Honor 05 - Honor Reclaimed

by Radclyffe

  Honor Reclaimed

  by

  RADCLY f FE

  2005

  Acknowledgments

  The Honor series began with the idea that it would be tun to write about a Secret Service agent who fell in love with her protectee. It was the perfect recipe for romance: political intrigue, an inherently dangerous personal situation, and a forbidden relationship all rolled into one. Above AH, Honor was conceived as a stand-alone, but the ending of that book was clearly just the beginning. I have been asked if writing a series is easier than writing a stand-alone. The answer is that it is not easier, just a different kind of challenge. The individual characters change from book to book as we explore the ever-increasing depth of their personalities and relationships. The cast of characters expands and circles back, always drawing energy from the central pair. Without Blair Powell and Cameron Roberts there would be no series, but this has become much more than their story. It has become the saga of friends, lovers, and a country in the midst of change. I am honored to have so many readers share in this journey and ask for more.

  Thank you to my editors, Ruth Sternglantz and Stacia Seaman; my readers and proofreaders: Athos, Connie, Denise, Diane, Eva, Jane, JB, Mary, Paula, and RB; my many Internet supporters on the Radlist, and Helen, who began the list and has kept it going all these years. A big, big thanks to Becky and Janette at Bella Distribution for getting the books out day after day.

  Sheri surpasses my expectations each and every time with her ever-evolving vision. I am grateful to have her covers grace my books.

  Lee stands always ready to encourage, cajole, and occasionally browbeat me into believing that I still have stories to tell. Her belief in me is my daily inspiration. Amo te.

  Radcly f fe 2005

  Chapter One

  Thursday, September 13, 2001

  S ecret Service Agent Cameron Roberts opened her eyes in the one place she had never expected to awaken—on the second floor of the White House in a 200-year-old bed. A Thomas Sheraton original. And curled up naked beside her was the daughter of the president of the United States. Blair Powell's cheek was pillowed against Cam's breast, her breath soft and warm, caressing Cam's skin with the to-and-fro cadence of sleep. Cam cradled Blair with one arm curved around her shoulders, her fingertips gently smoothing the bare skin of Blair's upper arm in long slow strokes.

  The room was dark, the heavy drapes pulled closed over the floor-to-ceiling leaded-glass windows on the far side of the spacious room. She judged it was probably not yet five and still dark outside. The house seemed utterly quiet, although she knew that at the far end of the hall the president slept and that one floor below, the halls would be teeming with Secret Service agents and members of the Metropolitan Police division who patrolled the White House grounds. While the first family was in the private quarters on the second and third floors, the Secret Service did not physically guard them. But as soon as they left that sanctuary and stepped into the public areas, sensors located in every hallway and room tracked their movements and the Secret Service agents assigned to each family member resumed their surveillance.

  She was one of those Secret Service agents, and the family member she was charged to protect was lying in her arms. A year ago she would have denied even the possibility of such an occurrence, but that was before she had been reassigned from the investigative arm of the Secret Service to the protective division, and had reluctantly accepted the responsibility of safeguarding Blair Powell. Now, Blair was central to her life, and although protecting her remained her solemn duty, it was also the critical focus of her days. The urgency and importance of that charge had always been clear to her, but never more so than in the last forty-eight hours when terror had struck the nation in the form of multiple hijacked commercial airliners that had been turned into enormous airborne missiles. A simultaneous, near-successful assault on Blair within the confines of her own heavily fortified Manhattan home merely underscored the first daughter's terrible vulnerability with devastating precision. Unconsciously, Cam tightened her grip on her sleeping lover.

  "It's all right," Blair murmured, stroking her palm up the center of Cam's abdomen to her chest. "I'm right here."

  Cam rested her cheek against the top of Blair's head and covered Blair's hand with her own, pressing the warm fingers to her breast. "How can you know what I'm thinking when you're asleep?"

  Blair laughed softly. "I can sense you when you switch into protective mode. Your whole body feels like you're ready to throw yourself in front of me, even when we're lying in bed."

