Word of Honor

by Radclyffe

  Blair leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “Tell me about it.”

  *

  Paula Stark rubbed her eyes and picked up the most recent stack of intelligence reports in one hand and a cold cup of coffee in the other. She sipped absently while scanning the memos from that day’s summaries, focusing on the sections that had been highlighted by Iggie Jackson, the acting communications coordinator while Mac was in Colorado. She paid particular attention to anything mentioning Andrew Powell, New York City, the Midwest, patriot organizations, or Blair. Five of the twenty pages were devoted to excerpts from newspaper articles, Web posts, speeches, or other responses to the official White House press release regarding the upcoming wedding. All of the usual suspects were represented—fundamentalist Christians, the Roman Catholic Assembly of Archbishops, the Anglicans, and any number of other religious institutions opposed to gay marriage—but what interested her most were several statements from patriot organization leaders. She circled one from Randolph Hogan.

  “Something interesting?” Cam asked as she dropped into a swivel chair next to Paula.

  “One of the right-wing paramilitary guys posted a blog blaming Blair for the decline of…just about everything. The family, the church, and the state of the nation.”

  Cam frowned and held out her hand. She read the excerpt and handed it back. “He’s on our list of possible Matheson contacts.”

  “I know. I got the update from Renée while we were in Washington.” Stark set the stack of papers aside. “Coincidence?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think all these guys are in bed together. On the other hand, if he’s got ties to Matheson, he’d be pretty stupid to make a public statement like this.”

  “Ego often trumps judgment,” Cam noted.

  “It would be nice to have someone inside his camp.”

  “Maybe we do, but the FBI has not been forthcoming about their sources.” A muscle bunched along the edge of Cam’s jaw. “And apparently they didn’t get the directive about interagency cooperation.”

  “It’s going to take a while for everyone to adjust to this new hierarchy,” Paula said. “I’m not even sure who I work for anymore.”

  Cam regarded her steadily.

  Stark grinned. “Well, I know who I report to, Commander.”

  “Nice save.” Cam laughed briefly, then her eyes grew serious. “We’re going to have serious chain of command issues in Colorado. You know about Tom Turner?”

  Paula frowned. “I do now. He called this afternoon to tell me his people were on the ground out there. Coordinating with Mac and Ellen. He was very friendly and made it sound like we’d all be one big happy family.”

  “Tom’s priority is POTUS, and it should be,” Cam said. “My concern is Blair.”

  “So is mine.” Paula sensed Cam waiting, and she had no problem replying to the unspoken question. “My job is to secure the welfare of the first daughter. Nothing takes priority over that.”

  “Thanks, Chief.”

  “No problem, Commander.”

  “I take it you’ve been briefed on the new member of the team joining us tomorrow?” Cam checked the plain-faced clock on the wall. One a.m. “Today, I should say.”

  Paula pointed to a folder. “Dana Barnett.” She hesitated, judging her next words. She did not want to tread into personal territory with the commander, but she needed to know what kind of trouble she was looking at. “I don’t imagine Egret is pleased.”

  Cam smiled wryly. “I didn’t know you were given to under-statement, Chief.”

  “We’ll handle it,” Paula said confidently.

  “I imagine you will.” Cam stood, her eyes weary. “Probably better than I have. Good night, Chief.”

  Paula watched her go, wishing she knew how to ease her burden. Then she reached for the last of the security bulletins, because they all had their parts to play even if they didn’t understand this new stage they’d been thrust upon.

  Chapter Six

  Friday

  A little after six, Cam got up from the sofa where she’d fallen asleep a few hours earlier and walked into the kitchen. She had slept in a T-shirt and a pair of flannel boxers, and the apartment felt cold. Cold and empty. She contemplated making coffee, but sat at the breakfast bar instead and read the note that she’d read three times when she had returned from the command center the night before.

  Cam, I’ve gone to Diane’s. I’ll probably spend the night. I love you, Blair.

