Love And Honor

by Radclyffe

  “No,” Cam said automatically, her eyes cloudy, her voice distant as she moved back to the rail. She met Blair’s eyes and saw the disbelief in them. She let out a long sigh as she raked a hand through her hair. “I’m not sure. Maybe.”

  “Is it something to do with the action in New York?”

  “No. It’s personal.”

  Blair tried to keep her face expressionless as the words registered. Personal. Personal as in personal call as in something that is none of your business. As in what—a lover? Why not—we never talked about being exclusive.

  “Oh,” Blair finally replied. “Sorry.”

  She started to turn away, gathering her coffee mug and the book she’d carried out onto the deck earlier, when Cam’s hand on her arm stopped her.

  “Blair…it’s not what you’re thinking.”

  “You have no idea what I’m thinking,” Blair answered, her voice low-pitched and controlled. Too controlled. She kept her gaze averted because she didn’t want Cam to see the hurt in them. Stupid. Jesus, Blair. Grow up!

  “All right then,” Cam allowed softly, her fingers still curled around Blair’s forearm, “in case you might have gotten the idea that it was a…romantic issue…it wasn’t.”

  Blair’s head came up and she was about to make a vehement denial when she saw Cam’s face, and the angry retort died on her tongue. Secret Service Agent Cameron Roberts, twice commended for bravery by the President of the United States, stood looking at her with worry and uncertainty in her eyes. She looked vulnerable and defenseless and Blair wanted to hold her and never let go.

  “You don’t have to explain. It’s none of my busi…”

  “Yes. It is.” Cam stepped closer, forgetting where they were or who might come out through the kitchen behind them. Urgently, she added, “There’s no one else. No one…”

  Blair placed her fingers lightly on Cam’s lips. “Stop. It’s okay.”

  Then she kissed her security chief, swiftly but with intent, and pulled away. “I’m going for a run. Come with me.”

  “All right,” Cam said, following her into the house, hoping that Blair really did believe her, because the wounded look in Blair’s blue eyes had made her own heart bleed.

  ———

  After the run, Blair showered, dressed and spent a few hours shopping on Ghirardelli Square. Davis and Foster accompanied her while Cam met with Mac to review the flight arrangements and pilot dossiers for the evenings departure. She and Cam hadn’t mentioned the mornings phone call again, and Blair didn’t plan to. Cam had said it wasn’t a lover, and even if it had been, the two of them certainly weren’t at a point in their relationship where she could object—as much as she wanted to.

  Later in the afternoon, she read a book out on the deck, napping on and off in a lounge chair. Marcea returned in time for a late lunch, for which, to Blair’s delight, Cam unexpectedly joined them. The three of them talked of art, and of old friends of Marcea’s whom Cam knew from childhood, and of Blair’s plans for a new project. It was the kind of easy, casual conversation that friends and lovers might have and not something she was used to sharing. It was exhilarating and by the time they were ready to leave for the airport, Blair finally was able to put the disquieting effects of Cam’s mysterious call out of her mind.

  The chartered Gulfstream II turbojet seated sixteen when fully occupied and was large enough to allow the team to spread out slightly for the cross-continental flight. As was customary, the Secret Service agents boarded last and took the seats forward in the cabin, allowing Blair, already seated in a small separate area at the rear, some privacy.

  Blair looked up from her book as the last passenger boarded and moved slowly down the aisle, stopping occasionally to murmur something to one of the agents along the way. She enjoyed watching the dark-haired, handsome woman approach, enjoyed the way her suit fit her so well it looked ordinary, when Blair knew it was custom cut and tailored, and she enjoyed the intense focus on her face as her grey eyes scanned every inch of the interior, and she especially enjoyed the flicker of a smile that softened the concentration on Cam’s face when their eyes met.

  The security chief settled beside her just as the aircraft began to taxi down the runway of the small airport just outside San Francisco. The seats were roomy in the luxury craft, but the length of their thighs touched and their shoulders pressed lightly together nevertheless.

  “Good book?” Cam asked as she buckled in.

  “Mmm,” Blair nodded, closing it on one finger to mark her place. “Funny, sexy, and well put together.”

  “Sounds like a winning combination.”

  Blair brushed her fingers lightly over the top of the agent’s hand where it rested on her trousered thigh. “I think so.”

  “Be good,” Cam whispered, suppressing a grin. “I’m working.”

  “Oh, really?” Blair raised an eyebrow, then laughed. “All right I’ll give you a reprieve. But only for the rest of the flight. Then I intend to tease you as much as I like.”

  “I’ll look forward to it.”

  Blair eased the seat back and rested her hand on Cam’s forearm, below the sightline of the agents in the front of the plane if they happened to turn around.

  “Any pressing plans for the rest of the week?” Cam inquired. “We haven’t had an itinerary review since we’ve been here, and I want to get everyone back to routine. It’s better after what happened.”

  “Nothing special,” Blair replied. “Since were going to be traveling again soon, I want to work. I’m hoping to have a full show this fall, and as of right now, I don’t have enough canvases completed to do that.” She sighed. “There’s always the chance that something will come through from the West Wing that I need to do I haven’t heard anything for a few days and that’s never a good sign.”

