop it."

"It makes me crazy to think about it," Blair whispered, her voice breaking.

It was the anguish in her voice more than the cold anger that cracked Cam's resolve. She caught her around the waist and pulled her hard against her chest. With her face buried in Blair's hair, she murmured, "I know. God, I know."

Blair's arms came around her shoulders, and her cheek, wet with tears she hadn't known she'd shed, brushed against Cam's.

"Oh Jesus, don't cry," Cam begged, nearly choking on her own desperate need to comfort her. "It's not what you think. I swear to God."

"Don't talk anymore," Blair pleaded, her fingers digging into Cam's arms. "Just please...make it stop hurting."

"I will," Cam pledged fervently. "I promise, I will."

Then Cam found Blair's hand and led her through the apartment to her bedroom. By the side of the bed, she tenderly kissed first her eyes, then the corner of her mouth, then the smooth skin of her neck. Lightly, she stroked her fingers along her jaw, over her shoulders, her thumbs brushing the swell of her breasts across the rise of her nipples.

Blair caught her lower lip between her teeth and swallowed a small cry. Lids fluttering, eyes unfocused, she rested her hands on Cam's shoulders for support as her lover slowly undressed her.

When Cam unzipped Blair's jeans and slipped her hands underneath the bottom of her T-shirt, smoothing her palms across her stomach, Blair's muscles flickered under her touch, and for an instant, Cam was afraid she would forget herself. Slowly, she drew the shirt over Blair's head and dropped it to the floor. Then, deliberately, she knelt, feeling Blair's hands move from her shoulders and into her hair. Gently, she hooked her fingers over the waistband of Blair's jeans and worked them down over her hips, lowering them until Blair could kick off her boots and step free of her pants. Then Blair stood naked, exposed and vulnerable, as Cam rested her cheek against the hollow at the base of Blair's abdomen. She wrapped her arms around Blair's hips, and, eyes closed, listened to the rush of blood through the arteries and veins just beneath the delicate skin where body joined thigh, her own heart quickening to echo the racing pulse. With one hand, she stroked the soft skin on the inside of Blair's leg, moving upward, gently teasing her thighs apart, circling a fingertip through the wet heat until Blair swayed in her arms, her breath a tumble of small moans. Finally, she shifted until she could press her mouth to the center of Blair's passion, finding her clitoris hard and full with need.

"Cam," Blair whispered, her neck arched, the muscles of her jaw tight as her thighs trembled in expectation.

Parting her lips, Cam enclosed her, sucking lightly.

"Oh," Blair breathed, her hands fisting in Cam's hair. "Don't. Not like this--I'll come right away."

Cam heard the edge of urgency in her voice and pulled her mouth away, rising rapidly and gathering her close once again. With her lips against Blair's ear, she rasped, "I love you so damn much."

"Take off your clothes. I need to have you--everywhere."

Cam stepped away while Blair stretched out on top of her bed. Feverishly, eyes glued to Blair's body, Cam stripped off her shirt and jeans, pulling her loafers off with her clothes. Then she lowered herself on top of Blair, fitting one leg between Blair's thighs, their breasts just touching as she supported herself on her elbows, her palms framing Blair's head. She rocked slowly into the space between Blair's legs, feeling the prominence of her clitoris against her thigh, the slick sheen of need along her skin. Their faces were only inches apart, but she did not kiss her yet.

Staring into Blair's eyes, her dark gaze holding Blair captive, Cam said fiercely, "Being with you makes me forget ever touching another woman. Being with you makes me forget that anyone else ever touched me. Being with you is what keeps me alive."

Blair's body tightened with the force of Cam's voice as much as the press of her flesh, and, as if she had been stroked in some essential place, the words tore through her, obliterating a lifetime of loss. She arched beneath Cam's weight, a cry wrenched from her lips. Then, arms wrapped tightly around her lover, she came.

"God, you're beautiful," Cam gasped as Blair jerked beneath her.

When Blair quieted, Cam collapsed onto the bed beside her and pulled her into her arms. She pressed a kiss into her hair and whispered again, "I love you."

