Honor Bound

by Radclyffe

  Carlisle nodded to her briefly and proceeded to the head of the table. From the end opposite him, a mid-forties, iron-gray-haired man, thin and fit appearing, coolly appraised each individual in the room. Across from Cam, to the left of the redhead, a man about Cam’s age who looked like he might have played football in college stared at her, something hard in his gaze.

  Cam did not know any of the other people present, but she recognized the type. The woman—early thirties, short well-cut hair, understated make-up, conservative suit—had a look of self-contained confidence that suggested she didn’t work for any of the men in the room. An independent consultant or perhaps a forensic analyst. She had apparently come to give an opinion, and she probably didn’t care about interagency politics.

  The men were a different matter altogether. The two unfamiliar men were FBI, CIA, or both. They were unsmiling, faintly belligerent looking, and plainly annoyed, probably because the meeting wasn’t on their turf. That concerned Cam. Because if the meeting was here on her ground, it confirmed her suspicions that the meeting had to do with Blair, and that worried her more than she cared to admit.

  At precisely 0800, Carlisle began to speak. “Let’s get the introductions out of the way. Secret Service Agent Cameron Roberts, who commands Egret’s security detail,” he said, nodding at Cam, his eyes unreadable as they skimmed over hers. Indicating the gray-haired man at the far end of the table, he went on, “Robert Owens, National Security Agency. Special Agent Lindsey Ryan, from the behavioral science division of the FBI,” signifying the redhead, “and,” pointing to the man opposite Cam, “Patrick Doyle, Special Agent in Charge of the FBI task force investigating Loverboy.”

  Cam stiffened, but her expression remained carefully neutral. Loverboy was the code name assigned to the man who had stalked Blair Powell the previous year, leaving her messages, photographing her, and presumably making an assassination attempt that had left Cam critically wounded. This was the first she’d heard of any ongoing task force. All of which meant the investigation had been taken out of the hands of the Secret Service, leaving the people directly responsible for Blair’s safety in the dark.

  She was furious, but she needed more information before she knew precisely where to direct her anger. So she listened, her fists clenched under the table, her jaws clamped tightly enough to make her teeth ache. Why didn’t I know about this? Who in hell is in charge here?

  For a moment, the room was silent as each took stock of the others. Then the NSA man cleared his throat and said in a hoarse voice, “I’ll let Doyle bring you up to speed on recent domestic developments. You’ll find a summary of current information and analyses in the binder.”

  He passed prepared folders to each of them from a stack he had carried in with him. “From a national security standpoint, we’re concerned about the president’s upcoming summit meetings on the global warming agreement with the European Council members in three weeks. In addition, he’ll be attending the World Trade Organization meeting in Quebec in just a few days. Any act of terrorism, including an attack on Egret, would obviously disrupt those plans.”

  “We don’t have anything to indicate that Loverboy is a member of any group, national or international, with a political agenda,” Doyle said, his voice hard-edged with a hint of Midwestern accent. His tone and expression suggested that he wasn’t overly interested in Owens’s national security issues.

  “Nothing in the psychological profile suggests that he is philosophically or politically motivated,” Lindsey Ryan, the behavioral scientist, interjected. “The message content—poetic verses, sexual ideation, the fixation on knowing where she is and what she’s doing—these things indicate a distorted sense of reality. Despite this delusion, his ability to make repeated contact with her, and effectively elude capture for a prolonged period of time, indicates an intelligent and highly organized personality. All of his focus has been on her. He’s obsessed with her. This isn’t about the president.”

  “We have to assume that anything directed at Egret is related to the president,” Owens said testily, his remarks clearly directed at Doyle.

  Cam, working hard to contain her temper, listened as the two men engaged in verbal debate about whose agenda should take priority while ignoring the obvious importance of Ryan’s assessment. It was clear to her that Blair was of much less concern to either man than establishing which of them had the greater stake in seeing the UNSUB captured.

