by Radclyffe
"This afternoon, huh?" Trying to recover her breath, which had fled with the first teasing touch of Blair's ringers, Cam eased her hand beneath the wide leg opening of the boxers, drawn to the heat between Blair's thighs. "You're not supposed to think about sex in the presence of the president."
"Especially not," Blair nipped at Cam's lower lip as she tugged harder on the erect nipple, drawing a deep groan from Cam, "when he's your father."
"I don't want to think about that right now," Cam said urgently, her head spinning as her hand glided over hot ready flesh. "God, you're beautiful."
"That feels so good," Blair said, resting her forehead on Cam's and unconsciously squeezing Cam's breast harder.
"Yes," Cam grunted as another jolt of excitement streaked downward through her stomach. She circled Blair's clitoris firmly, feeling her grow harder.
"Don't make me come," Blair whispered as she eased her hips away from the talented fingers that fondled her knowingly, her control too brittle to tolerate the exquisite pleasure. She ran her tongue over the underside of Cam's lip. "I want to want it until I beg."
"I want you now," Cam groaned, shifting her hips restlessly beneath Blair.
"Then I'll have to distract you." Blair edged down off the sofa to kneel between Cam's thighs. She opened the covering of silk to reveal Cam's body in the moonlight, catching her breath as if witnessing the glory of her for the first time. She drew her fingers lightly down the center of Cam's abdomen, watching her lover tense and tremble, then leaned forward to place a gentle kiss between her thighs. "I love you."
"Blair," Cam whispered softly, helpless with love and need. In this same place, a lifetime ago, she'd closed her eyes and willed a stranger to assuage her pain. Now there was only joy. With effort, Cam raised her head and focused on Blair's face, lifting an unsteady hand to cup her lover's face. "Let's...go to bed."
"You're already so close. Let me finish."
Blair's breath, hot on her fevered flesh, made Cam shudder. "I want...to come lying beside you...in your arms. Please."
"Yes, darling," Blair murmured, rising with Cam's hand in hers. Cam so rarely asked her for anything, and she would deny her nothing. She wrapped her arm around Cam's waist and held her close. "Come let me love you."
'"Lo?"
"Hey, sleepyhead."
"Hey," Stark replied. "Did you just get in? I was worried."
"Yes, just a few minutes ago." Renee checked her watch. 0150. She sighed with exhaustion. "We sat on the ground at De Gaulle for a couple of hours while they checked over the electrical system. Finally we ended up changing planes. By the time we got to JFK, the incomings were so backed up we almost had to divert to Dulles."
"That might not have been so bad. We 're in DC."
"For how long?" Renee couldn't hide her disappointment. She'd been hoping to see Paula in the morning for just a few minutes before she reported for her new assignment.
"Not sure yet. The whole team is still here, and I guess we'll be briefed in the morning. What about you?"
"There was a letter waiting for me at my sister's." Renee propped her feet on the cluttered coffee table and lifted the single sheet of paper. "I've been temporarily assigned to the New York Bureau office. I'm to report tomorrow for limited duty."
"That's good, then, right? At least we'll be in the same city."
"That part's good," Renee agreed immediately. "The part I don't like is the term limited. I didn't join the Bureau to be a paper pusher."
"It's only been a few weeks since you were shot," Stark pointed out.
"Yeah, yeah. I know." Peevishly, Renee nudged a can of Coke around on the top of the coffee table with her toe. "One of the biggest branches of the counterintelligence division is located here in New York. If I'm lucky, that's where I'll be assigned."
"So, uh, are you going to stay with your sister?"
Renee was silent, staring around the tiny, crowded apartment. She'd been sleeping on the couch before she left for Paris. Her sister was a good sport, but the space wasn't designed for two. "Probably for a couple of days, then I'm going to need to find something else. Chloe hasn't complained, but I think her boyfriend will be glad to see me go."
