by Radclyffe
"Hello?"
"Hey, good morning."
"Mmm, it is now."
"Yeah." Cam smiled. "How was your night?"
"Long. And lonely. How was yours?"
"Same." Cam leaned back in the chair and stretched her legs out in front of her. She was stiff and sore and tired, but listening to Blair's voice eased some of the tension that had knotted the muscles along her spine into a taut ladder of pain. "Have you been up long?"
"A few hours. I had breakfast with my father—well, part of one, at least, before he was called away."
"Everything okay?"
Blair sighed. "Okay is relative, isn't it? Apparently there was some kind of scare in a government complex in New Jersey. I'm not sure what it was all about, but I heard that he had to meet with someone from the NIH right away."
Cam frowned. She didn't like being outside the intelligence loop, even for a few hours. Ordinarily, something like this would have been brought to her attention immediately as Blair's security chief. She made another mental note to call Stark and inquire about significant developments that came up at the morning briefing. "How are you ?"
"I want to see you. I want to be where you are." Blair made a small sound of disgust. "God, I sound pathetic. But I've made my obligatory media appearances with my father—we've shown the world we're not afraid, and they'll believe it when they see us in Manhattan this afternoon if they're not convinced yet. I've done my part, which hardly seems enough."
"You're doing everything you can, baby."
"Thanks for saying that." Blair hesitated. "Do you feel like I do when we're apart? Like nothing is quite right?"
"Every minute."
Blair laughed. "Even if you're lying, I don't care. I love you for saying it."
"I'm not lying," Cam said with utter seriousness.
"Did you sleep?"
"Some."
"I know you, Commander. That means probably not at all. You can't run yourself into the ground, Cam, or you won't be any good to your investigation or me."
"I know. I won't."
"Uh-huh. Right." Blair made a low murmuring sound in her throat. "But I know how to put you to sleep. We'll take care of that later."
Despite her fatigue, her worry,and her hyperadrenalized awareness, Cam felt herself respond. "Jesus, don't do that now. I have to work."
"What's the matter, did I just make you twitch?"
Absently, Cam brushed her palm over the inside of her thigh. "More than that."
"Oh, good."
Cam laughed and closed her eyes, allowing herself the simple pleasure of enjoying the company of the woman she loved for just a few minutes.
*
Savard bolted awake, bathed in sweat. She rapidly scanned the space around her as if it were a battlefield, searching for danger, until she placed the room— bedroom, Stark's...no, our place now.
With a jerk, she threw the damp sheet aside and stumbled into the bathroom, then directly into the shower. She twisted both knobs on full and barely flinched when the first blast of icy water struck her in the chest. Her skin tingled, and it felt good. She was alive. She was alive.
Five minutes later, wrapped in a towel, her hair still dripping, she sat on the side of the bed and dialed Stark's cell phone.
"Stark."
"Hi, sweetie. Are you busy?"
Stark had to forcibly hold back a surge of wild laughter. Oh hell, no. Not busy. She suddenly was responsible for guarding the first daughter in the midst of a national crisis, with a team of newbies and a reluctant protectee. Hell no, she wasn't busy. "I've got a couple minutes. We just briefed."
"How was it?"
Stark lowered her voice. "My legs aren't shaking anymore."
"You're going to be fine. You were a good agent before the commander came on board, and now you've spent almost a year watching her work. You know what to do. Just do it your own way, and you'll be fine."
"Thanks, honey. What about you? How are you doing?"
"Fine," Savard said quickly. "Is it still a green light for today?"
"Yes. This afternoon."
"Any chance we'll be able to get together later?"
"I don't know. I want to. It's going to depend on...well, you know."
Yes, Savard thought. From now on, my lover's life is going to be determined by Blair Powell's schedule. It's going to be even harder now for us to connect. Maybe it's just as well. Maybe I shouldn't see her until I don 't feel so...crazy.