  Cam touched the lower right hand corner of the slip of paper with the tip of her index finger and slowly turned the note clockwise until the words blurred, although the message remained starkly clear. Blair was angry. Upset and angry. She’d gone to a safe place, not onto the streets or to a club or into a stranger’s bed. She had done that more than once—taken refuge in sex when the invisible bars of her very real cage had become too oppressive and she’d finally broken free. Even before Cam had fallen in love with her, she’d hated to see Blair waste herself on women who couldn’t begin to appreciate what it meant to touch her. Now, the idea of anyone else putting that hazy look of desire in Blair’s eyes, bringing that tremble to her lips, causing that quick catch of excitement in her breath was enough to make Cam lose any semblance of civilized reason. She became animal, primitive, driven by the instinct to guard what was hers. She slowed the revolution of the notepaper and read it again.

  I love you, Blair.

  Cam smiled dryly. They’d made an agreement not that long ago that neither of them would leave if they were angry. Blair had adhered to the letter of the law. Even though she’d left, she’d told Cam where she was going.

  I love you too, Cam thought. She left the note on the counter and went to the bathroom, stripped, and showered. After she pulled on jeans and a workout T-shirt, she called Renée Savard.

  “Good morning, Commander,” Renée said, sounding as if she’d been awake for hours.

  “I’m going to be a little late this morning. I need you to handle the briefing and find out where they transferred the detainees from Matheson’s compound. I want to question them.”

  “We’ve got some of their statements in the FBI reports, such as they are.”

  “You mean we have what someone else thinks we should know,” Cam corrected. “Time to gather our own intel.”

  “Yes ma’am. Shall I make flight arrangements?”

  “Yes.” Cam paused. “For both of us. Today.”

  “Yes ma’am,” Renée said, her excitement apparent even over the phone.

  “Thanks.” Cam disconnected and contemplated her next call. It wasn’t difficult to find Blair. Her whereabouts were known to at least half a dozen people at any given moment. All she needed to do was call the shift leader in the command center and ask. She dialed a number and waited.

  “Hello?”

  “Diane, it’s Cam. Is Blair there?”

  “Good morning, Cam. No, I’m afraid you’ve missed her. She left a while ago.”

  Cam’s stomach tightened. Why hadn’t she come home? Did Stark’s team have her or had she slipped out on them? For an instant she came close to disconnecting the call to roust Stark and demand a status check. Instead she closed her eyes and remembered the note. I love you. “Did she say where she was going?”

  “Forgive me,” Diane replied with a note of disbelief in her voice, “but don’t you have ways of finding out where she is?”

  “I do. But she wouldn’t like it.”

  Diane laughed, the sound of bells pealing on an impossibly clear, bracingly brisk spring morning. “Oh, you are very good.”

  “Apparently not.”

  “Well, I shall have to play my part as well. As her best friend, of course, my only concern is her best interests. So I’m not inclined to help you.”

  “I know,” Cam said completely seriously.

  “Are you appropriately sorry for upsetting her?”

  “Completely.”

  “Do you have any idea what you’re apo
logizing for?” Diane asked gently.

  “Not entirely, but it doesn’t matter. She’s upset, that’s all I care about.”

  “She said she was going to the gym.”

  “Thank you,” Cam said. “You could’ve drawn that out quite a bit longer, you know.”

  “I know, but there’s no pleasure in it when I know that she needs you to find her as much as you do.”

  “I don’t think I’ve mentioned it,” Cam said, “but I appreciate everything you’re doing for the wedding.”

  “I’m doing it because I love Blair, and you make her happy. And I’m really quite fond of you too.” Diane drew a breath that sounded shaky. “And you saved Valerie’s life.”

  “No thanks are needed for that.”

  “But I thank you nevertheless,” Diane whispered. “Now go see to Blair.”

  “I will.” Cam disconnected, collected her keys and wallet and gym bag from the closet, and headed out the door.