"I...well...I'm hardly ever home. You know, with the split shifts and Egret traveling." Stark fidgeted beneath the sheets, her heart pounding as hard as it had the first time she'd realized that Renee was about to kiss her. In a rush, she blurted, "You could stay at my place."
This time the silence was heavy with the sound of unspoken words.
Inwardly, Stark cursed herself for being a clumsy, inappropriate dolt. "I'm sorry. That was dumb."
"No," Renee said softly. "That was nice. And it's tempting.,, and not just because it would solve my problems. I can't think of many things— anything, really-—that I would like more than being in the same space with you as much as possible. And because I feel that way, I need to be careful."
Stark plucked at the covers restlessly. They might have been flirting with a relationship for weeks, but they'd only been sleeping together a matter of days. "I understand. I didn't mean to put you on the spot." She intended to drop the matter, and then the next words popped out. "You wouldn't have to stay, if it didn't work out"
"What if it does? Are you ready for that?"
"We'd kissed once," Stark noted solemnly, "before the Loverboy operation went down in New York. I remember that kiss. It was beautiful. It was over in a second, and you just brushed your lips over mine, but I knew it was more than just a friendly kiss." She drew a breath, remembering that Renee had just finished a workout and had still worn her boxing gloves. Her T-shirt had been damp with sweat and her caramel skin misted with its shine. She'd looked strong and feminine and so sexy. "Less than twenty-four hours later, I was kneeling on the ground with my hands pressed to your chest, afraid that you were dying."
"Paula, sweetie," Renee breathed, heart aching to hear the tremor in Stark's voice. "Honey—"
"No, I'm okay." Stark pushed on, needing to give voice to the well of emotions springing within. "What's between us, it started before that kiss, before we'd even touched. Because when I thought that you might die, I hurt somewhere inside that I hadn't even known was there. I hurt in some place that felt like it would bleed forever."
"Oh my God. Paula." I love you.
"So, yeah, I'm ready." Stark spoke quietly, gently. She'd never said anything like what she had just said before, never even thought the words. But she knew without question that they were right and true. That knowledge gave her strength, and from that strength, came patience. "But maybe it would be smart if we said from the beginning that it would just be a temporary arrangement. Three weeks."
"Three weeks." Renee's voice trembled now. "That seems... reasonable."
"By then, you'll have a better idea what your permanent assignment will be, and we'll have had a chance to check things out."
Renee laughed, sounding almost giddy with happiness and wonder. "I'm all for checking things out with you, sweetie."
"Yeah? So you think that might work...temporarily?"
"I think it just might. Call me when you get back to the city and you're free, and I'll come over. Okay?"
Stark sighed and slid down under the covers. She was tired, but she felt great. The only thing that was missing to make the night perfect was Renee lying beside her. "Roger that."
"You sleepy, sweetie?"
"Yeah. Some. How about you?"
"I'm still wired from the trip," Renee replied, swinging her feet over to the sofa and stretching out.
"I don't have anywhere to go for a few hours," Stark murmured.
"Oh yeah?" Renee reached up and clicked off the light on the end table. With a tiny laugh, she said, "So, sweetie, what are you wearing?"
0200 20Aug01
A cell phone rang in a paramilitary compound deep in the mountains of Tennessee. The duty officer—a twenty-year-old white man with his hair clipped to within a breath of his skull, dressed in battle fatigues, and
weighted down with his sidearm, extra ammo in magazine clips hanging from his belt, a bush knife in a leather sheath, and night glasses on a thick leather strap around his neck—answered the call. "Sergeant Wilson."
"This is red team leader. Have the general call me at this number."
Wilson, the weekend duty officer who worked during the week as a gas station attendant at one of the rest areas on the interstate, knew better than to question the order and dutifully repeated the ten digits. He'd never met the person who belonged to the voice on the phone^ but he was familiar with the deep rumbling tone. "Yes, sir. Right away, sir."