  "Sorry."

  "You don't need to be. In a crazy kind of way, I like it." Blair pressed a kiss to the side of Cam's breast. "At least, I like closing my eyes and feeling totally safe. I don't like the idea of you protecting me with your body for real."

  "I know."

  No other words were needed. Because Cam had put herself between Blair and danger more than once, and the first time had nearly cost her life. Blair's guilt over that event had almost kept them apart, and they still lived with an uneasy truce regarding Cam's role as Blair's personal security chief—a position that at any moment could force Cam to sacrifice her own life for Blair's. And now, in the aftermath of tragedy, that possibility had escalated a thousandfold.

  "I can't believe it really happened," Blair whispered. "God. All those innocent people."

  "No," Cam replied, her voice thick with fatigue and sorrow. "Neither can I." She sighed. "I guess it's more fair to say I don't want to believe it. But I am lying here with you in the official presidential residence, and only something as catastrophic as a direct assault on you—Christ, on the heart of the nation—could have brought that about."

  "It's sad, isn't it, that it took something like that to bring us together under my father's roof." Blair rubbed her cheek against Cam's breast, seeking comfort. "Love wasn't enough, but the death of thousands was. Now the fact that you and I are lovers is of no interest to anyone."

  "It doesn't matter to anyone today" Cam said with a trace of bitterness, "but in a week or a month, it will. When the media frenzy over this has wound down some, then your personal life will be headline news again."

  Blair raised up on an elbow and struggled to see Cam's face in the dim light. She was unused to hearing frustration and anger in her lover's voice and knew even without being able to make out Cam's chiseled features that her dark gray eyes would be nearly black with pain. It was rare for Cam to be unable to hide her anguish. She always dealt with reality, no matter how difficult, with a cool head and a steady hand. But then, they, like every other citizen of the United States, had been deeply shocked by the events of September 11. Their mad flight to safety from New York City and the subsequent evacuation to DC had left them little time to deal with the aftermath.

  Cam had lost one agent in the assault on Blair's apartment, her second in command—Mac Phillips—had been critically wounded, and another agent under her command had actually been part of the assassination attempt. Blair had often seen Cam assume responsibility for things over which she had no control. It was one of the things that Blair loved best about her as well as one of the things that frustrated her to no end. She ached knowing that Cam was blaming herself now, and suffering.

  "What happened in New York wasn't your fault."

  "Blair," Cam said gently. Wordlessly, she kissed her. She wanted to point out that one of her team members had come within a heartbeat of shooting Blair, but she didn't want to resurrect that terrifying memory in Blair's consciousness when it was still so fresh. She knew that the horror of that moment was not over for either of them, but for now, they had to deal with more immediate concerns. If there had been one traitor on her team, there might be others. And it was
far from clear that the nation itself was safe, that another attack wasn't imminent. She and every member of the law enforcement community had to be concerned with one thing, and one thing only—ensuring that the nation and those critical to its survival were safe. Her official part in that was to protect Blair. Her private obligation was to track down those responsible for the attempt on her lover's life. "You're going to need to stay here for a while."

  It was Blair's turn to stiffen. "I don't live here. My home is in New York City. My place is with you."

  "Your safety is what matters, and this is the safest place in the world for you right now."

  "And where will you be, Cam? Where will you be while I'm sequestered here, with someone watching my movements twenty-four hours a day? When will we have time to be together? Where will we have the privacy to touch?" Blair hadn't raised her voice, but her tone was rough with fury. "Is that what you want? For us to be separated?"

  Cam slid her fingers beneath the thick blond hair at the nape of Blair's neck and massaged the taut muscles on either side of her spine. Her voice was quiet, calm, because she knew that Blair's anger was born of pain. "You know I don't want that. I love you. I want to lie down with you every night and open my eyes with you beside me every morning. I want that more than anything in my life."

  "Oh Cam," Blair sighed, resting her forehead against her lover's. "I'm sorry. It's just the last thing I want right now is for you to... disappear."

