by Radclyffe
“Would you actually ‘take a bullet’ for me, as they say?” Blair said mockingly. A muscle clenched in Cams jaw, and a storm rose in her gray eyes.
“Yes,” she answered curtly. She locked eyes with Blair, searching for some hint of what she was after. She had no doubt there was some point to this. Blair’s blue eyes were defiant, and just as searching.
“You’ve had some practice at that, haven’t you,” Blair probed. Finally a swift intake of breath and a slight falter in Cams step rewarded her as the question struck home. She does have a weak spot, she thought triumphantly. When Cam failed to answer, Blair pushed.
“It’s a matter of record, you know.”
“Then you know all there is to know,” Cam replied stiffly. She fought to keep the image of Janet’s face from her mind.
“Really?”
“As you said—it’s a matter of record.”
Blair laughed. “We all know how accurate the records are, don’t we, Agent Roberts?”
Their destination was not the expected polished urban health club where Blair practiced yoga and aerobics. Blair led them swiftly past the entrance to the gym and turned down an adjacent alley. Cam groaned inwardly when Blair grabbed her arm and directed her up a flight of narrow littered stairs to a huge room on the third floor of a rundown tenement building.
The clientele was mostly male. There were worn punching bags hung from chains scattered about, men in torn tee shirts or no shirts at all pounding at them. Heavily-muscled lifters grunted and sweated at the free weight benches tucked into every conceivable corner. Two elevated boxing rings dominated the center of the space, one currently occupied by a pair of fighters making a serious effort to score off each other. Cam was willing to bet there were half a dozen felons in the room, any one of whom probably knew exactly who Blair Powell was.
“Have you been here before?” she asked as she weaved her way around bodies, following Blair toward the rear.
“Three times a week for eighteen months.”
Cam was furious. No one had told her about this place—she had no background on the members, no idea of the physical layout, and no prayer of guarding Blair effectively. How in hell had this been overlooked?
As if reading her mind, Blair commented, “They don’t know about it.”
“How?”
Blair grinned, an altogether spontaneous and disarming grin. Or it might have been if Cam hadn’t been so angry. “They think I’m at my therapists office around the corner most of the time.”
“Back door?”
“Uh huh.”
Cam didn’t ask her why. There was no need to. She knew why. Pointing out the danger would be meaningless. Blair obviously cared less for her safety than for her freedom, and that was probably the result of having people like herself constantly shadowing her for the last fifteen years of her life. What mattered to Cam now was that something similar not happen again.
“Here we are,” Blair announced, pulling back the curtain to a small cramped dressing room not much bigger than a walk-in closet. A shower stall and toilet were visible behind a rickety screen in the back. Blair tossed her bag down and in one fluid motion pulled off her shirt. She caught Cam off guard and laughed knowingly as Cams eyes flickered once to her breasts before she quickly looked away.
“You can grab sweats and a tee shirt from my bag. There’s plenty,” Blair informed her as she continued to strip. She watched Cam unabashedly as she changed. She knew Cam was aware of her scrutiny, although she gave no sign of it. Cam had the kind of body Blair expected—lean and hard-muscled, a tightly coiled machine. She imagined making those muscles quiver with desire, watching Cam’s rigid control break with need. The power of the image stirred a flush of arousal so keen it made her gasp. If Cam heard, she gave no sign of it. She reached for a pair of sweats without hurrying.
Blair looked at the ten inch scar that ran down the outside of Cams right thigh. It was still fresh enough that it hadn’t lost the redness. As Cam pulled the pants up, Blair asked, “Is your leg okay?”
“Yes, it is.”
Cam pulled on a tee shirt that said ‘Ernie’s Gym’. She faced Blair, who stood appraising her. The President’s daughter wore a sleeveless tee, torn off a couple of inches below her high firm breasts, and baggy sweats. Sleek well-toned muscles defined her arms and legs. Her exposed midriff was taut, and she sported a small gold ring in her navel. Untamed blond strands escaped from the black headband, wilding around her face. Her blue eyes glinted with brazen sensuality. She was a beautiful animal.