Stark picked up on the silence. "I'm sorry. I want to see you so mu--"
"Hey. It's okay." Savard glanced at the clock by the bedside. "God, it's almost nine. I'm late. Listen, sweetie, I've got to run. Call me if you can."
"I will. I love you," Stark said hastily.
"Me too. Bye."
Savard pulled the towel off and wrapped it around her hair as she hurried to the closet. She was surprised someone hadn't already called her to find out why she hadn't shown up for her shift. As she pulled clothes from a hanger, her cell rang.
"Damn," she muttered as she grabbed it off the bedside table. "Savard."
"This is Roberts. Where are you?"
"Stark's."
"Good. I'll pick you up in fifteen minutes."
"Uh.. .what about my other assignment? Should I call—"
"Already taken care of."
"Yes, ma'am," Savard said briskly. "I'll be waiting downstairs."
"Very good. Goodbye."
"Yes, ma'am," Savard whispered. Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes to get herself together enough so that no one would notice she wasn't who she used to be.
*
It was the smell that plummeted Cam back in time—that unmistakable mixture of antiseptic and death that permeated the air in the hallway leading to the intensive care unit. Six months before it had been her lying in one of the glassed-in cubicles, tubes and monitors attached to her body, swimming in an ocean of pain. She had only fragments of recollection of the first three days following the shooting—her mother's voice, Blair's touch, and always the fucking pain. Suppressing a shudder, she shoved her hands into her pockets and shook off the memories. Despite what she insisted to Blair—that the chance of her ever being shot again was infinitesimal—it was always a possibility. And that was something you didn't think about if you wanted to do the job.
"Davis told me they're supposed to move him out of here today," Cam said to Savard as they pushed through the double gray steel doors with the red letters proclaiming Trauma Intensive Care Unit.
"Good. That's good," Savard said quietly.
Two minutes later, after clearing their visit with the nurses, they approached Mac's bedside. To Cam's great relief, he no longer had a breathing tube and was able to croak a hello. Her former second in command, Mac Phillips, was ordinarily a vigorous thirty-three-year-old—tall, blond, and handsome. Now he looked pale and vulnerable, and Cam felt the fury rise again.
"How are you doing, Mac?"
He smiled weakly. "Not bad, Commander."
Cam nodded at the statuesque African American woman with the model-perfect face standing on the opposite side of the bed. "Agent Davis."
"Commander," Felicia replied in her smooth alto voice. "Hello, Renee."
"Hi." Savard leaned over and kissed Mac lightly on the cheek. "Hello, honey."
"My day.. .is looking.. .up," Mac said, grinning.
"We heard they're moving you to a regular room later today. That's terrific," Cam said as she stepped over and closed the door. They were all completely visible to anyone in the rest of the intensive care unit, but their conversation would not be overheard. Turning to face Mac and Felicia again, she said, "The whole team—with the exception of Stark—has been placed on administrative leave until Justice completes the investigation of Tuesday's events."
"God," Felicia said, "that could take months."
"Probably will. But you've been detailed to a special team," Cam informed her. "As of now, you and Savard are with me, and our only job is to find out
where those bastards who hit the Aerie came from."
"What about.. .me?" Mac said immediately.
Cam squeezed his shoulder. "Your assignment is to get better. Once you're out of this place, I'll pick your brain to make sure we're not missing anything, but no field work for you."
"The bullet...missed the good stuff," Mac said. "I'll be good...to go...in a week or so."
"That's not exactly what the doctor said, baby," Felicia interjected. "Six to eight weeks is what I heard."
"We'll keep you in the loop," Cam assured him, "but you're an armchair quarterback on this one."
"Yes, ma'am," he said weakly, his eyes flickering closed as he obviously tired.
"So, Davis," Cam said, "we need a new command center. I should have an address for you later today. You can transfer the equipment then."
"Yes, ma'am."
"The first order of business is an ID on the four men who hit the Aerie. You and Savard are on that."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Savard will coordinate when I'm not available."
