by Radclyffe
“All right then. Thanks.” Dusty signaled for the check, they split it and then walked outside. Viv drove Dusty back to the center and pulled up in front of the main building. The only lights were those that lined the walkway leading to the kennels in the rear. She could scarcely believe she’d first laid eyes on the place a little over twelve hours before. That she’d just met Dusty, who she hadn’t stopped thinking about all day. “I’ll look for you in Chicago.”
“Would you mind if I texted you?” Dusty said quietly.
“I’d like that a lot.”
Dusty put her hand on the door handle. “I will, then.” She hesitated, turned toward Viv. “Thanks for asking me to dinner.”
Viv caught her breath. Moonlight shone behind Dusty’s head, illuminating the side of her face and the corner of her very sexy mouth. To hell with it. Viv leaned across the space between them and brushed a kiss across Dusty’s mouth. She lingered just an instant, memorizing the shape and texture of her lips. Warm and soft and silky smooth. She leaned back, the roaring in her head making it impossible to think. The heat in her belly bloomed higher. “Believe me, tonight was my pleasure.”
“Mine too,” Dusty said, her voice husky. “Good night, Viv.”
And then she was gone, striding rapidly down the walk and disappearing behind the building. Viv put her hands on the wheel and stared out the windshield. Somehow, her world had taken on a very different flavor. She was seriously in lust and dangerously in like. Both feelings were incredibly pleasant and equally terrifying.
*
The incessant beeping shattered a very lovely dream having something to do with being naked on a sandy beach under a blazing sun with Cam rubbing warm oil all over her butt. Blair groaned, rolled over, and slapped at the offending instrument. “No.”
Cam sat up, disgustingly alert as she always was the instant she came awake. Perhaps the only habit of hers that Blair took issue with. “It’s time.”
“Five more minutes,” Blair muttered.
Cam laughed softly and kissed her. “You can have ten. I’ll shower first.”
Blair pulled the pillow over her head and turned away.
“It’s time, baby,” Cam murmured again way too soon, kissing Blair’s ear. She drew the covers down, stroked Blair’s back, and kissed the side of her neck. “The shower’s all nice and warm and ready for you.”
Blair rolled over and sighed. “It’s still dark.”
“That’s because it’s three thirty in the morning.”
“I’d forgotten how much I hate this.”
“It’s not too late to change your mind.”
“Yes, it is.” Blair put a hand in the center of Cam’s chest and pushed. Nothing happened, of course. Cam was a rock, and under most circumstances she found that immensely sexy. “I’m going and it’s too early to argue.”
“Then you have to suffer along with the rest of us.” Cam patted her butt, without benefit of the warm oil and sunshine. Or the beach and naked part. “Up and at ’em.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Muttering, Blair climbed out of bed and headed for the shower. The hot water helped revive her and fortunately, once awake, she got up to speed quickly. She finished dressing the same time as Cam. They grabbed their luggage and rode downstairs where Stark was waiting in the lobby. She looked bright and chipper as usual.
“Morning,” Stark said, walking to the door just ahead of Blair. One of the shift agents opened the door and they all trooped out to the waiting Town Car that idled at the curb. An agent opened the trunk. Cam and Blair piled their luggage inside and climbed into the backseat. Stark sat in front and the driver pulled out with the two follow cars right behind. Her father would fly from the White House to Andrews Air Force Base in Marine One. Everyone else would convene at Andrews by car—the rest of her and her father’s immediate security detail, the military aide, the president’s doctor and the medical team, the White House staff, a select number of the press corps, the communications officers, and the stewards who prepared all the president’s food. Everyone else would fly commercial to Chicago or in the C-17s along with the cars, equipment, dogs, and everything else that was necessary for a trip with the president.
Blair pulled up the latest schedule from Lucinda to make sure nothing had changed for the morning. Once they reached Chicago, she was to join her father for their first public appearance, a breakfast with select donors and political fund-raisers.
