Honor Reclaimed

by Radclyffe

  "And what about this.. .other? Are you going to be the best at that too?"

  "With your safety on the line?" Cam's eyes hardened to obsidian. "Count on it."

  "I'll be so happy when the day comes that the only thing we have to worry about is paying the mortgage."

  "Me too," Cam whispered. She rested her cheek against the top of Blair's head and closed her eyes. In the distance, she could see a future where they would be together, living an ordinary life, with ordinary problems and ordinary joys. But between this day and that, there was a war to be won.

  *

  Stark paced in a tight circle around the perimeter of the surprisingly spacious waiting area. When she caught the eye of the slightly amused administrative assistant observing her, she abruptly sank into the nearest chair. She clasped her hands between her knees, fingers entwined, knuckles white, and stared at the door on the far side of the room with the neat, unassuming brass nameplate that said Assistant Director. She'd never been to Assistant Director Carlisle's office before. She'd never been to any assistant director's office. She'd taken her entrance exams, she'd had her psych eval, she'd gone through qualifying physical fitness trials, and she'd endured the Academy, all without ever having seen anyone higher than a regional director. Cameron Roberts, as security chief for the first daughter, held more rank than anyone she'd ever worked with.

  The door from the hall opened, and Stark looked over to see the woman in question enter. As usual, the commander wore a dark suit with a slightly paler monochromatic shirt, opened at the neck. The jacket was flawlessly tailored and there was no telltale sign of a weapon, although Stark knew that the commander was one of the few who still wore a shoulder harness. Her own weapon rested in a belt holster on her right hip. Stark bounded to her feet. Standing, she was a head shorter than her chief and compact whereas the other woman was lean.

  "Good morning, Agent Stark," Cam said.

  "Ma'am." Stark cast a sideways look at the attractive blond behind the desk, who did not seem to be paying them any attention. "I received a call at 0600 to report, Commander. I would have called you, but I wasn't certain of the protocol."

  Cam shook her head. "If the assistant director calls you to come in, you come in. No problem."

  Stark glanced at the closed door. "Do you know what—"

  The intercom on the desk buzzed, and the blond picked up a phone. A minute later, she replaced it and smiled at Stark and Cam. "Director Carlisle will see you now."

  "Thank you," Cam said.

  Stark followed silently, having no idea what to prepare for. Once inside the functional, unadorned office, she relaxed to a small degree. The silver-haired man behind the desk was in his mid-50s, sharp-eyed and intense looking, but not particularly threatening. When he nodded to her and Cam and said, "Sit down, please," Stark felt almost normal. Except for the pounding in her chest and the queasiness in her stomach. That had been there since their flight from New York City, and she was starting to realize it was her new normal condition.

  Stewart Carlisle picked up two file folders and set them next to each other on the blotter. Then he opened one and flipped through several pages. When he finished, he looked at Stark. "Six years on the job, correct, Agent?"

  "Yes, sir." Stark was very pleased that her voice did not waver.

  "And"— Carlisle glanced down again—"two years as one of the lead agents on Ms. Powell's security team."

  "Yes, sir."

  Carlisle straightened, his hands resting palm down, one on each folder. "I'd like your assessment of the events of Tuesday morning, Agent Stark."

  Stark struggled not to look at Cam. Something was going on, and whatever it was, the path she was about to walk was narrow, twisting, and fraught with danger. "In what respect, sir?"

  "What would be your opinion on that?" he countered.

  "There are several factors to be considered, sir. The origin, identity, and intent of the assailants. The extent of the security"—she struggled for a word and in the end, could find only one—"breach. The response of the security team. The potential compromise of the evacuation—"

  "All right, Agent," Carlisle interrupted, "All valid points. Let's focus on our particular area of responsibility. Do you want to tell me how an armed assailant managed to be standing outside Egret's door at nine a.m. on Tuesday morning?"

