by Radclyffe
“What are we going to do about finding the slimeball who took that picture?” Paula Stark questioned. The righteous indignation in her voice was obvious.
Briefly, Cam wondered how many of her agents knew that she was the person depicted in the photograph kissing the President’s daughter.
“For now, nothing,” Cam responded bluntly. She almost smiled at the expressions of outrage on the faces of her agents. The fact that they were all ferociously dedicated to Blair pleased her. She raised a hand to stem the questions that were sure to be forthcoming. “I need to brief first with DC. I can tell you this—we’re not going to take this lying down.”
That statement prompted an assortment of good, for sure and damn rights.
“In addition to routine matters, we need to gear up for the trans-Atlantic trip. I want status reports on my desk by this afternoon as to who will be our liaison in Paris, the itinerary, the report from the security chief at the hotel, an update on all terrorist cells known to be operating in France, with particular emphasis on Paris and its environs, and dossiers on the French security members assigned to every function at which Egret will be present.”
“Were on that, Commander,” Mac assured her. “I’ll collate the material we have for you this afternoon.”
“Very good.” Cam shrugged her shoulders to ease some of the stiffness in her neck and back. “Mac, I’d like to see you, please. The rest of you, carry on.”
Once the room had cleared, Cam sat down across from her second in command and briefly rubbed her eyes. Then, she leaned forward and met his steady gaze. “I want to know where that photograph came from. Make some inquiries to the wire services, contact the managing editor of the Post, and dig around at the Intel Ops center in DC. Be discrete if you can, but pull rank if you have to.”
Mac, a scrupulous detail man, was conspicuously not taking notes. What she was asking was outside the Agency chain of command, because strictly speaking, someone in DC should coordinate this kind of intelligence gathering with the FBI. But then, the Secret Service did not share intelligence with the FBI, nor ask them for any. “What do we know about specifics—time frame, location?”
For a moment, Cam was silent. Mac would have no reason to know the circumstances under which the image had been captured, and she could keep her part in it under wraps—at least for now. As a Secret Service agent, she was indoctrinated in the policy of silence. One did not discuss a protectee; one did not discuss Agency business with other departments; one did not discuss procedure. Solitary since childhood, circumspect with her own emotional pain—unable and unwilling to add to her mother’s agony with her own seemingly inconsequential anguish after the death of her father, she had learned to keep her own counsel. The habits of a lifetime compounded by the requirements of her profession made it difficult for her to disclose anything to anyone, no matter how much she trusted or loved—them. The silence in the room grew, a silence during which Mac sat quietly, simply waiting.
“The photograph was taken at approximately 0130 three nights ago on the waterfront in San Francisco.”
One blond eyebrow raised, his only sign of surprise, whether at the information or the fact that she knew it, Cam couldn’t tell.
“I never got a report that we’d lost her at anytime in San Francisco,” he said.
“We didn’t.”
“Then how did she manage to get away from us long enough for anyone to get that shot?”
His confusion was evident, and she made a decision that in all probability would alter the course of her career forever.
“She didn’t leave our sight. The person in the photograph with her is me.”
His reaction was not precisely what she had expected.
“Well then, where the fuck were the rest of our people? How in the hell did they let anyone get that close to her. Jesus, talk about a security failure.”
Cam shrugged, a rueful grin on her face. “She and I were not directly in their sight line, although they should have had an excellent perimeter view. One thought I had after the fact unfortunately—is that he was on one of the nearby piers with a night scope. He could have gotten fairly close to us but probably wouldn’t have raised any particular suspicion from the team. They were most likely focusing on foot traffic on the beach.”
“Commander, may I speak freely?” Mac asked softly.
“Go ahead, Mac.”
He held her eyes as he said firmly, “I consider it my responsibility—the responsibility of the entire team—to protect her not just physically, but from this kind of invasion as well. I know it’s not completely possible to deny the press access to her, but dammit, this is something personal. The public has no right to know this. I don’t want it to happen again.”