When the caller terminated the connection, Wilson used the landline to ring through to the general's quarters, one of the cabins that once composed the mountain resort that now formed the heart of the compound. The central lodge had been converted into the organization's headquarters, while the officers were housed in the cabins scattered in the surrounding woods. The volunteer personnel bivouacked in tents in areas (hey had clear-cut themselves. The entire five-acre compound was surrounded by a ten-foot barbed wire fence and protected by motion sensors and floodlights. Some of the officers, like the general, spent the better part of every month on base. The rest of the troops were only weekend warriors like himself, but those core members were dedicated and determined to take part in the struggle to reclaim the nation for the people.
"General Matheson, sir. I have a priority call for you."
"Give me the number, soldier."
Five minutes later, the dark-haired American flipped open his cell phone as it vibrated. "Good morning, General."
"Is it? Maybe in whatever cushy hotel you're in," the gravelly voice barked. "It's hotter than hell up here in these mountains, even with the windows open. You end up trading a dozen mosquito bites for a piss-poor bit of breeze."
"My sympathies, General."
"Yes, well, let's not waste these high-security minutes." They'd learned a valuable trick from their Middle Eastern colleagues—by anonymously purchasing disposable memory chips, usually from Switzerland, for their cell phones, they could communicate by satellite links with no danger of their calls being traced. Those with sophisticated equipment could even use the chips to uplink their computers for more extensive data transfer or to insert maps, photo images, and other intelligence data into dummy Web sites. "What the hell happened over there? That mission was planned down to the second—it should have gone off flawlessly."
"I was hoping you could tell me," the other man snapped, his patience frayed by the months of planning that had nearly culminated in disaster. "We were minutes away from completion of the operation when we had to abort. The premature release of the target's newspaper interview increased media attention to the point that our extraction route was unacceptably compromised."
The general grunted in disgust. "We had nothing to do with that. We don't want undue focus on the target at this point in time. Not when the larger operation is about to commence."
"This is not the time for miscommunication," insisted the agent who had spent the last six years of his life infiltrating one of the most secure organizations in the world. "Timing is critical now."
"You think I don't know that? What the hell do you think we've been doing here for the last year?"
Silence hung thickly while each man struggled with his temper.
"Are we abandoning this target?" the agent demanded.
"No. But the mission has changed...from abduction to termination," the general replied stonily. "It will be a coordinated strike to coincide with that of out friends."
The dark-haired man's stomach tightened. He kept his response short to avoid the possibility of revealing his surge of anxiety. "When will I get the details?"
"When you need them."
The American agent standing on a corner in Washington, DC within sight of the White House, making plans to commit treason, nodded as if the man on the other end of the line could see him. "I understand. I'll be waiting."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
22 August 2001
C am leaned against the stone pillar that supported the wrought-iron gate on the east side of Gramercy Park, surveying the entrance to Blair's apartment building. At 11:30 a.m., a stylish blond in a navy blue linen dress, the hemline high enough to accentuate elegantly sculpted calves, exited and walked to the curb. Brushing her shoulder-length hair back with one casual sweep of her hand, the woman glanced down the street, apparently in search of a cab.
"Diane," Cam called as she pushed away from the wall and crossed the street
Diane Bleeker looked around in surprise and smiled curiously as Cam approached. "Why, hello, Cam." Her voice was whiskey warm and her gaze leisurely as it traversed Cam's face and then did a slow appraisal of her body. She curled her fingers into the crook of Cam's arm with casual affection. "I haven't seen you in far too long. How are you?"
"I'm fine." The unusual absence of flirtation in the blond's tone instantly raised Cam's suspicions. Diane, Blair's business agent and best friend, was seductive by nature, and although Cam never took her seriously, she had come to expect a certain amount of suggestiveness in her manner. Its absence confirmed her concerns that something was not right—and seriously so. "Would you walk with me for a few minutes? I'll see that one of my agents takes you home after that."
"Only if you promise that it will be the beautiful Felicia," Diane responded with her winning smile.
Cam shook her head as they began to walk north, grinning despite the uneasiness churning in her depths. "Actually, Felicia isn't on duty. How about John Fielding?"