  “Exactly where do we stand on the degree of penetration as far as Egret is concerned?” Cam barely contrived to keep the wrath out of her voice. She couldn’t get into a turf struggle now, not when she was so clearly out of the information loop. She needed to know just how close this psychopath had managed to get to Blair this time.

  Doyle, looking impatient, raised his voice a notch and continued as if no one else had said anything. “Until the last ten days or so, all contacts from Loverboy have occurred via electronic transmission, specifically e-mail messages, delivered directly to the subject’s personal accounts.”

  “What kind of intelligence do we have on the message points of origin?” Cam’s voice was sharp as ground glass.

  “Despite our attempts to trace the point—or points—of origin, we have been unable to verify a source. Changing Egret’s accounts, rerouting through substations and aliases, and erecting electronic filters have all been ineffective. His messages to date have been”—he hesitated a moment as if considering how to phrase his comments, then continued—“mostly of a sexually suggestive nature.”

  “Is he escalating?” Cam’s breath constricted in her chest. This was why she had been recalled. And if the task force had been ongoing for months, something had changed recently, and they weren’t even close to having a handle on it. She tried not to think about the fact that Blair had almost slipped their surveillance yesterday.

  Doyle shuffled a few papers, looking annoyed. “He was inactive for a period of time following the shooting earlier this year. Of course, every government agency including the Secret Service, FBI, and CIA was involved in the manhunt, and he didn’t have much choice but to go under. He surfaced again about three months ago.”

  “Three months,” Cam repeated, her eyes boring into Doyle’s. “Three months and you’re just advising her security detail now?”

  “I knew,” Stewart Carlisle said, unable to completely conceal his discomfort. He wasn’t about to publicly explain that his decision—to have the task force run out of New York and by his people—had been overruled by the security director. He was still bitter, but he had orders to follow, too.

  Cam turned to him, knowing better than to break rank in mixed company and question his judgment or his authority. But there was criticism in her eyes, and she knew Carlisle saw it.

  “The Secret Service isn’t equipped to handle this kind of scenario,” Doyle said dismissively.

  “We’re on scene,” Cam retorted, “and we’re the ones who know the day-to-day situation best. A threat like this demands we increase our readiness level.” Everything about the way they guarded Blair needed to change. For God’s sake, she’s been underprotected for months!

  “We’ve had a presence,” Doyle snapped. “We’re more than capable of securing her.”

  “Not the way we can,” Cam answered, still unable to believe that Stewart Carlisle had let this happen. “We need to take the lead in this investigation.”

  “You people knew about him in the beginning, and your security was so ineffective it almost got Egret killed.” Doyle’s color darkened as his lips curled slightly in derision. “I don’t think you’re up to it.”

  Cam’s voice was cold, her words razor-edged. “By excluding the Secret Service from your intelligence, you put Egret at severe risk. Unacceptable risk. Untenable risk.”

  “Roberts,” Carlisle warned from beside her.

  She had effectively accused the FBI task force leader of endangering the life of the president’s daughter, which at the very least constituted dereliction
of duty and, according to strict interpretation, could be considered an indictable offense. Yet she couldn’t back down, not when Blair’s life was at stake.

  She continued as if her supervisor hadn’t said anything. “I want every piece of data, every transmission, every record, every projection and profile that you currently have. I want—”

  “You’ll get whatever I say—” Doyle hotly interrupted, leaning forward, the muscles in his formidable neck straining.

  Cam stood quickly, placing her hands flat on the table, looking down at him. “Every single word, Doyle, or I’ll personally file a report citing your negligence and hand-carry it to the Oval Office.”

  “You threaten me, Roberts”—Doyle came out of his chair faster than a man his size ought to be able to move—“and I’ll find the dirt you think you’ve been able to hide and bury you in it.”

  Smiling faintly, Cam spoke in a voice that was quiet but very clear. “You don’t know me very well if you think that will frighten me.”

