by Radclyffe
The corner of Clive’s mouth twitched, as if he were actually about to smile. Priscilla prided herself on being the first to know everything that was newsworthy about everyone on the Hill. Rumor had it a lot of her information came from pillow talk, and she was unabashedly outspoken about her aversion to gays and lesbians. On the rare occasions when Dana and Priscilla ran into each other, Priscilla acted as if Dana had a contagious disease.
“A newspaper doesn’t turn down an offer for exclusive coverage, especially not when it’s something this big.” Clive passed a sheet of paper across the desk. “This is a preliminary guest list.”
Dana scanned it. It was shorter than she might have expected, but despite the public announcements regarding the event, she suspected that the president’s daughter wanted as much privacy as possible. She recognized quite a few of the names. One stood out and she raised an eyebrow. “Emory Constantine? The stem cell researcher?”
Clive nodded. “The elusive Dr. Constantine. The one who doesn’t give interviews and has almost as many security guards as Blair Powell. Since the attack on her in Boston last month, the Johnson Foundation has been locked up tighter than Fort Knox. There’s a story there, and I want you to get it.”
“There’s talk that the foundation is doing more than just basic biological research.” Dana handed the list back to Clive. “As in biological warfare.”
“If they are, no one’s talking about it. Maybe you can change that.” He rolled his massive shoulders. “Dr. Constantine apparently likes the ladies.”
Dana snorted. “Well then, I sure as hell don’t qualify.” She folded her arms. “And I don’t get my stories in the bedroom.”
“I don’t care how you get the story. Just get it.” He pointed to the door. “Now get out. I’m busy trying to figure out how to pay your salary next year.”
“Have you factored in a raise?” When Clive placed both hands flat on the desk as if he were about to get up, Dana backed toward the door. “I’m going.”
“Make sure you get your ass on a plane to Manhattan.”
“Yes, boss,” Dana muttered as she let the door close on her last hope of reprieve. “Crap.”
“Here you are, dear,” Amanda said, holding out an envelope. “Your itinerary and tickets. You’re expected at Ms. Powell’s in the morning.”
“Pretty sure I’d be going, weren’t you?”
Amanda smiled beatifically. “Of course. You were my first choice.”
Crap.
*
Matheson walked carefully along the narrow rows between the plain white headstones, leaving his son’s grave behind. When he reached the banks of the Potomac, the hallowed ground of Arlington Cemetery stretching out behind him, he stared across the water. The Lincoln Memorial and the White House stood opposite him just beyond the river. Symbols of freedom and national pride, now tarnished by those who had forgotten what had made the country great. The most powerful nation on Earth made impotent by laws enacted to protect the unworthy, financially and morally bankrupted from supporting the weak, the ignorant, and the debauched. It was time to return to power those who rightfully deserved it, to reward the sons of those who had built this great land. When he showed the people the mockery their leaders had made of their heritage, when the pretenders were unveiled as nothing more than puppets for perverts and thieves, the true patriots would rise again. And he would have justice.
Chapter Five
As the plane touched down at Teterboro Airport across the river from Manhattan in New Jersey, Cam noted the two hulking black shapes with bright halogen eyes idling on the tarmac. She couldn’t see beyond the tinted windows of the Suburbans, and she considered how easy it would be for someone to intercept the assigned vehicles on their way to the airport and replace them with identical vehicles filled with hostiles. That would, of course, assume a break in communication had gone unnoticed somewhere along the approach route. How long would it take to make the switch? Thirty seconds? Would a burst of static and less than a minute of patchy radio communications signal to anyone back at the command center that something had gone wrong? Could Blair walk unsuspectingly down the stairway from the plane and directly into a fusillade of bullets?
“Just sit tight for a second,” Cam murmured to Blair and unbuckled her seat belt.
“Cam?” Blair called after her, but Cam had already edged her way up the aisle.
“Who do you have on the ground?” Cam asked as she dropped into the seat next to Paula Stark.
Stark folded the week’s itinerary she’d been studying and slid it into the inside pocket of her navy blue blazer. Without the slightest hesitation, she replied, “Phelps, Edwards, Ramsey, and Wozinski. Problem, Commander?”
“I don’t want Blair to disembark until you’ve verified the identities of everyone in both vehicles.”
Stark regarded Cam steadily. “That’s standard procedure.”
“I know.” Cam blew out a breath and looked past Stark out the window. The runway lights created sharp, flat circles of white interspersed with inky blackness, like so many pearls on an ebony chain. “And I know that you know it. I just—” She lifted her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
When Cam started to rise, Stark, in a wholly uncharacteristic move, restrained her with a hand on her arm. Cam could count on one hand the times Stark had touched her, so she sat back down and waited for Stark to speak.
“I don’t think I’ve ever said this to you, but I’ve always believed it,” Stark said, holding Cam’s gaze. “You’re the best Secret Service agent I’ve ever seen. None of our training prepared us for what happened in September, but you made the right calls and probably saved all of us. If you ever have a feeling something’s not right, I want to know about it.”
“Even if it’s just nerves?” Cam said self-critically.
“It’s not nerves, Commander. It’s instinct.”