Cam took her hand. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.” This trip felt a lot different than the first time she’d taken to the campaign trail with him. She’d been younger, for one thing, and something of an unknown. She wasn’t any longer. She’d been secretly a little resentful that first time too, having to take the place of her mother and help her father create an image that the public could relate to. She understood the need, but as much as she believed in him, as much as she loved him, she’d resented being forced into a role that required her to hide who she was.
Maybe that was why she’d had the affair with the French ambassador’s wife. Foolish and immature, looking back at it now, although Margot had been beautiful and surprisingly inventive in bed. Blair wasn’t hiding now. And she probably hadn’t even had to hide then. Her father had never asked her to. His campaign manager certainly had, and others had been less than subtle in suggesting that she keep her private life private. Well, that bird had flown. She took Cam’s hand, kissed her knuckles. “I’m ready.”
Chapter Ten
Dusty arrived before anyone else on her team at the hangar where the C-17 cargo planes were fueled, loaded, and ready to go. The transport agents were responsible for securing the presidential limo within the belly of the huge cargo plane along with a second limo—an exact replica of the first that would be used were there any problem with the primary car—the hazmat van, and the SUVs for the Secret Service protection details, presidential staff, press, medical, K9, EOD, counterassault, and communications teams. She liked to inspect the kennels where Atlas and the other dogs would ride before they were loaded, just to be sure everything was secure.
“Okay to check it out?” she asked when Larry Murtaugh, the transport supervisor, appeared in the doorway of the cargo hold. Murtaugh, a burly fifty-year-old with flinty blue eyes and close-cropped red hair peppered with gray, was a stickler for details and always insisted on doing the final checks whenever the presidential vehicles were loaded for long-distance travel.
He waved her up and grunted at her as she climbed aboard with Atlas. “Still don’t trust us?”
She grinned and shrugged. “Atlas is a nervous flyer.”
“Bullshit.”
He was right. Atlas didn’t mind flying. It was almost as if he knew a big job was coming when they landed. He had been through this hundreds of times and wasn’t bothered by the sounds of the big machines, the air guns driving bolts into metal, the steady background roar of the engines. The smell of gasoline and oil didn’t faze him either. She wasn’t nervous, but she didn’t like securing him in a crate that could break free and go careening around the cavernous space in midflight either. He trusted her to keep him safe, just like she trusted him to alert her to danger before they or anyone else could get blown up. She followed Murtaugh as he walked up and down both sides of the long double rows of vehicles, checking off items on his clipboard. The kennels for the dogs were secured to the floor with clamps and separated by solid barriers, so the dogs could only see out the front. Atlas sat by her side as she looked over the moorings of the crate with his name on it.
“Not just yet, buddy,” she murmured at his expectant expression. When she was satisfied all the kennels were securely fixed and there’d be no in-air problems, she dumped her duffel in the back of one of the K9 vehicles and walked him back out into the hangar. Other agents were beginning to arrive, suitcases and travels bags in hand. No one looked particularly happy.
Riding in a C-17 was a miserable way to travel. The massive cargo bay was cold and noisy. The unpadded metal benche
s along either side were uncomfortable, but better than the jump seats fore and aft that rocked with every dip and roll of the big plane. The roar and rattle of engines and draft made conversation impossible, not that she really went in for small talk most of the time, but a long overseas trip could be deadly boring without a little casual chatter. She always sat where Atlas could see her. And where she could see him. They traveled better that way. She nodded to a couple of guys on her team as they went past with their dogs. She’d wait until the last minute to board. It wasn’t as if she had to worry about getting a seat.
She sat on a crate out of the flow of traffic with Atlas at her feet. She was already in uniform—black BDUs, black lace-up boots, and a black cap with USSS above the bill. The back of her nylon jacket read K9 Division. Atlas would wear a light vest with similar designations when they disembarked. As soon as they touched down, she and six of the other K9 agents would load into the SUVs, drive directly to the convention center where the president would give his breakfast speech, and do the final sweep on the path he would take inside and in the rooms he would occupy. Once he and his entourage were safely inside, she and Atlas would patrol the inner perimeter and sweep the vehicles before he left to travel to the train.