  For the first time, Stark glanced at Cam, who sat beside her, one leg crossed over the other, her forearms resting on the arms of her chair, her hands relaxed. In profile, her face was smooth as granite, her expression remote. Stark wanted to be anywhere in the world but sitting in this room. She turned her attention back to the assistant director. "With what limited information I have at this moment, sir, I would speculate that the details of the building's security system, the placement of our agents, and the daily shift schedule had been provided to the assailants by Agent Foster." Her throat was dry, and voicing the incomprehensible was like swallowing chips of glass. She had spent hours every day with the man, worked out with him in the gym, stood guard with him, played cards with him during those interminable nights when Blair slept in a hotel room nearby. She couldn't believe that she had suspected nothing, Blamed herself for noticing nothing amiss.

  "How is that possible?"

  She held his eyes. "I don't know, sir."

  "Well, we'd better damn well find out." He leaned back in his chair and expelled a long breath. In a conversational tone, he continued, "It's customary during the transfer of command for the outgoing commander to brief the incoming commander on sensitive matters not included in the Eyes Only report."

  He picked up the second folder, stood, and extended it across the desk to Stark. "Once you've reviewed this material, Agent Stark, Agent Roberts will brief you on any additional information pertinent to your new command. As of 0800, you are Egret's acting security chief. That will be all."

  Chapter Four

  S tark and Cam left Carlisle's office in silence. In the reception area, Stark hesitated, glancing at the file in her hand and wishing with all her heart she could throw it into the nearest trash receptacle. It symbolized something she fervently did not want.

  "Commander—''

  "Let's take a walk, Agent." Cam gestured with her chin toward the folder. "You're going to need to get a briefcase." She handed hers over. "Here, use mine for now. There's nothing classified in it."

  Stark stared at the offered item as if it were a ticking bomb. "No, I—"

  "You can't walk around the streets of DC with that in your hand. Go ahead." As Stark reluctantly accepted the briefcase and deposited the folder, Cam added, "It's not personal, Stark."

  "I'm sorry, Commander. It feels that way to me."

  Cam moved toward the door to the hall, pushed it open, and waited for Stark to pass. As they started down the wide, marble-floored hallway, she said, "I recommended you for the position because I trust you to do it."

  "Thank you." Stark blushed and kept her eyes forward. "But with all due respect, ma'am, I don't want the job."

  "I said the same thing almost a year ago."

  "It should be Mac."

  Cam shook her head. "I spoke to Felicia earlier. Mac is stable, but he's in for a long recovery. And I wanted you."

  They exited on Fifteenth Street and walked south toward Pershing Park. Cam led the way to a bench in a deserted corner and sat down, stretching her legs out in front of her and pushing both hands into her pants pockets. Stark sat ramrod straight beside her, the briefcase balanced on her knees, held firmly with both hands. Her knuckles were white where her fingers curled around the edges. "There's no reason to replace you at all."

  "What happened Tuesday at the Aerie was not only unacceptable-— it was inexcusable," Cam said quietly. She looked out over the small, neat park, automatically registering the presence of the few tourists strolling through, but in her mind she saw, in stark black and white as it had played on the security monitors in Command Central, the lobby door of Blair's apartment building burst open and f
our heavily armed commandos rush inside. She saw Secret Service Agent Cynthia Parker take down the first assailant before a burst of automatic fire, silent on the monitor and evident only from the muzzle flare flashing on the screen, blew Parker off her feet. Cam had lost an agent in a surprise attack that had been orchestrated by one of her own people. Cynthia Parker's blood was on her hands. "There's no way I could be allowed to maintain my command."

  "You saved Egret's life." Stark too stared into the past, experiencing a different take on the endless loop of nightmare images playing from the same silent reel. Cynthia going down; the smell of sweat and adrenaline and, beneath it all, fear; the hail of bullets and smoke; Mac bleeding on the ground; the gut-wrenching pain of the gunshot ripping her flesh. "You probably saved some of the rest of us too."