“I take it this is Ernie’s?” Cam remarked dryly, refusing to be distracted by Blair’s open seduction. The time when the promise of a body like that might have interested her was past. The price of possession was too high.
“This is Ernie’s,” Blair rejoined, pushing the curtain aside. She wasn’t perturbed by Cams rebuff. She would have been disappointed had it been easy. What bothered her was the undeniable throbbing in her own body. Desire was a weakness, one she exploited in others, but avoided personally. There were too many ways in which other people controlled her. She would not allow another.
———
Cams head snapped back as a kick landed along her jaw.
“Are you sure you don’t want a helmet,” Blair called, a hint of laughter in her voice. She moved lightly on the canvas, her gloved hands at chest level. Cam faced her, wearing no gloves or other protective gear.
“No thanks,” Cam responded, gauging the reach of Blair’s legs with respect. When the next kick came she stepped off the line of the trajectory and deflected it with a forearm. She expected a follow-up punch, and she blocked that as well. She stepped back once again to a middle range, trying to get a feel for Blair’s tactics. Blair moved lightly on the canvass, agile and supple. Blair was a kickboxer, and used her feet as weapons in the ring. Cam was trained for the street. Blair attacked relentlessly, mixing kicks, double kicks and strikes with considerable skill. Some scored, although none would have done damage had they been full force.
Cam deflected, blocked and redirected her opponents efforts. She was trained to immobilize and neutralize, and those techniques were not designed for sparring. She knew she couldn’t defend this way for long—there was a good chance Blair would make serious contact with one of her kicks. As a sweeping round house kick approached her head, Cam stepped forward into Blair’s body, so close to her that the kick lost its force. She trapped Blair’s leg with her near arm, grasped the shoulder of Blair’s shirt with her other hand, and swept Blair’s remaining leg out from under her. Cam held onto her to break her fall, following her down to the mat, and pinned her face down with a shoulder pin.
“Son of a bitch!” Blair muttered as she struggled briefly to lift her torso off the canvass. She stopped when the pressure on her shoulder increased slightly. She wasn’t damaged, but she was effectively immobilized.
“If you tap the mat, I’ll release you,” Cam said softly into her ear. “But you must promise not to punch me as you get up. Rules of war.”
Blair laughed as she slapped the mat. She rolled over and found Cam kneeling beside her, a half smile on her face.
“You okay?” Cam asked.
“Dandy. I suppose you’ll do that again if we start over?”
“I told you I didn’t spar,” Cam said as they both got to their feet. “You’d annihilate me.”
“No, I don’t think so,” Blair replied softly, stripping off her gloves. “You mind showing me that technique?”
Cam glanced outside the ring, realizing they had drawn quite a crowd. She wasn’t sure this was a good time for a lesson, especially when she had no one inside the building. She couldn’t very well survey the people around them if she was flat on her back. Blair followed her gaze, her smile disappearing in irritation.
“They don’t know me,” she said flatly.
Cam saw the resentment in her eyes, and shook her head slightly. “You can’t know that.”
“I know,” Blair insisted
. “I always know.” She took a deep breath, then added in a whisper, “please.”
Cam swept the group leaning on the ropes one more time. “All right.”
She demonstrated at half-speed several times while Blair watched intently. Then she launched a kick toward Blair’s head, ready to pull back if Blair failed to execute the technique. Blair quickly countered and took Cam down soundly to the cheers of the onlookers. Cam found herself on her back with Blair above her, Blair’s bent forearm pressed to Cams neck. Blair pressed her knee between Cams legs and leaned forward until their faces were nearly touching. Her lips were a breath away.
“If you don’t slap the mat, I can make this feel a whole lot better,” Blair whispered.