Until they arrived in Chicago, she had nothing else to do, which was just as well. She was having a little trouble concentrating. Okay, a lot of trouble. Her mind was elsewhere, which probably explained why she’d slept so fitfully, after she’d finally managed to fall asleep. She couldn’t stop replaying every minute of the past twenty hours, recalling the conversations she’d had with Viv, dissecting the things she’d said or failed to say, the way Viv had looked at her, laughed with her, touched her. None of it had been expected. All of it was special.
She’d never been able to talk to anyone so easily. She’d never been with anyone who touched so naturally. She’d never gone home wishing she could have had one more minute, one more hour with someone.
She was making too much of it, she knew that. But she couldn’t stop herself. Every time she thought of Viv, her stomach tightened and a surge of pleasure rippled down her spine. The sensation was addictive. One she’d never experienced and hoped would never end.
She reached down, scratched between Atlas’s ears, stroked his back. Him she knew. Him she trusted, loved, relied on. Uncomplicated feelings he returned a thousandfold. She was totally out of her depth with Viv. Inexperienced didn’t begin to cover it.
One of the two phones clipped to her belt vibrated. She glanced down and saw the symbol for a text message on her personal phone. The only texts she ever got on that phone were airline updates or weather alerts. The sky was clear and she wasn’t flying commercial. Pulse racing, she thumbed the icon to bring up the message. It was from Viv’s number. She already knew it by heart. She’d almost dialed it in the middle of the night just to hear her voice again. Thankfully, sanity had prevailed.
Have you left yet?
Dusty stared. Viv was really texting her. She hadn’t expected to hear anything from her until later in the day. Maybe not even then. She tried to type an answer and had to delete the gibberish and press the letters deliberately one at a time. No, still loading plane.
Busy?
No. Dusty held her breath, waiting for more.
I woke up thinking about you.
Dusty’s heart did a funny thing in her chest, as if it had come loose and dropped a couple of inches. She wet her lips. Her hands were shaking. Carefully, she formed the words. Didn’t sleep much. Yesterday was great.
:-) For me too.
Dusty stared at the screen for a while. She wasn’t sure she should answer. There wasn’t a question implied in what Viv just typed. What did she say now? She had to say something. She didn’t want to lose the tenuous connection between the two of them. Atlas says hello.
Two smiley faces returned. Tell Atlas hi back for me. Can’t wait to see you both later.
I’m off shift at four.
Dinner again?
On the train? Dusty heard someone call her name. She ignored it.
Anywhere.
Dining car. 5?
Perfect, Viv texted back. See you tonight.
Yes.
Dusty took a minute to collect her scattered thoughts. Viv had texted her. Been thinking about her. She said that. And Viv wanted to see her for dinner. She hadn’t imagined any of it. Maybe it was actually real.
“Yo, Nash! You planning on flying or walking?”
“On my way,” Dusty yelled to her shift supervisor. She stood, and Atlas rose with her. “Come on, boy. We’ve got to get to Chicago.”
*
Hooker drove toward the diner thinking about money. He was going to be early for the meeting, but that was fine. He wanted some time to consider his options. If the girl was leaving town and headed toward Colorado Springs, she’d have to take the money with her. She wasn’t going to open any kind of bank account or secure the funds electronically somehow. No, she’d have the cash with her.
Chances were she wouldn’t bring it in the vehicle when she met him. But it would be close by. Hotel room, probably. Maybe a locker at the bus station. He thought back to the look in her eyes when she’d said there was nothing he could do to make her tell him where it was. He didn’t have any experience torturing people, and the idea of torturing a woman turned his stomach. He didn’t think it would work with her and was just as glad. He was guaranteed ten grand. She’d come through with that. She looked like Graves, probably more than she knew. And she was likely her father’s daughter and righteously honorable too. No, she wouldn’t cheat him.