  "Consider this our transition briefing," Cam said, knowing that they'd all been lucky to survive. Whenever she thought of how close Blair had come to dying, a surge of pain so sharp she lost her breath struck at the heart of her. No rationalization would ever erase the knowledge that she'd nearly lost her, and that Blair's death would have been her fault. "The entire team has been placed on administrative leave until the investigation into the assault on Egret is completed."

  Stark swiveled her head sharply to stare at Cam. "Everyone?"

  "Everyone except you. We need some degree of continuity or the new team can't function effectively."

  "I..." Stark took a long breath. The decision had been made, and there was nothing for her to do but step up. "Thank you, Commander. I appreciate your confidence in me."

  "I think we can dispense with the Commander, now," Cam said with a small laugh.

  "No, ma'am, I don't think so. There's no way anyone's going to be calling me that."

  "You are the first daughter's security chief, Agent Stark."

  "Fine, then they can call me Chief," Stark's tone left no room for argument.

  "I imagine that will work," Cam observed mildly. "Blair doesn't know yet."

  "Oh, man."

  "Assistant Director Carlisle advised me of the director's decision just before the meeting this morning."

  "Does the president know?" Stark asked.

  "I imagine he does, although the way these things work, he was probably informed by the security director after the fact."

  Stark perked up. "Then it's possible he could still reverse the decision."

  Cam shook her head. "No, I don't think he will. This action is the right one, and he'll recognize that. Plus, considering everything else that's just happened, he's not going to oppose any recommendation made by his security advisors. Or the DOD."

  "I know that the conclusion looks right from the outside," Stark said, meeting Cam's eyes, "but those of us on the inside know it's just wrong. There's no one better for this job than you. And we need the rest of the team."

  "I agree with the last part. I'm going to do everything I can to see that our people are cleared and back on the job just as soon as possible." Cam stood. "Let's walk over to the residence. I'll talk to Blair while you review the Eyes Only docs."

  Stark kept pace by Cam's side, wishing she could talk to Renee. Wishing that she could share her misgivings and uncertainties, because she understood that outwardly she must never allow them to show. She glimpsed Cam's face as they approached the security checkpoint at the White House and saw nothing but calm. She wondered as she had so many times before what feelings the commander kept hidden from everyone, and at what cost.

  *

  Blair looked up and sketched a wave in the air as Cam walked into her suite, then smiled into the telephone. "I miss you too. Believe me, I'd rather be home than here." Her expression grew somber. "How is it up there?"

  Cam removed her jacket and weapon harness and placed them on a small table just inside the door. The sitting room adjoined Blair's bedroom and was furnished much as the other rooms in the White House, with original American period pieces. She walked to the minibar tucked unobtrusively into one corner of the room, pulled a Pellegrino from the small refrigerator, and carried it to the sofa. Blair was curled up on the opposite end talking, Cam surmised, to her best friend and art agent, Diane Bleeker. As Cam sipped the sparkling water, Blair drew her legs up onto the couch and settled her feet in Cam's lap.

  "I'm coming up with my father in the morning," Blair said. "I'll call you as soon as I'm free and we'll get together."

  Cam rubbed her thumb up and down Blair's instep as she listened to the conversation. Clearly, her lover had been busy in her absence. The president would need to visit the site of the tragedy to show the world that the United States did not bow to terrorism, but the last place Cam wanted Blair was in Manhattan so soon after the attack. There was no way, despite the hundreds of local and federal law enforcement agents scouring the region, that the area could be remotely secure. Guarding the president was going to be a nightmare. Adding Blair to the mix would only complicate matters further. Cam switched her attention to the opposite foot and closed her palm around the delicate bones and muscles beneath the nearly translucent skin, kneading gently. Blair traced the toes of her free foot back and forth along the inside of Cam's thigh.

  "You heard from her already!" Blair's voice rose in surprise. "Really—she's still in Manhattan? The news reports said there are hundreds of people still stranded because of the canceled flights." She stretched and pushed her foot higher between Cam's legs. "Well, I guess if she can't get a hotel room, she could always stay in your guest room for a few days." She laughed. "Very convenient. I'll call you tomorrow. See you soon."