Blair pressed her face to the hollow between Cam's neck and shoulder and breathed in her scent, wanting nothing more than to be surrounded by her, immersed in her, lost to her. After what might have been a moment, or an hour, she murmured, "I wanted you from the minute you walked into my apartment that first day, all spit and polish and businesslike. At first I wanted you because I wanted to control you and not have it be the other way around. Then I wanted you because every time I saw you, you made me ache. Now I want you because the thought of being without you terrifies me."

"Didn't you forget the part about me being such a stud?" Cam said quietly, tightening her grip on the woman in her arms.

"Oh that." Blair laughed shakily, and kissed Cam's neck. "Yeah, that too."

"I know I don't have words to tell you what you mean to me," Cam continued, her voice choked with feeling. "I don't think anything will ever make you understand except the days turning into weeks and then into months and finally into years--and I'll still be here, loving you."

Blair stroked her hand across Cam's shoulder and down her chest, lingering on her breasts before drawing her fingertips down the center of her abdomen. Cam tensed under her touch, her breath catching.

"There something about touching you that makes me feel like I'm god," Blair said softly into the darkness.

"I know."

"The thought of anyone else--"

"Don't think it. It won't happen."

As if suddenly revitalized, Blair shifted on the bed and straddled Cam's hips. She leaned down with one hand on either side of Cam's shoulders, her breasts inches from Cam's face, her eyes bright with purpose. "I have this thing about what is mine. I don't like to share."

"Neither do I."

"Good," Blair murmured just before she claimed Cam's mouth, the kiss hard and possessive.

The kiss lasted a long time. It was more than a kiss, it was an assertion of belonging and owning and joining. Cam opened herself to the depth of Blair's desire, letting her have whatever she demanded, giving her willingly all that she needed, reveling in the surrender that felt like nothing but freedom.

When Blair pushed down on the bed and placed her hands between Cam's thighs, Cam arched her back and lifted her hips, offering all that she had. When Blair thrust inside her, fast and hard, a light burst behind her eyes, and her fists closed emptily on the air. The power of it struck deep in her bones, and her blood soared beyond her control. Thighs trembling, breath caught between heartbeats, she came soundlessly, unable even to cry out, suspended for an eternity between heaven and earth. Finally, she lay gasping, sweat-soaked and trembling with Blair sagged against her, weakly moaning her name.

Somewhere between love and desire, they slept.

Chapter Twentyfour

Shortly after dawn, Blair was awakened by a faint stirring beside her. She opened her eyes to find Cam seated on the side of the bed, naked. Reaching out one hand, she stroked the length of her spine and asked, "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," Cam said quickly. Turning in the gray light, she smiled down at her, brushed a lock of hair from Blair's cheek, then leaned to kiss her softly.

"Couldn't sleep?" Blair asked once Cam straightened again. "I must be slipping."

Cam laughed faintly. "Oh no--believe me, you're not. I was just a little restless. I guess I'm used to being up and working by now."

"Lie down," Blair said, taking her lover's hand and drawing her down beside her. When Cam stretched out on her back, Blair raised on one elbow and searched her face. "You want to tell me who she is?"

"I can't."

"Can't or won't?" Surprisingly, her tone held neither anger nor accusation, only the question.

"I don't know precisely who she is. I never have."

"And if you did?"

"Even if I knew her name, I probably wouldn't tell you," Cam confessed.

"To protect her?"

"Partly," Cam replied carefully, watching Blair's face. "But mostly to protect you."

"I heard a rumor that you were paying for sex. Is that true?"

If Cam was surprised by the bluntness of the question, she didn't show it. Her dark eyes held Blair's steadily as she said, "Yes."

"With her?"

"Yes."

"Why?" Blair ran her hand down the center of Cam's abdomen, tracing the muscles etched below the skin, her eyes following the path of sinew and bones down the length of her thighs. The sight never failed to make her think of a form sculpted by an artist. "God only knows, you don't need to."

"It was simpler."

Blair raised an eyebrow. "Simpler?"

