Honor 02 - Honor Bound

by Radclyffe

  "Feels like my eyeballs are going to fall out," Stark responded flatly.

  "Thought so," Savard said off-handedly, making a note in her daily log. "You're going to need a CAT scan."

  "Yeah, sure. Next month maybe." Stark was listening to Mac relay the status of the investigation in Central Park while juggling equipment and trying to jot notes. She'd gotten the all-clear call just a minute before. At least this location was felt to be secure and they could stay put for a while. She was glad because she thought she might vomit if she had to ride in the car again. She closed her radio transmission, simultaneously hung up the receiver, and crossed her arms over her chest, trying to stave off another wave of nausea. "Where's Doyle?"

  Savard looked up in surprise, noting immediately that Stark's color was lousy. "Don't know. Haven't heard from him. I'm assuming he's going to want me to stay with the team, so all I'm trying to do is organize my field notes from today. We need to review the preliminary psych profile on this guy ASAP, too. I don't think anyone expected a bomb."

  "That's an understatement, Agent Savard," Stark grumbled, her expression grim and beneath the anger in her tone, a hollow note of pain. "At least I hope no one did. Because if anybody had any idea of this and didn't tell us about it, there'll be hell to pay. We lost an agent today."

  A sharp gasp from the doorway caused them both to turn quickly in that direction. Blair Powell, stood there, white as a sheet, and for a second, Stark thought she might fall.

  "Are you all right, Ms. Powell?" Stark asked in genuine concern.

  "Who?" Blair steadied herself with one hand on the back of a dining room chair and waited until she was quite sure her voice was steady. "You said you lost an agent," she heard herself say in a surprisingly calm voice that couldn't possibly be her own, because she was quite certain she was screaming. "Who?"

  Stark looked uncomfortable and a little uncertain. "I'm sorry, that information - "

  "Jeremy Finch," Renee Savard said immediately. She ignored the quick look of surprise and uncharacteristic anger from Stark, her gaze returning to Blair's face. "He was in the lead car."

  "I'm sorry," Blair said softly. She recognized the quick rush of relief that accompanied the sound of his name, but she couldn't bring herself to feel guilty. This time it wasn't Cam. It wasn't Cam.

  "There's no reason for you to be sorry," Stark said, gently now, too. "You are not responsible for what this maniac does. It has nothing to do with you."

  Blair shook her head, appreciating Stark's kindness, but unable to accept it. "It does have something to do with me. Agent Finch was assigned to me. His job was to protect me."

  "It's still doesn't mean that what happened to him was your fault," Stark persisted.

  Blair smiled, a sad smile. "That's a very fine distinction you're making, Agent Stark."

  "It's the fine distinctions that make all the difference," Savard responded in a firm butcompassionate tone.

  "I wish I could accept that," Blair said, almost to herself. She regarded them both and asked one last time, "Have you talked to Commander Roberts?"

  "Not yet, ma'am," Stark answered, and Blair believed her.

  "I'll be in the other room. Could you please let me know when you have more information?" She was more emotionally exhausted than physically tired. There was nothing she could do and she couldn't bear the conversation another moment. She knew that she wasn't a prisoner, but in many ways she felt like one. She didn't know where she was and she didn't know how long she would be there. She had no one to call, or at least no one she would be allowed to call. She assumed that her father had been informed that she was safe, and that his security chief and the director of the Secret Service and the FBI and all the other agencies entrusted with her protection would be doing whatever it was they did. She was the one player in all of this who apparently had no role to play. "And please advise me when I can call my father."

  "Yes, ma'am," Stark said crisply.

  When Blair left them, Stark looked at Savard in annoyance. "It's not exactly procedure to discuss classified information with her."

  Savard regarded Stark thoughtfully, choosing her words carefully. She didn't know her all that well, and she knew the others on the team even less. "Can I speak to you off the record here?" she said, surprising Stark even more.

  Stark glanced over her shoulder and saw that Grant was posted by the front entrance, and Blair was curled up on the couch staring blankly into space. They were alone. "I'm not going to report anything you say to me, Savard. I'm not the spy here."