“I don’t know that we can stop it, Mac,” Cam replied. Frustrated, she strafed her hair with a hand. “I’m not even sure I know how to stop it. But someone released this photograph, and I want to know who they are and how they got it. I want to know—” she hesitated, because the next words came hard. Harder than almost anything she had ever said. “I need to know if it came from one of us.”
His blue eyes grew dark with pain, but he answered crisply. “Yes, ma’am. If I may, I’d like to look into this personally.”
“That might not be looked upon favorably by DC,” she warned.
“So noted.”
“It’s possible I may go down for this, Mac. If I do, I want you in the clear. I need you to take my place. Blair needs you.”
“I would not want to be in Egret’s path if anyone tries that, Commander.”
She smiled. “No, it wouldn’t be pretty. Just the same, if it comes to that, I want you to disavow any prior knowledge. We never had this conversation.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Thank you, Mac.”
Chapter Eighteen
As Cam stood in the small carpeted foyer between the elevator and the broad oak door to Blair’s apartment, she thought of the first time she had come there and how much had changed. She hadn’t wanted the job, hadn’t wanted a woman in her life, hadn’t wanted to feel anything at all. Now all she cared about was on the other side of that door. She raised her hand to knock, but the door opened before her fist met wood.
“Good morning,” Blair said.
She wore loose, white cotton drawstring pants and a matching ribbed tank top. Her hair was down and there was a dab of brilliant blue pigment just above her left breast.
“You’ve been working?” Cam asked. There were circles under her normally vibrant blue eyes, and Cam caught sight of something moving in their depths, something dark and wounded.
“Yes. What else? The antidote for every problem.”
Cam stayed on the threshold, waiting to be invited in. “Did you sleep?”
“Some. Did you?”
“Some.”
Blair pulled the door open wide and gesture with a sweep of her hand. “Come in. This shouldn’t take too long, because I don’t have much in the way of plans for the rest of the week. Especially not now.”
“Fine.” Cam followed her in and trailed behind her to the breakfast bar, puzzling over Blair’s odd detachment. It was rare for them to be anywhere alone that Blair did not touch her, however fleetingly. The absence of that small gesture echoed hollowly in her chest.
Blair set out two mugs and poured coffee. She passed one to Cam and leaned her elbows on the counter, one hip edged up on a stool. “Have you heard anything from Washington?”
Cam shook her head, settling on the neighboring stool to face her. “I plan to call Carlisle when we’re done here. What about you?”
“Lucinda called just after nine. She was in a rush, because my father was on his way to an economic summit meeting and she was briefing him in the car at the same time as she was talking to me. I believe her precise words were, ‘Tell me it’s someone you can bring home to dinner.’ “
“Huh,” Cam snorted, wondering if she were. What would the President think? “Anything else?�
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“Nope. She said she’d get back to me later. That could mean midnight.”
“What are you going to tell her?”
“At the moment, I’m going to tell her it’s nobody’s business. Not even hers.”
For the first time, Blair looked and sounded like herself. When she was angry, Cam was certain she was fine.
“I suppose at the moment, that makes sense,” Cam said, nodding. She pushed the mug away and reached for Blair’s hand, then stiffened when Blair eased back from the counter, just out of touching distance.
Silence fell and finally Cam asked quietly, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Something’s happened.”
“Are we done here? I’m in the middle of something.”
“No, we’re not done. Not until you tell me what’s happened between now and when we said goodnight eight hours ago.” Cam slid off her seat and moved to Blair’s side, lightly touching her bare arm with her fingertips. “Is it because I didn’t come up with you last night?”
“No,” Blair said abruptly, but she didn’t move her arm away.
“I couldn’t think what to do,” Cam said as if she hadn’t heard. “Sometimes, I can’t seem to figure out who I am—whether I’m your lover or your security chief. When push comes to shove, I guess I’m more used to being your security chief. I’m sorry.”