"It was easy to schedule; there were no complications; there were no repercussions."

"A simple business arrangement, huh?"

"Something like that."

Blair leaned forward and kissed her, a long slow sensuous kiss that held both reminders of passions past and promises of future pleasures. When she drew back, the corner of her full mouth lifted in a satisfied smile. "Cameron, cut the secret agent stuff. Why did you do it?"

For one of the few times Blair could ever remember, Cam averted her gaze. Silently, she waited for Cam to make a decision, one that she knew was more about them and their future than anything that had happened in the  past. At length, Cam looked at her and answered.

"The day my lover Janet was killed, we'd made love in the morning. But we'd had angry words, too, and we parted angry. I hadn't known the details of a dangerous assignment she was involved in until, as it turned out, it was too late. We kept secrets from each other as a matter of routine. We were both used to living that way. It was comfortable, and I don't think either of us wanted to risk too much. After I watched her die, I couldn't bring myself to make to love anyone else."

"Because you still loved her?" Blair was pleased that her voice did not waver on the words.

"No." Cam blew out a breath. "Because I felt guilty for not having loved her more. I keep thinking maybe I could have changed the way it turned it out if I had."

"I'm sorry," Blair whispered.

"It's over," Cam said quietly. She smoothed her palm over Blair's thigh. "But thanks."

"The woman last night--she's in love with you, you know."

"No," Cam said quickly, her voice adamant. "It wasn't like that."

Blair ran her fingertips along Cam's jaw to the corner of her mouth. "Not for you maybe. Maybe."

"We never shared anything like this, Blair," Cam insisted.

"I'm glad," Blair said honestly. "It makes me wild to think of you making love with her. I can't even contemplate you sharing this with her."

Cam brushed her fingers through the hair at the base of Blair's neck, her thumb moving over the skin behind her ear, a caress at once tender and possessive. "I've never shared anything like this with anyone before."

"I love you, Cam."

"I like the way that sounds."

"Yeah, me, too."

Blair settled down on the bed and rested her head on Cam's shoulder, her hand lying on the arch of Cam's hip, her fingers slowly moving back and forth. As calmly as she could, she asked, "So why was she here last night."

"It's not something you should know about. For security reasons."

"Fuck security. Just tell me."

"Someone is investigating the organization she works for," Cam disclosed reluctantly. "My name has come up. She wanted to warn me."

 "Jesus." Blair pushed away and sat up in bed, brushing her hair back from her face with both hands, suddenly intense and focused. "Who?"

"I don't know. My guess is it's probably an FBI sting operation. I suppose it could be a RICO investigation out of Justice, but I've never heard that this organization has any mob connections. It's hard to know, but everything I was able to find out about them suggested they didn't."

"Can they hurt you with this?"

Cam was silent.

"Damn it, Cameron. Tell me."

"In all likelihood, I would lose my security clearance. If that happens, I'll never do this kind of work again."

"Under any other circumstances, the thought of that would make me happy," Blair said sharply. "But not like this. No one is going to do this to you. What else?"

"I don't know for sure. Apparently there've been questions about your father, too. I have to think that was just a fishing expedition, and even if it were fact, I'm not sure what they could do with the knowledge."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know yet. If I could find out who was behind it, especially if it were unsanctioned by any official division, I might be able to turn it around on them."

"I know someone I might be able to get information from," Blair said absently, thinking about AJ. AJ had given her Cam's home address after much coercion, but just the same, she had gotten the information.

Cam shot straight up in bed "No. You cannot come anywhere near this. I've jeopardized you just by telling you what I have. Don't you realize that under oath you'd have to reveal what I told you"and that by knowing, you're complicit in the crime? You have to let this go, Blair. I never would have told you any of this if we weren't lovers."

"You can't expect me to stand by and watch someone try to ruin you."

"This may not even be about me. I may just be a sideline to whoever is behind this. Until they make their next move, we don't know what this means."

"Oh, come on," Blair said deprecatingly. "They're sending me pictures of you in bars with women. Who else are they going to send the pictures to, my father's Security Director?"