  Renee let that jibe go, appreciating that not only was Stark injured, she had lost a colleague. "I just meant that I have no desire to offend you by talking about your Commander."

  As she expected, Stark's shoulders stiffened and the compact, dark-haired agent looked like she was ready to go to battle despite the fact that she seemed in danger of falling down at any second. It amazed Savard that every one of the Secret Service agents in Egret's detail was totally dedicated to their reserved, formidable Commander. She admired and respected the sentiment. "Blair Powell is in love with her."

  Stark's mouth dropped open. It was some seconds before she managed to close it.

  She still hadn't found her voice when Savard continued, "And I think the feeling is mutual."

  Stark was silent, staring at the floor, trying to think, but her thoughts were racing in circles. She thought about the five days that Blair had spent in Diane Bleeker's apartment not quite two months before. She had been in the car that sat outside that apartment building for a large part of that week. She and everyone else knew that there was no way that Blair Powell was up there alone that entire time. They hadn't spoken of it, even amongst themselves, but she had wondered privately.

  She was sitting there with a cold cup of coffee in her hand, staring up at the darkened windows in the oddly foreboding building, working hard not to wonder what was happening upstairs. She struggled not to replay the night she had ended up in Blair Powell's bed as a result of a very ill advised wave of pure, mindless lust. She had been so damn scared that night, and so damn nave, and so damn crazy for her - and Blair had been kind, if not tender. She recalled, blushing in the dark and hoping that Fielding couldn't see it, that tenderness had not been high on her list of requirements at that point, not when she had been frantic to get Blair's hands on her burning skin. She had never done anything like that before, and she hoped to God she never did again. She hadn't expected it, hadn't even considered it, but then she rarely thought about things like that. She thought about passing her firearms recertification, or her next shift assignment, or what she would have done if she had been the one to look up and see the sun glint off a rifle barrel pointed at the President's daughter.

  She sipped the acid dregs in the mushy paper cup and remembered what it felt like to be touched the way Blair Powell had touched her. Even though she managed to put the memory from her mind most of the time, every now and then she would look at the President's daughter and remember her kiss. Then her blood would race and she'd long to feel that way again.

  Stark realized that her mind was wandering down very inappropriate avenues and, ignoring her pounding headache and the faint disconcerting stirrings elsewhere, considered the facts. She knew the Commander was in town during those five days, because she has seen her briefly in a bar with Blair Powell. The timing certainly fit. It was more than that, though. It was a hundred little things that she had noticed since then but never quite 'seen'. It was the way they looked at each other, and the way they walked together - not touching, but connected just the same. Neither of them had been obvious, but when she considered everything as a whole, she thought that Savard might be right.

  "How can you say that after only a week of being around them?" Stark asked somewhat argumentatively. It bothered her that the FBI agent had seen something she hadn't.

  Savard smiled. "I know what women look like when they're in love."

  Stark blushed and immediately cursed herself men
tally for the reaction. It wasn't quite the answer she'd expected, and she hated the fact that her heart began to race in a very unprofessional manner. She was in the middle of a crisis situation and had responsibility for Egret's security until such time as Mac or the Commander arrived on scene, and here she was discussing something very improper with an FBI agent who might be reporting every word back to her dickhead of a superior. To make matters even worse, she was having very unprofessional thoughts about her FBI counterpart.

  "Well," she began, and then stuttered to a stop when she realized that Savard was softly laughing. "What?" she asked belligerently.

  "I apologize if I've upset you," Savard said, the lilt in her voice playful.

  "I'm not upset," Stark said, definitely defensive now. She squared her shoulders and reached for the telephone. "I'm just busy, that's all."

  Savard simply smiled again and returned to her report. She had been right about Stark the first day she had met her. She was cute.

  Chapter twenty

  Hours had passed in silence, it seemed, with Stark or Savard or Grantstanding guard duty at the door. Finally, Paula Stark stepped into the room and said quietly, "Ms. Powell, if you would pick up the phone on the table next to you please."