Cam smiled faintly. “I don’t think I’ve ever said this to you, but I believe it. You’re the right person to head Blair’s detail.”
Stark blushed and, for the first time, looked down. “Thank you.”
“There are some things you need to know about Colorado. Let’s talk when we get back to base.”
“Yes ma’am.”
*
“What was that all about back there in the plane?” Blair asked once she and Cam were settled in the back of the Suburban. Greg Wozinski, six-five and two hundred fifty pounds of blond-haired, blue-eyed beefsteak, managed to appear invisible as he occupied the facing seat in the rear of the armor-plated SUV. His expression was impassive and he might have been deaf for all the reaction he gave to their conversation. Nevertheless, she kept her voice low. She leaned into Cam’s body and kept one hand on Cam’s thigh. “What happened?”
“Nothing important,” Cam said.
“Stark doesn’t usually keep me strapped in that long after landing. Did you tell her to do that?”
“I don’t tell Stark what to do.”
“You’re hedging.”
Cam took Blair’s hand and held it against her middle. “I would have asked her to do it, if she hadn’t been planning to already. Your security is going to be doubled until after the wedding.”
“It could hardly be any heavier,” Blair said tightly. “I’ve got people with me all the time. And let’s not forget, soon I’ll have my very own personal reporter.”
“That hasn’t been confirmed.”
“Oh, please. Lucinda has decreed it.” Blair leaned her cheek against Cam’s shoulder. “I love her. I really do. But I can’t believe I let her use me the way she does. Is nothing sacred?”
“For Lucinda? Yes. The presidency.” Cam kissed Blair’s temple. “But she loves you too.”
“That doesn’t stop her from manipulating my private life.”
“She doesn’t see any difference between the personal and professional.”
“I used to think that about you,” Blair said.
“For most of my life that’s been true.” Cam s
hrugged. “It’s that way for most agents.”
“If you had to choose between me and your duty…” Blair shook her head. “Never mind.”
“You. I’d choose you.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you that. I’m just tired.”
Cam released Blair’s hand and slipped her arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer. “We’re all tired. But you can ask me anything you need to know, anytime.”
“I don’t want Dana Barnett inside my life.”
“You’ll be safer this way.”
Blair pulled away. “I’ve already got all the security I need. You said so yourself.”
“That’s not what I—”
“Forget it. Let’s just forget it. I already know how you feel. You agree with Lucinda.”
“Yes,” Cam said, feeling a barrier settle between them. On this one issue, Blair’s safety, she would never compromise, no matter how much Blair needed her to. Not even when it drove a wedge between them.
*
Diane held open her apartment door and peered at Blair, who’d arrived unannounced. Seeing Blair in tight jeans and a tighter black sweater, with her hair down and a wild look in her eyes, Diane was reminded of old times. Old times when Blair was unhappy and looking for trouble to take her mind off her troubles. What was different was that Patrice Hara, one of Blair’s Secret Service agents, stood just to the left of the door with her back to the wall in a position that gave her a view up and down the hallway to the elevator and the stairwells. In the pre-Cam days, Blair would have given her spookies the slip. “Hello, darling. You do know it’s after midnight?”
“The night is young.” Blair tossed her leather jacket on the chair as she crossed Diane’s living room to the minibar tucked into one corner. She pulled a bottle of wine and a corkscrew from underneath and set about opening it. Diane’s platinum blond hair fell loose to her shoulders and, barefoot and wearing pale blue silk pajamas, she looked ready for bed. “Am I keeping you awake?”
“Of course not—I was reading. I still keep New York hours.” Diane settled onto the arm of the sofa, watching Blair curiously. “Since you’ve gone domestic with Cam, you’re the one on a DC schedule. Up at an ungodly hour and no carousing until dawn anymore.”
Blair paused, the wine bottle suspended in one hand as she looked around the apartment. “I didn’t even think to ask if Valerie was here. I can’t get used to you living with someone.”
“She’s not here. And I’m not living with her.”
“Uh-huh.”
“She’s still…at work hardly seems to cover it.” Diane walked over to the bar, picked up an empty wineglass, and held it out. “And even if I were cohabitating, you can drop by anytime. What’s going on?”
“Cam is working late too.”
“That’s nothing new.”
Blair filled their glasses and sipped from hers. “We have a new member of the wedding party.”
“Really? I was about to tell you the same thing.”
“You tell first. I think your news is probably better than mine.” Blair flopped onto the couch and propped her scuffed brown boots on the gleaming wood coffee table.
Diane curled up beside her on the deep red sofa, drawing her legs up beneath her and turning sideways to face Blair. “I got an e-mail from Emory. She’s coming into the city tomorrow for some kind of grant meeting and she mentioned she was going to spend a few days here before heading out to Colorado. I invited her to get together with us while we put the finishing touches on the wedding plans. Do you mind?”
“No, that’s great. I like Emory.” Blair stared moodily into her wine. “I’d offer for her to stay at my place, but who would want to stay there? I don’t even want to stay there.”
“I already told her she could stay with me, but she said she was fine at the hotel.” Diane tapped a polished fingernail on Blair’s knee. “What’s Cam done, sweetie?”