"Just promise me you'll stay out of it, and I promise I'll tell you whatever I discover. Please."

"I'm not going to promise anything right now, because I don't want to lie to you."

"Goddamn it, Blair--"

"You'd do the same in my position."

For a moment, they stared at one another in tense silence until finally Cam nodded once, still muttering under her breath.

"Is there anything else you haven't told me?" Blair asked, her expression resolute.

"One thing," Cam finally admitted.

Blair's heart skipped a beat. "What?"

Cam sighed. "There's going to be a formal inquiry into the operation in New York City."

"An inquiry?"

"My actions are being reviewed." She hesitated, then added reluctantly, "They may ask for my suspension until it's finished."

"When did you learn this?" Blair's voice was steel again.

"I met with Stewart Carlisle last night and he confirmed it."

"Confirmed it? So you knew there was a possibility of this before?"

"It was just a possibility," Cam said uneasily.

"It came up during the debriefings last week, didn't it?" Blair said, her anger escalating. "That's why you left here so suddenly in the middle of the night, and why you haven't been sleeping, and why you look like hell half the time. And you didn't tell me."

"There wasn't anything to tell," Cam insisted. "It hadn't been decided then."

"And while I was relaxing in San Francisco--reading, shopping, talking with your mother-- you knew that this could happen. But you didn't think it was important enough to tell me. Goddamn it, how are we going to have a relationship if this is the way you behave with me."

Cam stared at her, speechless. "I thought we already had a relationship."

"That's not what I mean, and you know it. I love you. It's not just about sex and it's not just about attraction. It's about needing to be with you. It's about needing to be in your life. What's so hard to understand about that?" She threw back the sheets and started to get out of bed. Cam stopped her with a hand on her forearm.

"I'm sorry. I've never done this with anyone. It's a habit--it's what I'm used to. That can change."

"I'm sorry for asking," Blair said, her voice pitched low, her eyes averted.

"No," Cam said forcefully. "Don't apologize for asking me for what you need, especially when it's the right thing for both of us. That's part of this love deal, too, right?"

Blair glanced at her, but said nothing. Cam slid her arm around Blair's waist, pulling her back down on the bed. "From the beginning I've needed you to help me see what I needed. You never let up"you never gave up. I hope you never do."

Blair smiled at that and curled against the welcoming warmth and strength of her body, murmuring, "You're going to drive me crazy."

"Yeah, but I love you like crazy."

"I suppose there is that."

"Before you fall asleep, you need to make a call," Cam said drowsily.

"To who?" Blair mumbled.

"The White House detail commander. When you're not there in the morning, they're going to start a manhunt."

Blair sighed and rolled over, reaching for her cell phone on the bedside table. "I'll call one of my friends on the inside. That should take care of it."

"Good," Cam replied. "Because I have plans for you in the morning."

Chapter Twenty-five

Just after 8:00 a.m., they stepped into the shower together and kissed while the water cascaded over them. Then, they began taking turns soaping each other's body until Cam wordlessly placed the bar on the small shelf behind her, took Blair's shoulders in both hands, and pressed her against the tiled back wall of the shower. With her mouth covering Blair's, she slid her fingers, wet with water and Blair's arousal between Blair's thighs, moving slowly, pushing ever deeper, until she felt the walls of Blair's soul fall before her touch. She held her lover upright with the sheer strength of her arm pinioning her to the wall and the pressure of her hips against Blair's. As she moved within her, drawing her ever closer to a precipice from which there was no return, she felt Blair begin to orgasm against her body, around her hand, and she smiled.

"What was that all about?" Blair gasped a moment later, her eyes still dazed.

"Just this thing I have about what's mine," Cam murmured.

"You made your point quite effectively," Blair commented, slipping her palm to the back of Cam's neck and drawing her close.

"Problem with that?" Cam asked from a breath away.

"Not a one." And then she kissed her.

A few minutes later as Blair toweled her hair, admiring Cam's ass in the mirror, her cell phone rang on the counter nearby. She reached for it and listened for a few seconds. "All right."