“Damn it, Cameron, that’s not the problem.” It almost hurt to hear Cam apologize for something Blair knew she couldn’t help. “Can’t you just finished this goddamned briefing and go do whatever the security chief part of you needs to do?”
Cam shook her head, smiling softly. “No. The security chief is finished. It’s just your lover here now.”
Blair drew a manila envelope from beneath the counter and handed it to Cam. “Then maybe you should tell me which one of you I ought to ask about this.”
Perplexed, Cam studied the envelope which had Blair’s name printed on it in black magic marker and no return address. No stamp either. “How did this arrive?”
“Courier.”
For one heart-stopping moment, she thought she had been catapulted back in time and she was about to read yet another threatening message from Loverboy. Raising her eyes to Blair’s, she asked quietly, “What is it?”
“Open it.”
Carefully, Cam folded back the small gold clasps that held the flap closed and withdrew an eight by ten photograph. She stared at it, anger boiling in her chest. “Christ.”
“The date stamp on the print is last night,” Blair remarked with no inflection in her voice.
“Yes.”
“I don’t know what to do, Cam. I don’t even know what this mea—”
“Blair, I don’t know who she is.”
Furious, Cam couldn’t stop staring at the photograph of herself leaning toward a woman who appeared to be in whispering in her ear. The woman’s hand was resting on hers. The shot was intimate, as if it had been taken during a private moment, an image stolen from a lover’s tryst. It was the redhead from the evening before, and although only their faces were in focus, the grainy background was clearly the bar where she had gone for a drink.
“Last night after I left here, I went downtown—”
“You don’t need to—”
“Yes, I goddamned well do need to. We need to get something straight,” Cam replied heatedly. “I haven’t been with anyone else since before I was shot. I haven’t wanted to be. I don’t want anyone but you and I have no intention of being with anyone else. Not now, not ever.”
“I feel ridiculous putting you in a position where you need to say that,” Blair said, her tone somewhere between embarrassed and confused.
“Why?”
“Because I’ve never wanted anyone to say what you just said before.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve never said it to anyone before,” Cam answered gently as she moved closer and slipped both arms around Blair’s waist. They were facing one another, thighs touching, leaning back in the circle of one another’s arms to look into each other’s eyes. “I don’t know what the hell is going on. I don’t know why someone is trying to drive a wedge between us—if that’s even what this is about. I can’t imagine that our relationship is a threat to anyone.”
At that, Blair laughed out loud. “Uh—visited the Bible Belt recently?”
“This isn’t their style—the photograph in the newspaper, maybe. But even that’s a stretch. You’re the President’s daughter, for god’s sake. Even the right wingers aren’t crazy enough to sling mud at you.”
“Maybe. I’m sure this is only the beginning.”
“I’m sorry you have to deal with this.” Cam kissed her forehead, the feel of Blair’s body in her arms easing the tightness in her chest that the photo had evoked.
“So—who is the bitch?” Blair asked abruptly, but there was a light dancing in her eyes that hadn’t been there before.
Cam laughed. “I have no idea. I couldn’t sleep last night—that seems to be a common theme when I’m not with you.”
“I don’t know why that makes me happy, either, but it does.”
“Good.”
“Hmm—I know what you do when you can’t sleep, though,” Blair remarked lightly, but her eyes were troubled again. Resting her cheek against Cam’s shoulder, she kissed her neck above the collar of her pristine white shirt.
“Not to worry, remember?” Cam brushed a kiss into her hair, and continued, “At any rate, I was just sitting there, trying to get my thoughts in order, and she appeared out of nowhere. I wasn’t really paying any attention and, I have to admit, I really don’t know who else was in the bar with us. Obviously, someone was inside watching me and took the picture.”
“Do you think she was trying to set you up for something?”