Cam gasped as Blair rocked her thigh against Cams pelvis. For a second all she felt was the fire, igniting instantly into a consuming ache. She caught back a moan, shook her head to clear it, and in one upward thrust, dislodged Blair from on top of her. She was on her feet quickly, and in the next instant had vaulted over the ropes and out of the ring.
“She’s too much for you, huh girl?” a burly man next to her said good-naturedly.
“You got that right,” Cam responded lightly. She waited as Blair climbed down, then followed her into the dressing room.
“I need to shower,” Blair informed her, pulling off her clothes. Cam struggled to quell the remnants of unwanted desire.
“I’ll wait outside.”
“What are you afraid of, Agent Roberts?” Blair taunted lightly as she stood naked before her. “I felt you, you know.”
“Take your time,” Cam said evenly as she stepped out through the curtain. Blair’s laughter followed her even as the throbbing in her pelvis reminded her of her own weakness.
Chapter Seven
Cam slammed the office door hard enough that the glass enclosure rattled. Six agents sat slumped around the table, staring at their pens. Cam stood at the end of the table, breathing heavily, trying to contain her anger.
“How many of you have been on this detail longer than six months?” she asked at length, her words clipped. There was a moment of silence, then Mac cleared his throat.
“All of us, ma’am.”
“All of you.” She looked them over one at a time. “All of you.”
“Yes ma’am,” he responded.
“Obviously none of you are capable of this assignment, nor worthy of it. Blair Powell—the daughter of the President of the United States -has been criminally unprotected for months, and not one of you reported it? Even if I could overlook your lack of responsibility to her—which I can’t—it is impossible to excuse your silence regarding the potential danger to national security. Were she kidnapped it would threaten the presidency.” Leaning forward, both hands flat on the table, she said succinctly, “I want a request for transfer from every one of you on my desk in one hour.”
As Cam turned toward the door, Paula Stark stood abruptly. “Commander!”
“Yes?” Cam questioned.
“I don’t want a transfer, ma’am. I want this detail.”
“Really? And why is that?”
Stark took a deep breath. “Because she is my responsibility, and because I can do what no one else can. I’ve spent months following her through half the gay bars in this city. I am recognized, and I’m accepted. I can go where most of the others can’t. You need an inside person, and that’s me.”
Cam regarded her silently.
Paula met Cams penetrating gaze. “I should have filed a report sooner. We lose her regularly, and it’s always because were never informed of her route, or she changes it, or she intentionally lies to us. Were all frustrated—but that’s no excuse.”
“You’re right. That’s no excuse for what you all have been participating in. Regardless of Ms. Powell’s duplicity, it is your sworn duty to guard her. If you don’t have what it takes, you don’t belong here. I don’t want anyone on this team who doesn’t want to be here.” She looked over the group. “I’ll see that there are no repercussions if you request transfer now, but I guarantee I will see you posted to an embassy in Somalia if you fuck up on my detail.”
An hour later, Mac knocked on the door to Cams eight by ten office.
“Commander?”
Cam studied his boyishly handsome face. His blue eyes were serious.
“Are you staying or leaving, Mac?”
“I’m staying if you want me. Two men want transfers—they’re bringing the paperwork. I’m sorry I fucked up. If you don’t trust me”
Cam stopped him with a raised hand. “I need a good coordinator, Mac. We have an uncooperative target—nothing is going to change that. We are going to have to be able to readjust personnel, vehicle placement, even motor routes at a moments notice. I need to be with her—consistently, persistently—until she figures out that we are not going away.”
She saw the look of disbelief he quickly tried to hide. She laughed, the tension easing from her shoulders for the first time since she left the gym. “Yeah, I know. I’m dreaming. You’ll be the desk jockey most of the time were here, and the communication center when were not. Are you in or not?”
He favored her with a brilliant smile. “I’m in.”
“Good—then find me replacements for the two who are leaving. I don’t even want to see the files until you’ve been through them. And Mac—we both know what the problem has been. If there’s even a hint of homophobia, I don’t want them on this assignment. Blair Powell’s lifestyle is not our concern, and shouldn’t affect the way we do the job. I want that clear.”