Naked, Cam turned and raised an inquiring eyebrow when she saw the expression on Blair's face. "What?"

"You might want to find your jeans," Blair said in an oddly disembodied voice. "My father is on his way upstairs."

*****

The two of them scrambled for their clothes and had barely finished zipping and buttoning when a sharp rap sounded on the door. Cam crossed the living room, peered through the peephole, and pulled open the door.

"Good morning, Mr. President."

"You can wait outside, Tom," Andrew Powell said to the clean-shaven, slender African-American man who stood just behind his right shoulder.

"That would not be advisable, sir," the agent replied in a deep rumbling baritone.

Cam glanced right and then left, noting the positions of the other three agents stationed at intervals in the hallway outside her apartment door. She knew that there are would be at least one agent in each stairwell at the end of the hallway, one in the lobby by the elevator, and several outside in the vehicles. She also knew it was SOP for the president never to be alone with anyone other than immediate family. It was an immutable rule.

"I believe that Secret Service Agent Roberts and my daughter can be trusted," the president said as Cam stepped back to admit him.

As the president passed her, she looked into the angry countenance of the primary agent assigned to protect the most powerful man on the planet, but there was nothing to say. She closed the door and turned around in time to see Blair briefly hug her father before moving away to face him with a question in her eyes.

"What's going on?" Blair asked.

"I'll just wait in the other room," Cam said quietly, turning to walk to the small second bedroom on the opposite side of the living room which served as her study and home office. It occurred to her that both she and Blair looked like they had just stepped from the shower, which of course, they had. Their hair was wet, Blair was without makeup, and both of them were wearing last night's discarded clothing. She glanced surreptitiously around the room, hoping that they hadn't left a trail of garments behind.

Jesus, what an impression we must be making.

"I think you should stay, Agent Roberts," Andrew Powell said in a smooth, well modulated tone that didn't sound like the order it was. His expression was mild as he regarded first her and then his daughter, but his deep-blue eyes were laser-sharp.

"Yes, sir."

He was wearing a navy blue suit, white shirt, and striped tie. He looked collegiate and fit, with a natural tan that was present year-round. She could see Blair in his blue eyes, his physical presence, and his intensity. Irrationally, she liked him just because of that.

 "Can I get you anything, Mr. President?" Cam asked, not entirely certain what the hell to do with him in her apartment. "Coffee, maybe?"

"Fine." He looked from one to the other of them and smiled faintly. "I'd wager that you two are ready for some."

"It'll take a minute," Cam said, trying desperately not to blush.

"Come sit down," Blair said quietly and indicated the sofa and nearby matching chairs grouped in front of the windows. When they were seated, her on the sofa, him on the chair across from her, she asked once again, "What are you doing here?"

"I thought we should talk," her father said, glancing up as Cam joined them.

"About what?"

"About Lucinda Washburn's visit to my office this morning at 6 a.m."

"Oh," Blair commented. "Well--"

"First of all, it's not my business. If it weren't for the... unusual circumstances we find ourselves in, I wouldn't even bring it up."

"Well, if it weren't for our circumstances, neither would Lucinda in all likelihood," Blair commented dryly.

"It a family matter, and Lucinda should have talked to me before bringing it up with you."

"She was doing her job," Blair pointed out without animosity. "I understand that."

Cam wasn't entirely certain what to do, but she decided that since she had been invited, she would sit where she belonged, next to Blair. Blair glanced at her quickly, almost apologetically, and then regarded her father again.

"There was a picture of me in an...intimate moment in the newspaper," Blair said matter-of-factly. "I'm sorry. It wasn't intended."

"There's no way to avoid publicity." The president shrugged, apparently unconcerned.

"I've tried."

"I'm sorry that you had to."

She was silent, and Cam saw her hands tremble where they rested on her thighs.

"At any rate," the president continued, "I saw it. It seemed innocent enough to me."

"It wasn't a very good image," Blair said flatly. "Next time it might be."

"Lucinda says it's a woman with you."

"Yes."

"And you've tried to keep that a secret, too?"

"It seemed the wisest thing to do."