  "Jesus, I wouldn't." In a swift lift of her hips, Cam rolled them both over until Blair was beneath her, their legs entwined. She levered her body above Blair's on her bent arms and lowered her head to kiss her. She had meant only to reassure her, but the first touch of Blair's lips to hers sent a shock of need coursing through her. A kaleidoscope of images skittered across her mind—Foster with his automatic pointed at Blair's heart, a fusillade of bullets streaming around her and Blair in the alley behind Blair's building, Parker and Mac lying in crimson pools of their own blood. They came so close to killing you. Jesus, I almost lost you.

  Cam moaned, an agony of loss in the quiet sound, and pressed her body hard against Blair's, her tongue thrusting deep inside Blair's mouth. She needed her, needed to feel Blair's heart beating in her every cell.

  Blair felt the call of Cam's passion, and her blood fired hot in an instant. She was always ready for Cam—ready to hold her, take her, give herself to her—-ready to answer whatever need arose between them. It had always been that way, since the first moment they'd touched. For the last two days they had run for their lives, uncertain of when or from where the next assault might come. She had seen agents—not just her guards, but her friends—shot and killed. She'd seen her lover struck yet again by a bullet that had been meant for her. The sudden reality of all she might have lost swept over her, and she drove her hands into Cam's hair, clenching her fists in the thick dark locks as she arched into Cam's body, desperate to obliterate any barrier between them. A moan that might have been a cry caught in her throat and ended on a gasp as Cam drove a hand between their bodies, between her legs, and inside her. She wrenched her head away from the kiss.

  "Oh God." She clamped her fingers hard around Cam's wrist to still her motion. "Stop. You'll make me come."

  "Yes." Cam's voice was rough, hard, but her hand was gentle as she pushed deeper, then stroked. "Yes. Yes."

  Had Blair wanted to wait, she couldn't have, because the unexpected force of her lover's desire had already broken her control, and her body surged toward the first peak. But she had no desire to hold anything back. Cam's need was her need; Cam's passion, her own. They gave and took, calIed and answered, with nothing between them but the whisper of skin on skin. They were as close as they had ever been, as joined as they ever could be.

  When she came, Blair pressed her face to Cam's neck, her open lips against the heartbeat in Cam's throat. Her cry of release was one of wonder and surrender, and for long moments after, she felt Cam still deep within her. "I love you," she finally murmured.

  "I love you. Jesus," Cam groaned, "I love you,"

  "Cam?"

  "Hmm?" Cam lay full-length along Blair's body, fingers still gently enclosed by the warm, faintly pulsing muscles inside her. She never wanted to move. When they were like this, so intimately connected, she forgot everything that haunted her. There was no danger, no threat of loss, no loneliness. All she knew was the rightness of being with this one woman. She sighed and rested her cheek against Blair's shoulder.

  "We just made love in the White House."

  "Mmm-hmm." Cam stiffened. "Jesus." She raised her head and squinted in the gray light that stole around the edges of the window drapes. She could just make out the laughter in Blair's blue eyes. "I think we may have committed a state offense."

  "Several."

  Cam shifted her hips and pressed her pelvis lightly against the hand she still cupped between Blair thighs. "Wanna do it again?"

  Blair's lids fluttered at the sudden pressure deep inside, Her laughter fled on a soft moan. "Oh yes."

  "Let's try it a little slower this time." Cam eased away enough to bring her mouth to Blair's breast, where she lightly circled one small, tight nipple with her tongue.

  "Why?" Blair curled her fingers on the back of Cam's neck and forced her lover's mouth harder against her breast. "I've never minded fast"

  Cam bit slowly as she began the soft slide of her fingers through Blair's slick heat. "I know, but I want—"

  The bedside phone rang, and they both froze. A second later when Cam started to withdraw, Blair murmured, "Wait," and stretched an arm out toward the phone.

  "Blair," Cam said urgently, "it might be your father. You can't talk to him with us.. .like this."