Savard jerked slightly at the announcement, but Felicia appeared unfazed. "Understood."
Cam looked at her watch. "For now, get copies of everything the FBI has that relates to the attack—forensics, intelligence, background on paramilitary groups and terrorist cells, gossip, rumor, innuendo—I don't care. Everything."
Felicia glanced at Savard. "Can you get me into the computers?"
Savard nodded. "Yes."
"Then you'll have it within twenty-four hours, Commander."
"Good," Cam said briskly. "You've got eighteen. We brief tomorrow at 0700. Now I've got to meet Marine One."
Chapter Twelve
C am made the thirty-mile trip from Manhattan to White Plains in just under an hour. She pulled into the parking lot of a small private airfield and walked toward a line of four gleaming black Suburbans that were idling on the far side of a chain-link fence. She hadn't gotten twenty feet from her rental car before the passenger doors of each vehicle opened and three men and a woman jumped out and hurried through the gate on an intercept path with hers. Anticipating this, Cam held out the badge case she carried in her right hand.
"Secret Service. Roberts."
"Stay where you are, please," the lead man, a stocky African American in a well-cut dark blue suit, called out.
Dutifully, Cam stopped. These field agents had probably been pulled for emergency duty from regional offices all over the country. It was doubtful that anyone in the service didn't know that an Agent Roberts was the first daughter's lover, but they didn't know her, not by sight.
"Hold the badge in two fingers and put your arms out at your sides, please," a tight-bodied blond woman ordered brusquely. Her eyes never moved from Cam's body as she plucked the badge from Cam's loose grip, handed it to the first agent, and flipped open Cam's jacket. "She's carrying. Service-issue weapon."
"You might contact Paula Stark. She'll verify that I'm expected." Cam kept her arms straight out while the female agent removed her automatic from the shoulder holster below her left breast. She didn't move a muscle as every inch of her body was patted down, quickly and efficiently.
"This is a restricted area," the male agent said, studying her credentials. "How did you get in here?"
"The same way you did," Cam replied mildly. "I showed my badge to the officers at the checkpoint you set up at the main entrance. They let me pass." She could tell by the expression on his face that he wasn't happy. Despite the fact that she had a Secret Service ID, someone should have called the ground team for clearance. It would take time before the various state and federal agencies were able to coordinate the new level of security required, which was one of the major reasons she didn't want to be too far away from Blair. No matter how good the first team might be, there were too many other links in the chain that might weaken and break, leaving Blair at risk.
"Christ," he muttered under his breath, then handed Cam her ID. "Stay here."
"You can lower your arms," the blond said, her expression impassive behind impenetrable sunglasses.
Cam did, slowly, and glanced up at the sky as she heard the distant sound of rotors. Ten seconds later, the lead agent jogged back through the gate.
"Give her back her weapon, Calhoun. Sorry, Commander."
"No problem," Cam said as she holstered her automatic and accepted her ID. "I would've been a lot more upset if you hadn't braced me."
"Let's go," he said, already heading back to the airstrip on the other side of the fence. "They'll be on the ground in a minute."
Cam fell in behind the ground team, her eyes on the sky as the VH-3D presidential helicopter descended. With the rotors still churning, a stairway unfolded from the side of the Sea King and four fully armed Marines from the elite HMX-1 squadron based at Quantico clambered down to flank the exit route from the chopper. The Secret Service ground team stationed themselves in a similar fashion, creating a continuous corridor that led to the waiting vehicles. Cam stayed by the side of the third Suburban in line. Andrew Powell and Blair stepped out together and descended the stairs briskly. Stark flanked Blair, and Turner had a similar position on the president's opposite side. There were two men and a woman behind Stark whom Cam recognized as senior Secret Service agents. These would be the new members of Blair's first team. As the president and the first daughter approached the vehicles, the local Secret Service agents split into two groups and fell in behind the first teams. Blair walked directly up to Cam and kissed her.
"Hi," Blair said.