He sighed. "If I had more time, I'd probably be able to do this a little more diplomatically, but I don't. I'm sorry."

"You don't need to be." Blair's voice was uninflected, her face impossible to read. "Fire away."

He regarded Blair intently, as if trying to see beneath the cool veneer to the fire below. "Is it serious"this relationship?"

Cam cleared her throat. "Sir--"

"Yes," Blair interrupted. "Very."

"Good. I'm glad to hear it. When were you going to tell me?"

"Uh--" Cam began.

"Eventually," Blair said hurriedly. "It's complicated. I""

Cam blew out a breath and leaned forward, meeting the commander-in-chief's gaze steadily. "That would be me in the photo, sir."

"I see." He looked thoughtful for a moment and, then nodded, once. "That further complicates the situation, doesn't it?"

"Dad," Blair said suddenly. "I'd like to keep Cam's name out of things, if I--"

"That's not necessary," Cam interjected swiftly. "I have nothing to hide, sir, nor do I have any regrets."

"The point is," Blair said with a hint of exasperation, "this could be misconstrued, considering her official relationship to me. I don't want there to be any repercussions--"

"I take full responsibility--"

The president laughed. "I can see that Lucinda has absently no idea just how complicated this is."

The three of them stared at one another and then all of them began to laugh, the tension in the room noticeably ebbing. To Cam's surprise, Blair reached over and took her hand.

"Lucinda is concerned about backlash and the potential damage to your re-election campaign," Blair said.

"Yes, I know. She outlined that for me this morning. In detail."

"She has a point," Blair said, her voice subdued. Without realizing it, she closed her fingers tightly around Cam's.

"It's a very difficult thing to gauge," the president said contemplatively. "There are only so many factors we can control--or spin--at one time. I'm sure that someone on my staff will be doing some kind of poll within the next day or so, carefully disguised so that no one will realize they're really talking about us. Then someone else will draw up a list of possible voter responses, and the director of communications will draft a speech, all of which means absolutely nothing in the final analysis."

"There's going to be considerable criticism because it will look like we were trying to hide our relationship," Cam said carefully. "We're likely to anger people on both sides of the fence."

"Well, I'm not certain that Lucinda's suggestion that you put your relationship on hold for more than a year until the nomination is secured is particularly practical or even useful."

Cam stiffened and had to struggle not to look at Blair. Blair hadn't mentioned that request.

"I'm not going to do that," Blair said, her voice calm.

"I'm not asking you to," her father said. "That's why I'm here. Mostly, I wanted to tell you to do whatever you chose in terms of discussing or not discussing your private life with the press. Whatever the consequences, we'll deal with it."

He glanced at his watch, then at Cam. "I have a few minutes, Agent Roberts. Any chance for that coffee now?"

"Right away, sir. And by the way," she said, extending her hand as she stood, "it's Cam."

Smiling, the president shook her hand. "Andrew."

Chapter Twentysix

Fifteen minutes later, after coffee and a conversation that centered on Blair's plans for a gallery showing in the fall, Blair and Cam walked the president to the door. When it closed behind him, they stood staring at one another, both slightly stunned.

"He gets to the point, doesn't he?" Cam remarked.

"He surprised me," Blair admitted, walking to the sofa and resting her hips against the arm, her face contemplative. "He's never asked me anything that personal before."

"Maybe he was waiting for you to bring it up."

"He seemed...okay, don't you think?"

Cam thought about the conversation, although it was hard to be objective when the President of the United States was inquiring about your love life. "Yeah. He seemed...fine." She ran a hand through her hair and grinned at Blair. "Jesus."

"How do you think he knew I was here?"

"Most likely someone on the White House security detail told him. If they really didn't have a very good idea of where you were, they'd have called Mac and he would have called me." That had happened before, but she saw no reason to remind Blair that she had very little true freedom despite appearances.

Blair made a disgusted sound.

"He's the president," Cam pointed out reasonably. "If there's something he wants to know, it's pretty unlikely that he wouldn't be able to find out."