  “I get a full briefing in the morning,” Cam reminded her. “We can go over the weeks itinerary after that.”

  “Fine.”

  “I’ll be out of town for a day or so,” Cam said quietly.

  Blair stiffened, automatically withdrawing her hand from Cam’s arm. “Oh?”

  “If everything is quiet, I’ll leave tomorrow night. Mac will have the detail.”

  Blair opened her book again. “I’m sure he can handle it.”

  Cam didn’t reply, because she didn’t have any explanation that she could share, and half-truths would only make things worse. They were both quiet on the rest of the flight Blair reading and Cam sleeping on and off. Despite the silence, however, they leaned close together, their bodies still touching their connection not completely broken.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The jet taxied to a stop on the runway at Teterboro airport in New Jersey, just across the Hudson River from Manhattan, and the team prepared to disembark. Cam walked to the front of the plane and stood at the top of the stairway that had been rolled across the tarmac to the open door. She pressed a finger to the receiver in her ear and listened to the report of a local agent in the first of two black Suburbans that approached along an access road toward the terminal. Satisfied, she turned to the agent behind her.

  “Two minutes. Lets proceed inside.”

  Stark passed her and then Blair was beside her.

  “Ready?” Cam asked her.

  “Yes.”

  As soon as Blair stepped onto the tarmac with Cam and Stark flanking her, a horde of reporters, apparently having hidden around the corner of the building, appeared out of the darkness with video cameras and microphones at the ready. Harsh halogen lights flashed on, striking her in the face and blinding her. For a moment Blair was disoriented—and afraid.

  “Ms. Powell, can you comment on the photograph in the New York Post?”

  “Who was the person with you?”

  “Where was it taken?”

  “Can you confirm that you were with a lover?”

  “Who?”

  “Name”

  “Ms. Powell… Ms. Powell… Ms. Powell…”

  Voices ac
costed her from every direction.

  As soon as the barrage began, Cam and Stark quickly began shepherding her toward the small single story terminal while the other agents clambered down the stairs and converged on her as well. Mac double-timed to get in front of the group while Hernandez, along with Felicia Davis, closed in behind. The entire team formed a human wedge with Blair in the center, and the reporters scurried to get out of the way of the fast moving wall of bodies.

  Nevertheless, their shouted questions followed them through the door and into the private VIP portion of the terminal.

  “What are they talking about?” Blair whispered harshly to Cam as soon as the double doors closed behind them. She hated to be manhandled, even when it was for her own good, and in that moment, Cam was the nearest target for her anger. “Why didn’t you know about them?”

  “Whatever it is, it must have hit the wires after we were in the air,” Cam muttered, lifting her wrist and barking questions into her microphone. After a moment of issuing instructions, she added, “Whoever is monitoring the news services in DC either didn’t pick it up, or didn’t think we needed to know about it.”

  Can was aggravated, because intelligence was critical for her to be able to anticipate and ward off problems. Had she known that a bevy of reporters would be waiting at the gate, she would have arranged for the transport to drive out onto the runway so that Blair would not have to walk to the terminal. “I’m sorry about this. I didn’t have an advance team on the ground I should have.”

  “No,” Blair shook her head, already calmer now that the unexpected assault had stopped. “Its not your fault. Let’s just collect our luggage and get out of here before they find their way in.”

  “Don’t worry, Cam said forbiddingly, her temper close to boiling. It was not only her responsibility to project Blair physically, but also to see that she was not ambushed by intrusive media hounds. She would have been angry if any of her protectees had been left open to such an affront, but the fact that it was her lover who had been subjected to the intrusive onslaught made it even worse. “They won’t bother you again.

  At that moment, Mac approached, a folded newspaper under his arm and a grim look on his face.

  “What have you got?” Cam asked sharply. To her surprise, Mac blushed.

  “Uh” He lifted the folded newspaper in his hand and glanced from Cam to Blair and then quickly away. “You might want to look at this in car.”

  “Let me see it,” Blair said, extending her hand. “It’s not going to get any better if I wait.”

  Wordlessly, he handed it to her. The Secret Service agents standing around averted their eyes but did not move from the protective circle they had formed, shielding her from the rest of the terminal.

  Cam watched Blair’s face as she opened the newspaper and quickly scanned the front page. She couldn’t detect the slightest change in Blair’s expression. When Blair silently folded the newspaper again and put it and the book she had been carrying under her arm, Cam said abruptly, “Okay, then. Let’s get out of here.”

  Two of the men walked to be incoming baggage belt and collected everyone’s bags, loading them quickly and efficiently onto a wheeled handcart. Within minutes, the team was once again ensconced in yet another pair of Suburbans and heading out of the airport toward the Lincoln Tunnel and Manhattan.

  Stark and Davis were in the front while Blair and Cam occupied the rear. The agents who were off-duty had remained at the airport, making separate arrangements for cabs or family to pick them up there.

  “Are you all right?” Cam asked. Blair had been silently staring out the window since they had gotten into the vehicle.

  Turning to face her, Blair smiled, her face sad in the irregular illumination of passing headlights and flickering neon signs. “I’ve been waiting for this. I was just sitting here, trying to think how long I’ve been waiting.”