"Hi." Cam threaded her arm around Blair's waist and turned with her toward the Suburban, where Stark stood holding open the rear door. "Chief," she said with a nod toward Stark.
"Good to see you, Commander."
Cam and Blair slid into the spacious rear compartment with Stark and the female agent taking the seats across from them. One man joined the driver and the other took the keys to Cam's rental from her to drive it back to the city. While Stark murmured into her microphone, ensuring everyone was in position, Cam extended her arm on the seat and Blair settled naturally against her side.
"How are you doing?" Cam asked quietly.
Blair smiled. "Good now."
As they pulled out of the airport, Stark said, "Commander, this is Agent Patrice Hara. That's Greg Wozinski up front and Leonard Krebs in your car."
"Ma'am," the woman next to Stark said.
"Agent," Cam said, shaking the outstretched hand while making a rapid assessment. Five-four and compact, forty years old, jet black hair that fell straight to her shoulders, dark almond-shaped eyes testifying to her Japanese heritage, wedding ring on her left hand. Hara accepted the scrutiny with no sign of discomfort. Satisfied, Cam turned back to Blair. "Trip go okay?"
"Fine." Blair laughed. "Every time I see that thing settling down on the South Lawn, I think there's no way I'm getting into it. But it beats Beltway traffic all to hell."
Laughing, Cam dropped a light kiss on Blair's temple. Across from them, Stark and Hara stared out their respective windows. "Diane says hello."
"I know. I called her on the way up here."
"Oh?"
"I thought I'd stay there tonight." Blair leaned back far enough to look into Cam's face. "I take it I'm not going to be able to stay at my place yet?"
"No." Cam didn't think this was the time or place to tell her that in all likelihood she would never stay there again. When they caught the perpetrators, there would still be no way of knowing how much information had been disseminated about the physical layout of the command center and Aerie. Even with that variable aside, the security there had been fatally compromised. There was no going back. "I thought I saw a suitcase being loaded into the back."
Blair smiled. "Aren't you going to tell me all the reasons why I have to go back to the White House?"
Cam rubbed her thumb over Blair's chin, then lightly caressed her mouth. "No. Because you already know. Let's talk about where we're going to stay a little later, though."
Suddenly, she realized that it wasn't going to be her decision any longer. Stark would have to approve. That was going to take some getting used to. "And of course, we'll have to discuss it with your security chief."
"Cameron," Blair said as she rested her head against Cam's shoulder and wrapped an arm around her waist. "I never asked your permission to do anything when you were my security chief. Why do you think it's going to be different now?"
Cam settled her cheek against the top of Blair's forehead, smiling to herself when she saw a muscle twitch at the corner of Stark's eye. "No idea."
*
"Was it horrible?" Diane asked, passing Blair a crystal glass filled with ice and scotch. They were sitting side by side on the sofa in Diane's living room. Blair still had on the suit she had worn to tour Ground Zero. Her shoes and slacks were gray with the residue of ash that covered everything there. Cam and Stark were in the kitchen, their muted voices creating a comforting backdrop.
"Yes." Blair's hand trembled as her eyes met those of her best friend. "I've been doing nothing but watching the television news reports since Tuesday, and I've seen all the pictures. But..." She took a healthy swallow of the liquor, grateful for the sharp burn that brought some feeling back into her body. Her mind, however, still felt numb. "It's so huge...the destruction goes on forever, it seems. And everyone there—the cops and firefighters and EMTs, the investigators, ordinary people on the streets—everyone just looks so shell-shocked. And underneath it all, you can feel the anger." She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the sofa. "God."
"I saw some of the news footage of your visit today. Your father was fabulous. I felt better—safer—listening to him."
Blair smiled faintly. "Yes. He's really great. Sometimes I'm amazed that this man that the whole world considers one of the most powerful people on the planet is my father." She turned her head toward Diane and opened her eyes. "Sometimes I feel guilty wishing that he were just my father."