  For a moment, Blair hesitated, staring at the phone with a mixture of apprehension and wonder. Such a simple thing - contact with the outside world. Exhilarating, and somehow frightening. Then she reached for it and said, "Yes?"

  For a moment all she heard was strange static, and then a faintly metallic version of the only voice she wanted to hear.

  "I'm sorry. I couldn't get away before and I just now found a scrambled line. I can only talk a minute. Are you all right?"

  Suddenly, Blair didn't care where she was or how long she would have to be there. This was the one thing she needed. "I'm fine. Are you hurt?"

  "No."

  The answer came too quickly, and even with the electronic interference, Blair heard that tone in Cam's voice that she always got when she was being official and avoiding a question. If she hadn't been so relieved to hear from her, she would have been pissed. There would be time for that later. "Cam? What's happening?"

  "I'm sorry. I can't talk now, but I'll be there as soon as I can."

  "Be careful."

  Then there was only silence on the line. Nevertheless, for the first time since the explosion rocked her world, Blair was able to draw a full breath without feeling a hard ball of pain in her chest. Cam was safe - she was safe - and she had found the time in the midst of what must have been pandemonium to call her.

  She replaced the receiver and looked across the room to where Stark stood next to the front door, glancing out the window. It was already close to ten p.m. "What are Mac and Cam doing back there?"

  Stark turned from the window, satisfied that the two new FBI agents who had arrived an hour earlier were well positioned outside. She welcomed the additional surveillance assistance, because she and Savard and Grant were tired and stressed, and, even rotating shifts they couldn't adequately cover both the grounds and the interior. Even with the fibbies they were still under-manned, but that would get better once the Commander and the rest of the team arrived.

  Blair watched her, waiting for an answer.

  Stark's automatic response was a non-response, but when she looked into Blair's face, she caught an unguardedglimpse of her worry. Then she thought about what Savard had said about the Commander and her, and answered, "I imagine they're meeting with the ATF bomb unit, trying to get a profile on the bomb and the bomber. The first walk-through is always the most important. The Commander wouldn't leave that to anyone else."

  Blair had an uneasy feeling she knew what that meant. "The walk-through?"

  Stark hesitated. It wasn't exactly a pretty picture.

  "The epicenter of the explosion was the lead vehicle," Savard said, walking in from the kitchen with yet more coffee. "Depending upon the nature of the accelerant, and the amount, and the exact placement of the device on the car, the blast radius could be anywhere from ten feet to a hundred yards. Anything and everything remaining in that area is potential evidence."

  "Aren't there specialists to take care of that kind of thing?" Blair asked, her throat dry. 'Everything' included people too, she supposed.

  Stark nodded. "Of course, from the ATF and the Bureau and most likely the NYPD and the State Police, too. It's probably a real jurisdictional snafu down there right now."

  Savard snorted derisively. "That's putting it mildly." She was quite sure that's why she hadn't heard from her own chief. Doyle was undoubtedly trying to direct the activities by claiming that Federal interests had priority.

  "So Cam isn't needed there, is she?" Blair persisted. God, why couldn't Cam just let someone else do this part? She couldn't imagine the horror of sifting through the debris that had claimed the life of someone she knew.

  Stark stared at her, incredulous. "There's no way she's going to walk away until there's nothing else to find. Not when you were the target."

  Stark was so certain, and there was an unmistakable edge of pride in her tone. Blair began to see why it was so hard for Cam to relinquish her position on the team. She was so clearly the leader.

  "It could be a long time before they're done, then, couldn't it?"

  Stark regarded her seriously for a moment, then smiled quickly. "If she said she'll be here, Ms. Powell, you can count on it."

  *

  She wasn't sleeping, just lying quietly in the dark. The soft tap on the door brought her upright, her heart pounding and her pulse racing. She glanced at the red digits on the bedside clock. Three twenty-two a.m.

  "Yes," she called.