"Oh, really. He's hardly an appropriate substitute." Diane gave an elaborate sigh, but her eyes were devoid of merriment. "You don't have to take one of your agents away from their duties, Cam. I'll get a cab when we're done. Now, not that I mind you lying in wait to spirit me off, but I suspect it's more than a stroll you have in mind."
"Yes," Cam said quietly. "It's Blair. I'd hoped you could tell me what's wrong." The change in Diane's expression was barely perceptible, but Cam sensed her withdrawal and fought back a surge of temper born of two days of confusion and worry. "We've been back in the city since Monday, and she hasn't left her apartment once. I haven't seen her, even for briefings. She's canceled them all."
"Surely you've talked."
"On the phone" Cam shook her head in frustration. "Several times a day, in fact. But every time I've asked to see her, she's given me an excuse."
"You do know that she's working on the paintings for her show on the eighth, don't you?"
"Yes, I know that, and I know how consuming that can be. My mother is an artist—so are most of her friends. I've spent my life around them. But I've seen Blair work against a deadline before, and she's never shut herself away so completely." Not away from me.
"And she hasn't said...anything?"
"No. When we left DC, everything seemed fine." We made love almost all night. We were happy. She'd asked herself a dozen times what could have caused the abrupt change, and each time she'd come up empty. They hadn't had much time for conversation in the rush to get the team briefed before the short flight home. Blair had been quiet during the journey, but they certainly hadn't fought. Cam ran a hand through her hair, cursing herself under her breath. "I feel like an idiot even talking to you about this. But today she called to see you, so I thought—Christ, I don't know what I thought."
"Love makes fools of us all," Diane murmured in a surprisingly gentle voice. "You must remember that Blair and I have been friends since we were barely more than children. Despite the fact that we often argue and have been known to compete over...all manner of things, we love each other. She feels safe with me."
It was the kindness in Diane's voice's that brought a chill to Cam's heart. She stopped walking and drew Diane under the awning of a hotel, out of the way of pedestrian traffic on the sidewalk. She stared into Diane's eyes and thought she glimpsed sympathy there. "There is something wrong, isn't there? What is it?"
&nbs
p; "Cam." Tenderly, Diane stroked the tight line of Cam's jaw. "Give her just a little more time. She's not used to being loved the way you love her."
"The waiting is killing me," Cam confessed in a tormented voice.
"I know. And so does she." Diane leaned close and kissed Cam's cheek. "I'm going to get that cab now. You have my number. Call any time."
Cam waited on the sidewalk until Diane disappeared into a cab, then turned to walk back toward Blair's apartment. If she'd thought Blair was being thoughtless or intentionally disregarding her feelings or just simply ignoring her, she would have insisted that Blair see her, explain what the hell was going on. But she'd heard the hesitation in Blair's voice when they had talked, as if Blair was struggling to be close but couldn't find a way. And some sixth sense told her that she had to let Blair be the one to break the silence. She just didn't know how long she could endure it, because she had never been so lonely in her life.
"Commander?"
"What?" Cam barked, not looking up from the reports she'd been reading all afternoon. Mindless, tiresome, boring work. Anything to pass the time.
"Ms. Powell just called. She asked if you were available to see h—"
Cam stood so quickly her chair rocketed backward and hit the wall. "Thank you, Agent Wright."
"Yes, ma'am." Barry Wright stepped hastily aside as Cam charged past.
Two minutes later, Cam knocked on the door to Blair's penthouse loft. Almost immediately, the door opened and she stepped inside. The huge space, partitioned only in one corner for Blair's sleeping area and bathroom, was suffused with the golden glow of evening sunlight. In the sleeveless T-shirt and loose cotton drawstring pants that she favored when painting, Blair stood backlit, her face in shadows. It didn't seem possible, but Cam thought her lover looked thinner than the last time she'd seen her, only two days before. Uncertain if she had been summoned as Blair's lover or as her security chief, Cam did not move to touch her. "Hi."