“Yes ma’am. I understand.”
“Good. Well brief for the trip to Washington at 0700.”
As soon as her second in command closed the door, Cam leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to think about her response to Blair’s blatant sexual overture at the gym, but she had to. She could not afford to be distracted, and there was no denying the effect Blair had on her. Fortunately, it was purely physical, and they would be in Washington in two days. She could satisfy the insistent demands of her body then.
———
Cam was the last one on the plane. The cabin space was small, and Blair sat alone near the rear. Three other agents had boarded earlier and occupied the area just behind the cockpit. Cam nodded to them as she moved toward the rear, finally settling in the seat across the aisle from Blair. She stretched her legs into the aisle and pulled a stack of memos from her briefcase.
“Do you have plans for tonight, Agent Roberts?” Blair asked. She liked the semi-casual look of Cams pressed khaki chinos and matching blazer over a cotton broadcloth shirt. The only way she liked her better was in the tight faded jeans she wore when she was off-duty. Blair remembered very well how good Cam looked in those. In fact, every time she thought about that night in the bar she wanted nothing more than to get her hands inside those jeans. For the moment at least, that seemed unlikely.
Cam smiled, shaking her head slightly. “No plans. Happy Birthday, by the way.”
Blair flushed slightly, then reminded herself the agent was only being polite, like most of the people in her life. She leaned forward, lowering her voice as she spoke. “Why thank you. I don’t suppose a birthday kiss is in the offing?”
Cam glanced at her, aware of how attractive she was, then back at the papers before her. “No.”
They did not speak for the rest of the flight.
Cam accompanied Blair across the drive to the private entrance to the White House. She stopped at the door as a guard opened it for Blair.
“I’ll see you in the morning, Ms. Powell,” she said. The door swung shut with no response from the President’s daughter. The White House Security staff would be responsible for her welfare from this point until she was ready to leave the next day. Cam was looking forward to a day off, and a relaxing evening.
Chapter Eight
Cam stretched out on the couch with a drink and watched the traffic below on Pennsylvania Avenue. From her high-r
ise apartment she could see the White House in the distance. She wondered fleetingly how Blair was faring, then put the thought from her mind. Tonight she did not have to worry about her. She reached for the phone and dialed a number from memory.
“This is number 38913,” she said as a female voice answered. “Id like to confirm my arrangement for tonight.” She waited for a moment as her client ID number was verified. “Yes—eleven o-clock at” She hesitated as her beeper went off. “Just a second,” she added, checking the number. It was the White House. “I’ll have to call back. It may be later. Yes, keep it open—I’ll take care of the time. Thank you.”
She pushed the other line, keeping the scrambler engaged. “Roberts,” she said tersely when the phone was picked up.
“Commander? It’s Mac—I’m sorry to bother you, but I thought you’d want a call.”
“Mac?” she said in surprise. “What are you doing there? What’s going on?”
“I’m not supposed to be here. She’s gone, Commander. They lost her an hour ago. The commander here didn’t want anyone to know, so when it started getting late a buddy of mine called me on the sly.”
“Goddamn it,” she cursed. “Who else knows?”
“Just the inside team here. They haven’t a clue where to look.”
She understood his message. “Right—we can’t very well call out our own people. Were not even supposed to know about this. There are a few places I can check. Listen Mac, there’s a floating club—it travels around from one venue to another all over the city. Very trendy, only people in the know have the address. Find it for me. I’ll call you in an hour.”
She interrupted his protests. “I don’t know how you’ll find it, but I’m sure you will.”
Two hours later he called her with the address. Cam arrived at the warehouse close to midnight. She had been to every gay bar she knew of, and several Mac had come up with. It was New Years Eve. The bars were packed with exuberant men and women in various stages of intoxication and undress. She hadn’t found her. For all she knew, Blair was tucked away in bed somewhere with a girlfriend they didn’t know about. Cam hoped so.