  Neither of them heard the door open as they stared each other down, taking measure for the fight that was sure to come.

  “From what I hear, you shouldn’t even be on this detail,” Doyle said derisively. “I’d like to know whose piss-poor excuse for a decision that was.”

  “I assume that would be mine,” a deep male voice said calmly.

  Cam straightened and turned toward the voice as the others hastened to stand for the president of the United States.

  Chapter Five

  Eleven hours later, Cam was back in New York City, having reviewed as much of the information regarding Loverboy’s recent activities as she could access through channels. She knew there was more, but it would take her a while to get at it. Now that she understood why she had been recalled from Florida, her work could really begin. But first there was personal business she needed to put to rest, and she knocked resolutely on the penthouse door.

  Admitted immediately, she stopped just inside the door and stared at Blair, who was clearly not expecting her and was obviously dressed to go out for the evening in a patterned silk blazer over a sheer ivory camisole and loose black trousers. Fleetingly, Cam wondered if she was meeting someone. She pushed that thought away because she was in no position to change it.

  “What is it?” Blair asked, a quick surge of fear produced by the stony expression in Cam’s eyes. “What’s happened?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Cam’s tone was dangerous. She was struggling so hard to contain her anger she could barely get the words out.

  “I’m not sure what you mean.” Blair stalled, hoping it wasn’t what she thought but knowing it must be; it couldn’t be anything else. She had hoped, with Cam out of New York City, away from her detail, she could keep it from her. Keep her out of it. Keep her safe.

  “You let me make love to you, you let me that close, and you couldn’t tell me that he was back?” Cam seethed, her apprehension for Blair’s safety and her fury at being excluded both by Blair and the FBI nearly making her insane. “How in God’s name could you do that? I thought...” She’d almost said, I thought I meant more to you than that. I thought we had something.

  Cam took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a second, and gathered her strength. This was not about her. Her relationship with Blair wasn’t the issue anymore. She had to separate her personal feelings from what was happening now. The clear and present danger that Loverboy presented to Blair was what mattered. Not how she felt, not her disappointment, not her sense of betrayal. She concentrated on her duty, the one thing that always focused her, the one thing she could depend upon to drive the anger away.

  Straightening with effort, she worked to hide her turmoil. She forced her fists to unclench, and when she spoke again her voice was cool—her command voice—calm and steady, uninflected, impersonal, infinitely professional.

  “You should have reported it to Mac when the stalker contacted you three months ago, Ms. Powell, and you should have told me yesterday. In light of this new information, we have to assume a higher level of alertness. At your earliest convenience, I need to review the security protocols. If you could check your schedule now to confirm, please—I’d like to do this in the morning, as early as possible.”

  The silence deepened.

  While Cam talked, Blair watched the flurry of emotions race across her face. She saw her go from anger and frustration to this implacable façade that she recognized as the barrier Cam erected between her emotions and everything else in order to do her job. In the rational part of her mind, Blair understood that this ability to compartmentalize her feelings was what made Cam so good at what she did, but it was not what Blair wanted to happen between them. She did not want Cam to distance herself in order to care for her. She wasn’t sure exactly what she wanted, but she was very certain it wasn’t that.

  Her own frustration and fear boiled over, and she retorted caustically, “That’s your solution to everything, isn’t it, Cameron? Tighten the security, tighten the restraints around me. That’s a simple answer and easy for you. However, it doesn’t work for me.”

  “This isn’t something that’s negotiable.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  With effort, Cam explained quietly, “This man is serious. He’s persistent, clever, and talented—and he’s fixated on you. By all rights, you should be secluded somewhere until he can be apprehended.”

  At that thought, Blair’s every survival instinct surfaced on a wave of irrational terror. She would not be made a captive. She had been imprisoned one way or another her entire life. Nothing mattered more to her than her freedom, nothing except one thing.

  “I don’t want you on this detail, Agent Roberts. I can’t work with you. I won’t work with you. If you won’t resign, I’ll do what I have to do to get you pulled off.”