“What makes you think it’s her?”
“You’re fretting. Lucinda annoys you. Nosy reporters make you swear. I have even been known to irritate you now and then. But only Cam makes you fret and pine.”
“I’m not pining. I’m pissed off.”
“Okay.” Diane stroked Blair’s leg, then patted it. “So. Tell.”
“Lucinda had the bright idea of assigning a reporter to cover the wedding, and Cam agrees.”
Diane frowned. “You knew you were going to create a buzz. After the press announcement this morning, I’m surprised you don’t already have a news van parked in front of your building.”
“I do. Three of them.” Blair grimaced. “Fortunately, they can’t come within thirty feet of the entrance, so all they can do is yell questions. This situation is different.”
“What, Lucinda promised some reporter a one-on-one? You’ve done plenty of interviews before.”
“We’re not talking an interview,” Blair said glumly. “We’re talking a member of the wedding. She’s showing up tomorrow and she’s going to be with us all day, every day, until this is over.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
“And you agreed?” Diane got up to refill their glasses. “Why?”
“I didn’t agree. Lucinda ordered it and Cam backed her.” Blair waved Diane and the wine away. She hadn’t even finished half a glass yet. She hated being at odds with Cam. For so many years, anger had fueled her life. Her resistance to the restrictions imposed by her father’s career had actually invigorated her. Certainly, her rage had inspired some of her best paintings. Since Cam, she had learned to compromise, and the new balance in her life had led her in surprising new directions in her art. She didn’t resent the changes, but there were times, like now, when she needed Cam to take her part. And it hurt when she didn’t. “You know what it’s like saying no to Lucinda.”
“But that’s not what has you drinking wine on my sofa in the middle of the night.”
“It’s silly, but I want Cam to care about the wedding like I do.”
Diane wrapped her arm around Blair’s shoulders and hugged her. “Congratulations. I don’t think I’ve ever actually heard you say that you wanted something from a lover before. Other than hot sex, that is.”
Blair laughed. “That’s one thing I never have to request from Cam.”
“Don’t gloat.”
“You should talk,” Blair teased. “If wanting something from her is such a good thing, why does it feel lousy?”
“Just because we want something doesn’t mean we’re going to get it, or even that we should. But we rarely want things from people we don’t care about, and you never let yourself care before.”
“You already know I’m crazy about her.”
“I know,” Diane said, “but that’s not the same thing.” Diane rubbed Blair’s shoulder. “But she probably can’t read your mind, so you’ll have to tell her what you need.”
“It sounds silly when I say it out loud.”
“No it doesn’t.”
Blair sighed. “Besides, she’s not going to change her mind about the reporter.”
“Cam doesn’t strike me as the type who likes publicity any more than you do. Why is she going along with it?”
Blair said nothing.
“Aha. What aren’t you telling me?”
“Cam thinks it will make security easier because we’ll be able to limit my exposure. Fewer press conferences, fewer interviews. You know the drill.”
Diane laughed. “You don’t really expect Cam to say no to anything that’s going to keep you safe?”
“I am safe,” Blair said vehemently. “Have you looked outside your door? Hara will be there until I come out. And there are more downstairs, outside the building and in the car.”
“Well, I happen to be glad about that. I wish Valerie had people following her everywhere she went.” Abruptly, Diane stood and strode to the balcony doors. She wrapped her arms around her body as if she were cold. “I know the lack of privacy is horrible for you.”
She spun around, her eyes fierce. “But you have a team of experts to keep you safe. No one is protecting her.”
“I’m sorry,” Blair said softly. “I should be grateful, and I’m not. And you must be sick with worry over her.”
Diane pushed her fingers through her hair and heaved a deep breath. “I want to believe that no one cares about her or about what she might know any longer, but it’s hard. I know that agents like her have very little connection to one another, and almost no one except their handlers even know who they are. But every time she walks out the door…”
“You’re afraid she won’t come back,” Blair said, voicing their shared nightmare.
“I can’t tell her because she already thinks I’ll be better off without her.”
“God, they don’t get it, do they?” Blair said in exasperation.
Diane laughed. “Which part? That if we’d be better off without them, we wouldn’t be so terrified of losing them?”
“For starters.” Blair held out her hand and Diane took it, settling beside her on the couch once again.
“So,” Diane said. “Tell me about this reporter.”
“The only good thing about this,” Blair said, “is that she’s not any happier about it than I am. Dana Barnett. She’s—”
“The investigative reporter? I’ve seen her on television. God, she’s gorgeous.”
Blair leaned back and regarded Diane through narrowed lids. “I thought you were off the market?”
“Off the market, yes. Dead and buried, no.”
Blair laughed. “She’s very good looking. She also seems tough and smart and doesn’t want this assignment. So maybe she won’t bother us very much.”
“She can bother me all she wants,” Diane muttered.
“Well, don’t expect me to run interference. I’m out of practice.” Blair nudged her. “And don’t forget that Valerie is armed.”
Diane smiled. “I never thought I’d say this, but I really can’t imagine being with anyone except her. God, that is terrifying.”