  *

  The first thing Cam saw when she turned down the narrow alley off Houston was the Suburban in the middle of the block, parked halfway up on the sidewalk to allow delivery trucks and the occasional cab to get past. She was certain the agents in the vehicle took note of her, but there was no outward indication that they saw her. She didn’t acknowledge them either as she pushed through the unmarked windowless door sandwiched between a shoe repair shop that had been closed for two decades—a few unclaimed shoes coated with a thick layer of dust lay on the counter behind the smeared front window—and a bodega with iron grates drawn down to the sidewalk. The instant she stepped into the dimly lit hallway and began climbing the steep narrow stairs, she smelled mold, sweat, and testosterone. The third floor reverberated with the rumble of male voices and bodies falling, and heavy equipment thudding onto the floor. The warehouse-sized space was lit at intervals with fluorescent lights dangling unevenly on chains and whatever light filtered through the grimy windows set high in the wall along the roof line. Two roped-off boxing rings with stained canvas mats stood center stage, surrounded by a haphazard array of weightlifting equipment, speed bags, and hanging heavy bags. As was often the case, Blair was the only woman in a sea of bulked-up men covered with tattoos and scars. One of the new members of Blair’s team, Cliff Vaughn, a muscular African American looking out of place in his tailored slacks and double-breasted blazer, stood with his arms folded over his chest on the far side of the boxing ring where Blair was sparring with a young white guy with a shaved head and prison tats on his neck. Patrice Hara, flanking the ring on the side closest to Cam, nodded a greeting without taking her eyes off Blair as Cam slipped up beside her.

  “Morning, Commander,” Hara said.

  “Hara. How’s she doing?”

  “She’s playing with him.”

  “Ah.” That was not good news. When Blair was spoiling for a real fight, she never instigated it. Being smaller and more agile than all of her opponents, she frustrated them by refusing to engage—slipping or blocking their punches and then sneaking in for a quick jab. Men who weren’t used to her very quickly forgot that they weren’t supposed to hit a woman, and after each impotent blow they threw, they came back harder. Blair couldn’t avoid every punch indefinitely, and ultimately, one landed hard enough to knock her down. Then she came out swinging, and they swung back. She usually managed to fight off her pent-up fury, but unfortunately, she ended up taking a beating too. This morning, Cam just wasn’t in the mood to see Blair get hammered by this young guy’s hard right hand.

  Quickly, she skirted around the ring to the tiny women’s changing room. A single bench stood before three rickety steel lockers without locks. She pulled open a locker, stripped down to her sports bra, and tossed in her clothes. Then she yanked on long, loose blood-red Thai fighting shorts and kicked into her loafers for the walk back to the ring. A few heads turned but she stared straight ahead, wrapping her hands with fight tape on her way. When she reached the ring she slid an arm under the lower rope and slapped the mat hard to get the fighters’ attention. As soon as both Blair and her opponent turned in her direction, Cam vaulted the ropes into the ring, barefoot.

  “Thanks for warming her up,” Cam said in a friendly tone as she tapped her fist lightly against the young guy’s shoulder. “You mind if I get in a few rounds?” Her tone of voice indicated it wasn’t a request.

  The guy shrugged. “Sure. She’s slippery.”

  “I noticed.”

  “Don’t you have a briefing?” Blair said as she danced from foot to foot. She’d tied her hair back with a rolled black bandanna and she wore her usual sparring outfit—a cut off T-shirt that left her midriff bare and gray cotton gym shorts. A strip of tape covered her navel ring to prevent it from being torn out inadvertently.

  “Savard’s handling it.” Cam bowed slightly. “Freestyle?”

  Blair grinned and tilted her head. “Sounds good.”

  Cam’s fighting style was a mixture of Thai kickboxing and the hand-to-hand combat techniques employed by federal agents. Blair had adapted her formal martial arts training to street fighting. They were equally matched. Cam raised her hands to face level, her fists loosely clenched, and circled. Blair, pumped from having been sparring a while, didn’t hesitate. She feinted a punch and swept Cam’s legs out from under her. Cam hit the canvas and rolled backward, rising to her feet just in time to block the follow-up jab she knew was coming. They traded kicks and blows for ten minutes until they were both drenched in sweat, then Cam sidestepped a snap kick aimed at her chin that could have broken her jaw if it had landed. She swung around behind Blair, clamped her forearm across Blair’s throat, and planted her knee in the center of Blair’s back. Then she lifted in a move designed to snap an opponent’s neck or break their spine. She modulated the force of both the choke and the backbend so she wouldn’t injure Blair, but it was a painful hold nonetheless. Blair resisted for a few seconds, then rapidly slapped Cam’s arm twice to signal submission.