  “I spoke with your father this afternoon,” Cam said pointedly. “He seems to feel that I’m the best person for this job. So do I. This is one time your influence is not going to have any effect.”

  Blair stared at her, open-mouthed in astonishment. When she could find her voice, she asked incredulously, “You spoke with my father?”

  Cam walked a few feet toward a nearby sofa and leaned against the back, trying to work some of the tension out of her body. She felt wound so tightly she was afraid she’d lose control, and at this point, Blair’s very future could depend upon what happened between them. She needed Blair’s cooperation, even if she couldn’t make her understand why she had undertaken the job.

  “It was unexpected. He showed up at the briefing about this...situation.” Thinking back, it had been a strange encounter indeed.

  The president had acted as if Doyle and Cam weren’t about to fling themselves over the table at each other, merely motioning with one hand to the people gathered and saying, “Sit, please.”

  They did, everyone trying not to look uneasy. Clearly, no one had expected this visit. The NSA representative introduced the others and hastened to assure the president that everything possible was being done to protect his daughter. Andrew Powell said nothing, studying each face carefully as he listened.

  After a minute or two, he said, “I’m sure that everything is being done appropriately. I’ll expect my security director at the White House to be kept informed of any developments. I’m on a tight schedule, and I’d like to speak with Agent Roberts, if your meeting is concluded.”

  That was clearly a dismissal.

  Lindsey Ryan stood immediately and began gathering her things, as did Stewart Carlisle. Doyle and Owens looked like they might object for a moment and then, with slightly disgruntled expressions, filed out of the room. When the door closed, Cam stood alone, facing the president of the United States for the first time in her life.

  Their eyes met and Cam asked, “What may I do for you, Mr. President?”

  A very faint smile flickered across his handsome face. She saw Blair in him as his features briefly softened, and in that instant, her anger turned to hard
resolve. She would not allow Blair to become a pawn in some ambitious bureaucrat’s political game, nor would she see her become the object of a psychotic’s obsession.

  “It seems that I need to rely on you again, Agent Roberts, to look after my daughter. I’m sure the task force is doing everything they can, but I know my daughter, and she is not going to make this easy for anyone.”

  “Sir,” Cam began, intending to defend Blair. She knew, more than anyone else, just how much Blair suffered from the constant scrutiny of strangers.

  He raised his hand as if he knew what she was going to say. He looked past her for a moment, as if seeing something she couldn’t.

  “She didn’t choose this life, Agent Roberts. I chose it for her. It’s been hard for her; I know that. She’s strong and she’s stubborn and I wouldn’t change anything about her. I’m counting on you to see that both her freedom and her safety continue.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. President,” Cam said very quietly, her eyes never leaving his. “I’ll do that, sir. You can depend on it.”

  He had nodded, thanked her, and left the room. Had she not had her own motives for needing to be involved, his unspoken command would have been enough. But she did have her reasons. And they were very personal.

  Cam said softly, “I’m sorry, Blair. I’m staying.”

  I’m staying. The words screamed in Blair’s head. Words she wanted to hear from this woman, but not this way. Not like this. Not because of this. She couldn’t have this conversation any longer. She couldn’t think about what it meant for either of them. I’m staying.

  “Well, I’m not.” She grabbed her bag from a nearby table and snapped, “I’m going out.”

  Cam made no move to stop her. She would not be her jailor. But when she spoke, her voice held a question. “Blair?”

  Pausing at the door, Blair looked back, arrested by the defeat in Cam's tone. It was a weariness she had rarely heard from her, even after several days without sleep. Cam still leaned against the sofa. Blair had been almost too angry to see her clearly before, but now the shadows in Cam’s face stood out in gaunt relief and her eyes gave away so much she was obviously trying to hide. They were dull with fatigue, suffused with something close to despair. She hadn’t looked like that even when she’d been in the hospital recovering from gunshot wounds.