Cam crossed to Blair, took her hand, and drew her around to the front of the sofa, then tugged her down beside her. With Blair's fingers laced in hers, Cam asked quietly, "Why didn't you tell me that Lucinda Washburn doesn't want you to see me anymore?"

"If you'll recall," Blair said pointedly, "we were discussing other matters last evening. And then we weren't discussing anything at all."

Ignoring the evasive answer, Cam persisted. "There was time this morning when we were talking about my problems."

Blair said nothing, and for the briefest moment, she looked away.

"It's not just my problems and my life that we have to share," Cam said gently. "This isn't something you can face by yourself. It involves both of us."

Suddenly, Blair stood and walked to the opposite side of the room. Then she turned, facing Cam across the distance. "I wasn't sure what you would say. I was... afraid that you would agree with her. That you would..."

As Blair's voice trailed off, Cam got to her feet. "You were afraid that I would disappear, weren't you?"

Blair nodded solemnly, the pain swimming in her eyes.

Quickly, Cam crossed the space to her and placed both hands on her shoulders. Then, she found Blair's eyes and held her gaze. "And you're right--a few months ago, that's probably exactly what I would have considered. I don't know that I would've been able to do it--I've never been able to stay away from you." She skimmed her fingers along Blair's rigid jaw. "Never been able to stop wanting you. But I might have wanted to try."

Blair's eyes darkened, the blue shading nearly to black. Cam felt Blair stiffen under her hand, sensed her desire to run. Holding onto her, she repeated, "A few months ago...maybe. Not now."

"I don't know how I would stand it." Blair's voice wavered and she clamped down hard on the old pain. The old pain"not Cam's doing, but so hard to remember that.

"No--neither do I."

Blair wrapped her arms around Cam's waist and stepped into her embrace, the fear that had coiled around her heart since the moment her father had walked into the room loosening its hold. She pressed her lips to Cam's neck, then leaned back to look at her, her voice stronger, the anguish extinguished by the solid reassurance of Cam's body, the certainty of her words.

"That doesn't mean we've heard the end of this," Blair noted. "Just because my father believes that nothing can damage his reputation or hurt his political chances, that doesn't necessarily mean it's true. He is an excellent leader, but sometimes he refuses to believe he's not invincible. He forgets to watch his back."

"I have a feeling that's what Lucinda Washburn is for," Cam commented dryly. And she had a feeling Washburn wouldn't give up easily.

"Most definitely. I'm sure we'll be hearing from her again."

Cam drew Blair closer and rested her cheek against her lover's. Softly, she murmured, "Let's deal with that when we have to. For the time being, we'll carry on."

"I love you," Blair whispered.

"I love you." Then Cam sighed, kissed Blair's temple, and stepped back. "We need to call the team and make plans to go back to New York, unless you're staying down here?"

"Not for a moment longer than I have to," Blair said adamantly. "Although if we could stay right here..."

"We could," Cam countered, "but we'd still need to call the team."

"I know," Blair said with a sigh, taking her first real opportunity to survey Cam's apartment in daylight. As she slowly turned, admiring the clean, modern style, her eyes stopped on something familiar on the far wall and she gasped involuntarily.

Cam followed her gaze and grinned.

"When did you get those?" Blair asked, clearly astonished.

"At the gallery opening last winter."

"Did you know?"

Cam regarded the series of charcoal nudes, finding them just as beautiful as she had the first time she'd seen them. "Yes, I knew they were yours, even though you didn't sign them with your own name."

"How?" Blair's voice was hushed.

"I'd seen the work in your loft the first time I came for a briefing. Your style is very distinctive."

Blair stared at her. "Why did you buy them?"

"Because they're very good." After a beat, she added, "And because you did them."

Their eyes caught and held, a flame jumping between them.

"We don't have to call the team right away, do we?" Blair asked, her voice husky as he moved toward her lover.

Cam swallowed, watching the color rise in Blair's throat, tightening inside. Thickly, she replied, "I think we might have a little bit of time."

*****

"Do you know what I'd really like to do?"