  Cam waited but when Blair said no more she simply took the newspaper that Blair passed to her across the space between their seats. She unfolded it and held it toward the window to catch enough light to read it. Prominently displayed below the fold were a picture and the caption, “President’s Daughter and Secret Lover?”

  In a hazy, night shot a woman who looked very much like Blair could be seen kissing someone, although the other individual’s identity was difficult to determine because of the camera angle and the obvious distance from which it had been taken.

  “Son of a bitch,” Cam whispered. It was a photograph of the two of them on the beach in San Francisco, the first night that Cam had arrived from DC. She raised her eyes to Blair and said quietly, “I’m sorry.”

  “About what? The kiss or the photograph?”

  “Definitely not the kiss.”

  Blair nodded once, sharply. “Good.”

  Cam struggled in the poor light to read the short paragraph underneath the picture. It didn’t say much — just the usual titillating inferences about Blair’s alleged liaisons with movie stars, underworld kingpins or elected officials that were often linked to Blair in similar publications. Precisely because she was so private, and because the White House tried diligently to keep her out of the public eye unless it was a sanctioned official function, the press loved to conjecture about her love life. Except this time they were getting awfully close to the truth.

  “I think it’s interesting,” Cam said after a minute, “that they don’t name names and they don’t specifically state that you are with a woman. Whoever took this photograph must know.”

  “I noticed that myself,” Blair said darkly. “It’s almost as if someone is teasing me—or taunting me. What do you make of it?”

  “I don’t have any idea.” Cam shook her head, angry for Blair at the invasion of her privacy and furious at herself for being so careless that she let someone close enough to get the shot. “But what I want to know is where the hell he was and why my people didn’t see him.”

  “Well, I have a feeling this is only the beginning.” Blair laughed bitterly. “This is going to be embarrassing for my father, but the big question is, what is this going to do to you professionally if someone recognizes you?”

  “I don’t think that’s the most important thing right now,” Cam disagreed. “There’s something off about this entire situation, because if this were just some reporter looking to make a story, my name would be in this article. The fact that you are kissing a woman would be the headline— above the fold.”

  “Blackmail?”

  “If it is, they’ve got more balls than brains. You don’t blackmail the daughter of the President of the United States. Not like this—and, goddamn it—not on my watch.”

  “Well, Blair said resignedly, suddenly aware of a weariness that went deeper than flesh, “I’m sure well know soon enough.

  Tiredly, she leaned her forehead against the glass, watching the night slide by. The stretch of highway outside the speeding vehicle was barren and seemed to echo the emptiness in her heart. Of course she had been foolish to think that she would be allowed to love anyone in peace, let alone someone like the woman seated across from her. She closed her eyes, knowing that she would sleep alone that night, and wanting more than anything else for that not to be true.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cam watched Blair as wordless moments passed. It was the quiet that worried her. Anger she would have expected even, considering the circumstances—embraced. Accusations of her own complicity in allowing the photo to be taken, however unfounded, would have been more welcome than the curtain of silence that fell heavily between them.

  She tried to imagine how it must feel to have one’s most personal experiences on display, not just once, but repeatedly. She couldn’t, even though it was her picture in the newspaper as well. Even had her face been clear, and her name printed in bold letters beneath the image, it wouldn’t have been the same thing for her as it was for Blair. She wasn’t recognized the world over, nor was her family likely to be held up to scrutiny by self-appointed guardians of
right and wrong whose true motivation was nothing loftier their own their political gain. She was guilty of nothing, but even if she were, her transgression would soon be forgotten.

  That was not the case for Blair Powell or her father. The President was not immune to the effect of public opinion, just the opposite. Right or wrong had nothing to do with the fact that powerful groups jockeyed constantly for position and influence in the Washington political arena. Something as inflammatory as Andrew Powell’s daughter’s love affair—especially her lesbian love affair—would give his opponents one more piece of ammunition to threaten him with.

  “Blair,” Cam began gently, “is there anything I can do?”

  Finally turning away from the window and the night and her own troubled thoughts, Blair straightened infinitesimally. When she spoke, her voice was stronger, carrying a hint of its old steel. “Yes. You can tell me right now if you’re up for what’s coming.”

  “What?” Cam exclaimed, too surprised by the question to even absorb it completely. When the reality of what Blair was asking finally hit her, she replied heatedly, “You can’t really think that this would matter to me?”

  “It’s one thing to talk in the abstract about the possibility of exposure. It’s quite another thing to be the center of a media circus. Believe me, I know.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  Cam stared at her as she bit back another irate retort. Blair’s voice had been calm, steady—her face expressionless. She looked the way she’d looked the first day Cam had met her—cool, controlled, untouchable. Cam remembered very well the angry, wounded woman Blair had been, and how in recent weeks that rage had burned less brightly and the wounds had seemed less raw. Until this.

  Christ, she’s scared.

  That realization defused Cam’s anger. Fear was not something she associated with the Presidents daughter, and perhaps for the first time, she understood the price of Blair’s strength—the isolation and the impenetrable defenses and the expectation of loss.