  "Diane, I take it?" Cam asked as Blair switched off the phone and placed it on the floor beside the sofa.

  "Mmm. Apparently Valerie called, and she's temporarily stranded in New York. Diane is very pleased about that,"

  "Huh." Cam wasn't altogether comfortable discussing a woman with whom she had been intimate, although under extremely unusual circumstances and in what now felt like a different lifetime. And even though Blair knew about her liaison with Valerie, Diane did not. "What's this about you going to Manhattan tomorrow?"

  "I'll fill you in on the details later." Blair pushed the heel of her foot gently against Cam's crotch. "You know, there's nothing on the agenda for today."

  Cam grasped the foot teasing between her legs and stilled the entirely too pleasant motion. "I expect to get called back to Justice for my debriefing this afternoon."

  Blair craned her neck toward the Seth Thomas clock on the mantelpiece. "It's not noon yet." She rocked Cam's thigh with her other foot and her expression grew distant. When she spoke again, the bantering tone had disappeared and her voice was thick, as if with unshed tears. "You know, I keep thinking about Cynthia and Mac. When I do, all I want is your skin against mine. I need to hear you breathe. You, feel like the only solid thing in my world right now."

  "Oh, Christ," Cam whispered. She lifted Blair's legs and slid closer to her on the couch before slipping her arm behind Blair's waist and drawing her into an embrace. She kissed her mouth, then nuzzled her face in thick blond hair that smelled of sunshine and roses. "I love you. And God knows, I want you."

  Blair pulled back, her eyes narrowing. "But?"

  "But we need to talk about a few things."

  "What happened with Carlisle this morning?" Blair withdrew from Cam's embrace and inched away, as if she wanted space in which to carry out the conversation. "What's wrong?"

  Cam shook her head, wishing that Blair could not read her quite so well. "Nothing's wrong."

  "There's something you're not telling me. You promised me you wouldn't do that."

  "No. Stewart called me right before the briefing this morning, so there was no time to tell you."

  "Tell me what, Cameron?" Blair's voice had grown cold and her eyes were a hard, icy blue.

  Fast and hard seemed to be the only way to do it, because Blair was best at handling sharp, swift pain. "I've been replaced. Stark's your new security chief."

  Blair grew utterly still.
"You can't be serious."

  "I am."

  "Son of a bitch!" Blair jumped up and paced in a small, tight circle before storming back to stand within inches of Cam's legs. "They can't do this. Does my father know?"

  "I don't know. I think he does, bu—" Cam caught Blair's wrist as she was about to pick up the phone. "Wait."

  "For what? For you to tell me one more time that I have to accept everyone else's decisions when they affect my life?"

  "This is all about your life, baby," Cam said gently. "It's about taking care of you the best way possible."

  "You take care of me. I take care of you." Blair pulled her arm from Cam's grip. "That's what lovers do."

  Cam stood, but she did not try to hold her. "This isn't about us as a couple. It's about you as the first daughter. I've been relieved of my command because I almost let someone assassinate you. The entire team has been suspended, with the exception of Stark."

  Blair's head jerked back as if she'd been struck. "Everyone? This is crazy."

  "A board of inquiry will investigate what happened, including the possibility that other members of your security team were involved. As soon as our people are cleared, I'll push Carlisle to get them back on duty."

  "Why did they make an exception for Stark?"

  "Because I insisted. Because she put herself between you and the assailants, and had she been involved with the assassination attempt, she never would've done that."

  Because she took a bullet meant for you.

  Blair sank down on the sofa and rested her head against the back, staring up at the ceiling. "I'm going home. I can't stay here like this."

  "Your apartment isn't secure. Hell, New York City isn't secure." Cam settled next to her and clasped Blair's hand. "Just give it a few weeks, please. Just until we have a better idea of the scope of these attacks."

  Blair turned her head and stared at Cam. "While I'm living here under twenty-four-hour guard, where are you going to be?"

  "I'll stay in my DC apartment. Your father wanted me to investigate the assault at the Aerie, and I'm still going to do that, one way or the other."