"What?" Cam asked, looking up from where she sat on the side of the bed pulling on her socks and loafers. The whimsical note in Blair's voice made her smile, and she regarded her appreciatively. A faint blush still colored her lover's skin from their recent lovemaking and the memory of it twisted through her, making her unexpectedly catch her breath as if struck.

"I'd like to order a pizza, get two or three videos, and spend the day on the sofa watching bad science fiction movies with you."

Cam stopped what she was doing, her smile turning to an expression of sad understanding. Softly, she said, "I know. I'm sorry that we can't. If I were anyone else--"

"No," Blair said adamantly, crossing quickly to her and stopping between Cam's parted thighs, then brushing her fingers through Cam's hair. Looking down, her mouth still bruised with their kisses, she said again, "No. If I were anyone else we might be able to do that. Even if you weren't my security chief, it would still be very difficult for us to do something that simple. Your position may complicate things for us, but it didn't create my problems."

Resting her forehead against Blair's midsection, her arms lightly clasping her lover's waist, Cam murmured, "It won't always be this way."

"I know."

Finally, Cam looked up, her dark eyes swirling with emotion. "I'd do anything to be able to take you out for a late lunch and then stroll around Dupont circle holding your hand, just letting whatever happens, happen. I'd give you that if I could."

"I believe you." Blair knelt, nestling her body between Cam's legs, her eyes meeting her lover's. "And that's what makes it bearable not being able to do that. Sometimes knowing you understand is the only thing that makes it bearable."

"Christ, I love you," Cam breathed, her fingers lightly tracing Blair's face. Then, Cam kissed her forehead and finally, because she had to, she glanced at her watch. "The team should be downstairs by now. Are you ready?"

Blair lingered for just a moment, her hands slowly caressing Cam's shoulders and chest, unwilling to let her go because she didn't know how long it would be before she could touch her this way again. Then with a sigh, she pushed herself upright, straightened her shoulders, and said firmly, "Yes. I'm ready."

They didn't stop to kiss at the door of Cam's apartment, because their goodbyes had already been said, but instead, they walked directly to the elevator, waited for the doors to open, and then rode down to the lobby in silence. They stood close together, their arms lightly touching.

As they crossed the brightly lit room toward the front doors, beyond which Cam could see the Suburban idling with several agents inside and Stark waiting by the rear door, the building's security guard called out, "Excuse me. There's a package for you, Ms. Roberts."

At her look of surprise, he added, "The courier said not to call up, but that I should give it to you when you came downstairs."

"Courier?" Instinctively, Cam glanced around the lobby, one hand unbuttoning her blazer for access to her weapon. Other than the security guard, she and Blair were alone. Nevertheless, she spoke quickly into her wrist microphone. "Mac, secure the street. Stark--inside."

Outside, the Suburban's doors flew open and agents piled out, weapons drawn. Cam positioned her body between Blair and the glass front doors, one hand cupped lightly under Blair's right elbow, blocking a direct sightline from the outside to the president's daughter while waiting for Stark to enter the building and take her place.

"What is it?" Blair asked urgently.

"Probably nothing," Cam said in a low voice. "But it's unusual for anything to be delivered to me here. No one should have this address except for Treasury, and they don't leave anything without an ID and a signature."

"What--"

Stark approached at a near run and Cam instructed, "Escort Ms. Powell to the vehicles and evacuate to fifteen hundred yards. Do it now."

 Then she looked at the guard and said, "Step away from the desk."

Her tone left no room for question and to his credit, he didn't. He simply slid off his stool and moved hurriedly around the front of the waist-high partition which enclosed the building's closed-circuit security monitors.

"Cam?" Blair protested, her voice rife with alarm as Stark began to direct her to the door.

"Evacuate her, Stark," Cam ordered without turning back, walking around the partition and studying the package sitting on the shelf. It was an oversized manila envelope, the kind that had been delivered to Blair's apartment the day before. Without touching it, she leaned closer and studied the hand printed address written in bold magic marker. There was no return address. Outside the vehicles screamed away from the curb.

Go To Love and Honor: Part Four

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