  "Ms. Powell, it's-"

  "Come in," she said urgently, fumbling on the bed for the terrycloth robe someone had considerately thought to stock in the bathroom. She was tightening the sashes on the garment when the door opened softly and then closed again. She hadn't turned on the bedside lamp yet, but the glow from the security lights cleverly hidden in the nearby trees was enough to illuminate Cam's unmistakable form.

  "Are you hurt?" Blair asked immediately.

  "No," Cam responded, her voice raspy.

  They were six feet apart, each of them leaning forward slightly, and the silence hung heavily between them.

  "Are you?" Cam whispered finally.

  "No."

  Cam took one step forward, hesitated, and then another. When she spoke, her tone held none of its usual reserve. Softly she asked, "Would you mind very much if I touched you - just to be sure?"

  Something that had lain cold and frightened in Blair's heart began to warm. She trembled faintly with the kind of anticipation she barely remembered, from a time before she had learned to expect disappointment from a lover's promise. "No, I wouldn't mind that at all."

  Blair took one step to meet her, and then Cam's arms closed very gently around her. Blair scarcely dared breathe, afraid that she might suddenly awaken and find it all a dream. Awaken and discover herself alone in the dark yet again, waiting for a woman to come and touch her. Waiting for a lover's touch to set her free. She held very still and willed the moment not to end.

  Cam sighed, contenting herself with absorbing the warmth of Blair's body. As she held her, Blair's energy began to penetrate the numbness. She still hurt - everywhere. But being close to Blair - feeling her heart beat, listening to her quiet breathing, leaning on her strength - being with her, was soothing the edges of her pain.

  Eventually Blair ran her hands up and down Cam's back slowly, tentatively, assuring herself that she was real. When she lifted her arms to encircle Cam's shoulders, pressing closer to her, Cam gasped sharply.

  "You are hurt!" Blair exclaimed.

  "It's nothing," Cam murmured, resting her cheek against Blair's hair and closing her eyes. God, it was so good just to be near her. She hadn't realized how tired she was. There'd been so much to do. They'd had to cordon off the park in the immediate vicinity of Sheep Meadow, an impossibl
e task in itself, and then there was the evidence collection, and the interviews. And she'd had to call Jeremy Finch's sister in Omaha. And then report on a secure line to DC and brief the deputy Security advisor and her own chief, assuring them that there was no imminent threat to Blair. And then make decisions about where to move her, how deeply to seclude her. Goddamned Doyle arguing with her every step of the way. And every minute wondering if Blair was hurt, even though Stark had reported no injury. And worrying thatBlair might still be in danger or simply just frightened, and alone. Twelve hours apart from her had felt like a year. She tightened her hold on Blair and gasped again at the sudden surge of pain down her arm.

  "Tell me," Blair whispered.

  "Just a few burns," Cam answered, nearly asleep on her feet. It really didn't hurt so very much just at that moment. She lifted her uninjured hand to stroke Blair's face. "You're sure you're all right?"

  "I am now," Blair responded softly. She could feel Cam shaking, and as much as she didn't want to let her go, she knew she needed to. "Cam, you need to lie down."

  "Let me just stand here a minute," Cam replied, her voice eerily flat and her words forced and slow. "I'll be fine if I just don't move for a minute. Doesn't really hurt if I don't move. Just a little tired is all."

  "I know," Blair said. She began to move them both toward the bed, one careful step at a time. It worried her that Cam followed without protest. That wasn't like her. This wasn't just fatigue. "Cam?"

  "Hmm?" Cam asked dimly, trying to remember what she needed to do next. "Stark. Stark's report. Need that."

  "Did they give you anything, for the pain?"

  Cam felt her legs hit something unyielding and she sat down. Bed. "No. I told them no. I have to talk - to - Mac."

  "Are you in pain now?" Blair asked, guiding her back against the pillows.

  "Not so much, really," Cam muttered. There was the strangest tingling in her right hand. Then, she was aware of Blair lifting her legs onto the mattress, removing her shoes. "I shouldn't be in here," she remarked suddenly, as if just realizing where she was.