“I don’t know. She could have been an innocent bystander and someone just took advantage of the moment. What is clear, though, is that I was tailed from here to the bar.” She rested her chin on the top of Blair’s head and sighed. “Some Secret Service Agent I’ve been this week. I let someone photograph you in a compromising position and now I’ve managed to get myself a tail that I didn’t even see. Maybe it is time for me to retire.”
“Bullshit.” Blair tilted her head while tapping a finger against Cam’s chest. “You haven’t had enough rest in a week to account for one full night’s sleep. On top of that, you’ve had a concussion, not to mention more stress than any one person should have to handle in a year, let alone a few weeks. If you’ve missed a few things, it’s understandable. I still trust you with my life.”
“The problem is, you are, and if I’m not up to the job—”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Cameron, give yourself a break. When I require you to walk on water, I’ll let you know.”
For a moment, Cam simply stared at her, and then she laughed. “Yes ma’am.”
“And whatever they were trying to do with us, it’s had quite the opposite effect. All they’ve managed to do is piss me off,” Blair added. “And not at you.”
“Thank god for that. I don’t think I could take it.”
“On the other hand,” Blair said as she cupped Cam’s cheek in her hand, “if I see her anywhere near you, her life isn’t worth a dime.”
For an instant, Cam was worried, and then she recognized the lilt of humor in Blair’s voice. It was something that had been lacking for too long, and hearing it made her heart lift. “Let’s hope for her sake she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. For now, let’s forget about her.”
Blair insinuated the fingers of one hand through the thick, dark hair at the base of Cam’s neck and pulled her head down. Just before she melded her lips to Cam’s, she whispered throatily, “Yes. Let’s do that.”
As the kiss turned hungry, Blair’s thighs began to tremble, and she edged her hips up onto the stool behind her, pulling Cam with her until her lover was pressed between the vee of her legs. Lifting both hands to Cam’s sh
oulders, Blair pressed her breasts against Cam’s chest, the thin cotton of her T-shirt doing little to blunt the effect of her nipples hardening from the heat of her lover’s body alone. Moaning faintly far back in her throat, she kneaded both hands down Cam’s back and then underneath her jacket, finally pulling the shirt free of her trousers until her palms found skin.
As their tongues met in a rush of possession, Cam eased her hands between their bodies and rubbed her thumbs over Blair’s nipples, drawing a small cry from her. Pressing her pelvis hard into the space between Blair’s thighs, Cam lifted both breasts in her hands while tugging sharply on Blair’s nipples. She grunted softly as Blair thrust hard into her, her clitoris swelling instantly from the pressure.
“Oh, this is such a bad idea,” Blair gasped, even as she began working at Cam’s belt buckle.
“Why?” Cam’s words were short and tight with challenge, her fingers still tormenting.
“Because,” Blair replied before she bit her neck, “I know how you hate to be distracted when you’re working.”
By way of reply, Cam bunched the T-shirt in one fist and jerked it upward until Blair’s breasts were exposed, the white fabric straining across the top of her chest, calling the blood to the surface and painting her breasts with the hot blush of arousal. Swiftly, she lowered her head and pulled one nipple into her mouth. Blair’s neck arched as she closed her eyes and whimpered.
Moving from one breast to the other and then back again, Cam alternately sucked and bit until Blair’s hands flew to her face and pushed her head away.
“You’ve got to stop. I’ll go crazy if you keep doing that.”
“I thought you already were crazy about me.” Cam’s voice was thick, her eyes heavy-lidded with need. She kept one hand on Blair’s breast as she yanked the drawstring loose on the soft cotton pants with the other. “Didn’t you…” She worked her hand under the fabric. “…say that?”
“You know what I mean,” Blair replied urgently, her lips swollen with kisses and lust. “You make me want to…Oh…” Shocked by the sudden touch of Cam’s fingers on her tensely distended clitoris, she nearly came. She gripped Cam’s arms hard enough to leave bruises and struggled to contain the swift surge of pleasure. “Jesus Christ.”