  Immediately, Cam released her and stepped back.

  “You okay?” Cam asked, panting lightly.

  Blair nodded, also breathing quickly. “Nice move. I always forget that when you fight, you fight to kill.”

  “These guys at Ernie’s aren’t the right partners for you. We should set you up with Stark or Hara so you can learn to fight the way you need to on the street.”

  “Why not Wozinski?” Blair grinned.

  “You might hurt him.”

  “I didn’t hurt you.” Blair gripped the ropes, swung over onto the floor in one fluid motion, and headed off.

  Cam quickly followed her to the locker room.

  “So,” Blair said as she pulled off her T-shirt and dropped it on the bench. She peeled her shorts off and faced Cam nude, the width of the narrow bench all that separated them. “You think I need to learn to fight to kill?”

  Cam skimmed her finger down the center of Blair’s chest, gathering a drop of sweat on her fingertip. Holding Blair’s gaze, she touched the tip of her tongue to the tiny droplet. “I do.”

  Blair’s eyes darkened and her skin flushed. “We managed to fuck in here once with no one noticing. Care to try for twice?”

  “I want,” Cam said with a grin. “But I think not.”

  “We’re getting old.”

  “We have a comfortable bed twenty minutes away.”

  Blair leaned over the bench and braced both hands on Cam’s shoulders. Then she kissed her, a long, probing kiss designed to make them both needy. It worked. She pulled away, breathing hard. “I missed sleeping with you last night.”

  Cam stripped, aware of Blair’s eyes raking over her body. “I missed you too.”

  “Are you mad?”

  Cam stepped over the bench and pulled Blair into her arms. She coursed her hands up and down Blair’s back, caressing the hard pumped muscles beneath her satin skin. Blair parted her thighs in a movement as innate as drawing breath, and just as naturally, Cam slid her leg between them. Cam kissed Blair’s mouth, her n
eck, the base of her throat. She whispered against her skin, “I’m sorry.”

  Blair drove her fingers into Cam’s thick dark hair and pulled her head back to cover her mouth with another bruising kiss. Their bodies, slick with sweat from the workout and the heat of rising passion, fused. Blair traced her lips over the rim of Cam’s ear. “I love you so much it hurts.”

  “I never want to hurt you,” Cam murmured, her eyes black with need. She brought her hand between them and cupped Blair’s breast.

  “Enough,” Blair groaned, covering Cam’s hand with hers. “I’ll bet you any amount of money Cliff is right outside that curtain.”

  “I wouldn’t care except I don’t share.” Cam forced herself to step back. “Thanks for letting me know you went to Diane’s last night.”

  “I just needed to vent,” Blair said, reaching for a clean T-shirt with shaking hands. She laughed unsteadily. “God, I’m a mess.” She glanced at Cam, her mouth curling into a half-smile. “What I really need is for you to fuck me.”

  “I’ll make a note of it.” Cam pulled on briefs and then her jeans, never taking her eyes from Blair. “It’s mutual, by the way.”

  Blair raised an eyebrow. “Which part?”

  “All of it. I need you inside me right now. I want to marry you. I want our wedding to be as special as what we share.”

  “Damn you, Cameron,” Blair whispered, tears brimming on her lashes. “I’m not done being pissed off yet.”

  Cam brushed her thumb beneath Blair’s eye, catching her tears. “Okay.”

  “Finish dressing. I don’t trust myself.” Blair grabbed Cam’s wrist and gently bit her thumb. “And your note? Mark down I want it more than once.”

  Cam laughed. “Got it.”

  A few minutes later, they were ready to leave. Cam gripped her gym bag and wrapped an arm around Blair’s waist, stopping her just before they left the locker room. “I may be flying out later today.”

  “Until when?”

  “Hopefully just tonight. Possibly until tomorrow.”