  Blair found the receiver and pressed it to her chest to muffle her words. "Why not?"

  Carefully, Cam pulled away. In a tight whisper, she said, "Because. It's against protocol."

  "Oh, Commander. I do love you." Blair brought the phone to her mouth. "Yes?" She glanced at Cam and raised an eyebrow. "Hi, Dad... Uh-huh, she's right here."

  Cam groaned.

  "Yes. All right.. .What time?.. .We'll be there."

  Blair returned the phone to the bedside table and rolled back against Cam's body. She pressed close, wrapping both arms around Cam's neck. "You have twenty minutes to finish what you just started."

  "And then what?"

  "We have a meeting with the president."

  "Christ. Talk about performance anxiety."

  "Then don't talk."

  Chapter Two

  P aula, sweetie," Renee Savard whispered, gently tracing her fingertips over the smooth skin of the woman sleeping beside her. The sky had lightened just enough to paint the surprisingly youthful face of her lover with the soft, pale colors of dawn. At just after five, there was no sound in the hallway outside their hotel room, and they could have been anywhere in the world, just the two of them, alone with all that mattered within the circle of their embrace. For one wild moment, she wished she never had to leave that room. That she didn't have to return to the site of a horror so unimaginable that the mind rebelled and the heart was torn asunder. For the first time in her life, she wished that she weren't an FBI agent, that she hadn't sworn to stand for what was good and right and just. What she wanted was to close her eyes and lose herself in the sweet solace of this new love. She leaned down and kissed the corner of Paula Stark's mouth. "It's time."

  Without opening her eyes, Stark replied, "Did you sleep?"

  No. Because I knew what I would dream about. Renee pressed close against Stark's back, hoping that the warmth would penetrate the cold that had overtaken her days before and which she feared might never thaw. She rubbed her cheek against Stark's shoulder and then kissed the angle of her jaw. "I have to go."

  "I know."

  Renee caught her breath at the sight of a single tear escaping from beneath Stark's long dark lashes. "Oh no, sweetie. Honey. Don't."

  "I'm sorry. It's just.. .1 keep remembering how I
felt when I heard that the South Tower collapsed. I knew you were there. I thought that you had been killed." Stark turned onto her back and opened her eyes.

  Their normally vibrant brown was dull with fatigue and the remnants of a fear that she could not banish. Her voice cracked with the effort of holding back more tears. "It was as if this huge pit opened up in me and swallowed...everything. My heart and my soul just...died. After that, I was still walking around...doing my job, but there was nothing inside."

  Renee caught her lower lip between her teeth to stop the trembling. Her ocean blue eyes swam with tears she feared to shed lest they never stop. "I know. I do know. I felt the same horrible emptiness when I heard there'd been an assault on the Aerie and that there were agents down." She closed her eyes and tried to take a deep breath. She couldn't. The memory was a physical pain. "I know you're never far from Blair. All I could think was that I'd lost you." She opened her eyes, met Paula's, and managed a weak smile. "The last thing in the world I want right now is to let you out of my sight."

  "Maybe we can just stay here. Order room service. Unplug the phone. Hold each other for a year or so." Stark searched Renee's face, her eyes clouded with a mixture of hope and sadness.

  Solemnly, Renee nodded. "It sounds perfect to me. Except you have a duty to Blair, and I have one to the thousands who were murdered on Tuesday."

  "I know we can't just turn our backs on all of that, but sometimes it just...it feels like we're always saying goodbye."

  Stark turned away, but not before Renee caught the glimmer of despair that eclipsed her normally exuberant expression. She slid down in bed until they were face-to-face and their bodies touched. With an arm around Stark, she circled her palm down the center of Stark's back as she kissed her. She kissed her until the memory of terror and the heartbreak of unimaginable loss faded to a faint scream in the recesses of her consciousness. Then she drew away. "We'll never say goodbye, okay? We'll just say 'until soon.' Because no matter where I am or what I'm doing, you're always in my heart, in my mind. Always, Paula. I love you."