So he could take the money she offered him for providing a contact and that would be the end of it. He’d never see her again. He’d be ten grand richer. Russo would be unhappy that he couldn’t retrieve the $250,000, but that had been a gamble and not his decision to begin with. But two hundred thousand plus was hard to walk away from.
If he couldn’t intimidate her into telling him where it was, he had to blackmail her. He didn’t know her real name, and he couldn’t implicate her in the failed attack on the president without putting his own head in the noose. So what mattered to her? She definitely had plans—what he couldn’t tell, but if she was after explosives, she wanted to make a big statement. A threat to expose her might do the trick, especially if she was as fanatical as Graves and the rest of that bunch.
He pulled into the all-night diner with its sorry dented metal façade and empty parking lot and sat with the motor running to keep warm. Two pickup trucks were the only other vehicles. She wasn’t there yet, but he bet she’d be early too.
She was definitely her father’s daughter, he’d bet money on it. He laughed. He was doing just that.
*
Blair’s limo pulled across the tarmac toward Air Force One where a ring of Secret Service agents formed the inner perimeter, assuring that no unauthorized personnel approached the presidential plane. The backup Boeing 747 idled a few hundred yards down the runway in front of the third jet that would carry press and staff who could not be accommodated aboard Air Force One.
Blair glanced at Cam. “Are you ready?”
“You mean to play first daughter-in-law?” Cam grinned. “Can’t wait.”
Blair laughed and kissed her. “I know you hate it. I’m sorry. We’ll keep you out of the spotlight as much as we possibly can.”
“Don’t worry about me.” Cam kissed her as agents jumped out of the follow car and descended upon them. “I’m always happy at your side.”
“I love you,” Blair murmured just as Stark opened the door.
Cam followed Blair out as the rest of the detail closed in and they crossed toward the stairs at the front of the plane where the presidential suite was located. The rear doors led into the press section. Blair settled in the lounge area adjoining her father’s private quarters to wait for him. Lucinda would arrive with him, along with the president’s physician and the military aide who carried the briefcase with the nuclear codes
.
“I imagine we’ll be reviewing his remarks,” Blair said.
Cam kissed her. “I’m going to talk to Stark for a while. I’m sure there will be schedule changes once Lucinda boards.”
“Undoubtedly.”
Cam made her way toward the rear of the forward section, nodding to the PPD shift agents and Blair’s detail. She settled into a seat next to Stark. “Anything new in the morning briefing?”
Stark shook her head. “No.”
Cam watched Blair rise to give her father a hug. The president looked rested and eager to start his first major offensive of his reelection campaign. Eight days on the road. “Sometimes the quiet bothers me more than anything else.”
“Me too.”
*
Viv never got over the excitement of flying on Air Force One. Climbing aboard the most elite aircraft in the world with the president of the United States was one of the premier perks of being part of the White House press pool. She never said it out loud, but every trip thrilled her. Of course, being a witness to history in the making was the greatest honor of all, and every time she boarded Air Force One she was humbled. The thrill was there today, just like always, but as she lined up with her colleagues for coffee and pastries at the small minibar in the rear of the press section, she couldn’t totally keep her mind on business.
I’m off shift at four.
She almost couldn’t believe she’d texted Dusty at oh-dark-thirty. That was so unlike her! She’d never been one to pursue a woman, not that she had anything against it, it was just that she’d never actually met anyone she’d wanted or needed to pursue. Most of the time an invitation would pop up seemingly out of nowhere for dinner or a show or some other kind of date when she hadn’t really been thinking about it—or the woman in question. She’d usually be pleased by the invitation and most of the time happy to accept. She wasn’t passive when it came to women, she just wasn’t looking.