Radclyffe - (Honor 5) - Honor Reclaimed

by Radclyffe

  "Unfortunately," Diane said pensively, "I have a business to see to."

  "Diane," Blair said quietly, "there is no business as usual in Manhattan right now. It's not going to hurt if you take another week off." She leaned closer and rubbed Diane's shoulders. "Here, turn sideways. Your back is in knots."

  When Blair pulled her legs up onto the sofa, Diane shifted into the vee of her parted thighs. She sighed as Blair worked her thumbs up and down along her spine. "God, I've forgotten how good you are at that."

  "Oh yeah? Well, it has been a long time."

  They both laughed.

  "I can't remember who seduced whom that first time," Diane said musingly. "Of course, we were fourteen."

  "Well," Blair said, circling the flats of her fingers in the hollow at the base of Diane's spine, "you asked me to rub your back when you just happened to be naked, but I copped the first feel. So, I guess it was probably mutual."

  "We were so innocent." Diane turned her head and looked back at Blair. "I was so crazy about you."

  "You never said."

  "I know. You were such a little heartbreaker already, and I guess I just didn't want to take the chance of getting hurt."

  "I wonder what it would have been like," Blair said, sliding her hands back up to curve over the tops of Diane's shoulders. "If we'd been lovers then—I mean, if we'd admitted it was more than just the sex."

  "We wouldn't have this. This friendship." Diane lightly stroked the tops of Blair's thighs where they cradled her body. "And as much as I've wanted you all these years, this is what I've always needed."

  "You're okay with things now, right?" Blair spoke gently, her hands still.

  Diane laughed. "I'll admit to having a twinge now and then, when you're looking particularly devastating." She patted Blair's legs. "But I'm not pining, and I can enjoy a back rub without getting wet."

  "Well, fuck, I'm slipping," Blair muttered playfully, resuming her ministrations. After a few minutes of silence, she said, "You know what you said about taking a chance?"

  "Mmm-hmm." Diane rested her head back against Blair's shoulder and closed her eyes. "God, that feels so good."

  "You have to take chances when you're in love."

  Diane shifted slightly so she could see Blair's face. "And who might you be? I could have sworn you were my old friend Blair Powell, who used to say that being in love was just a state of insanity."

  Blair shrugged. "Maybe it is. But it feels really good, so why not choose a state of insanity that makes you happy instead of sad?"

  "I think I know what you mean. After everything that's happened, if there's something—or someone—in life that's precious, we shouldn't lose sight of it."

  "So are you?" .

  "What?"

  "Taking a chance. With Valerie?"

  "Oh, I have no idea what I'm doing with her." Diane shook her head, her expression rueful. "She's...she's turned everything upside down on me."

  "She's very beautiful."

  "God yes."

  "And terribly sexy."

  "Mmm."

  "And she might not be who she says she is," Blair said gently, draping her arms loosely around Diane's waist. "You know that, right?"

  Diane stiffened, but did not pull away. "Talking about Valerie could get us into trouble."

  "Maybe, but we need to." Blair kissed Diane's cheek. "Because I love you and I need you in my life. So, are you in love with her?"

  "Yes. Totally."

  "Thought so. She looks like she's in love with you too."

  Diane sighed. "She hasn't said so. But the way she is with me, the way she touches me.. .God, she's so tender."

  Blair smiled. "Well, it's a done deal, I can see that." She gave Diane a quick hug. "You know, being involved with one of these secret agent types is a real pain in the ass."

  "I'm starting to understand that. There are a lot of things she doesn't say. Or can't say."

  "They teach them not to trust, you know." Blair's voice was flat, restraining her anger.

  "I know. But then, look at us. We're not that much different."

  "True," Blair said sharply, "but we're not likely to disappear in the middle of the night on some mission to save the goddamned world. We're not likely to have someone put a bullet in us while we go about our daily business."

  "Hey," Diane said, taking Blair's hand. She wasn't going to point out that Blair was as much a target as their lovers. "You can't think about that all the time. It will just make you crazy, and you can't change it. You can't change her. Besides, would you want to?"

  "Yes. Fuck, yes." Blair closed her eyes, then took a deep breath. "No. But God, I think about something happening to her..." She looked away, her throat working around tears.

  "Okay, what's happened?"

  "Nothing."

  "Yes. Something," Diane turned to face Blair, resting her hand once again on Blair's leg. "Tell."

  Blair leaned forward and retrieved her wineglass. Then she set it down, lifted the bottle, and topped off both their glasses with what remained. She settled back, the glass cupped in both hands. She studied it for a while, as if some mystery lay revealed within, then met Diane's compassionate gaze. "Cam and I are going to get married."

  Diane sat completely still. While Blair watched her expectantly, Diane finally took Blair's glass from her hand and set both their glasses back on the table. Then she scooped Blair into her arms. "I am so, so happy for you!"

  "Thanks," Blair said softly, rubbing her cheek gently on Diane's shoulder. She leaned back and grinned. "Will you help? Because I don't have any idea what to do for this kind of thing. And I'm pretty certain Cam doesn't either."

  "Ooh," Diane breathed, her eyes sparkling. "Will you give me a blank check and permission to do anything I want?"

  "Nothing fancy."

  Diane pouted.

  "All right, nothing too fancy."

  "Wait a minute, won't the White House want to plan this?"

  "No fucking way," Blair said succinctly. "This is mine and Cam's, and no one is going to take any part of it away from us."

  "Then leave it to me." Diane jumped up and started to pace. "Oh, this is going to be such fun. Can I dress you too? Oh, Cam is going to look so drop-dead gorgeous in a tux. Versace this time, I think, although I know she always wears Armani-—"

  "What makes you think I'm not going to be wearing the tux?" Blair asked archly.

  Diane stopped and looked at her, a small smirk on her face. "Please. You might be butch in bed, bu—"

  "Ah," Cam said from the door, "is this a private conversation?"

  "We were just discussing Blair's sex life," Diane said without breaking a smile.

  "Really." Cam crossed to the sofa, leaned down, and kissed Blair. Then she straightened and settled a hip onto the arm of the sofa, resting her fingers on the back of Blair's neck. "Past, present, or future?"

  "All of them, actually It makes quite an interesting-—"

  "Okay," Blair said firmly. "That's enough."

  Cam grinned. "I think I might be able to contribute something. On two out of three, at any rate." Blair punched Cam's thigh, and Cam winced. "On second thought, maybe not."

  "How are things going?" Blair asked.

  "Slow." Cam's expression darkened for an instant, then she forced a smile. "But we're just getting started. I didn't expect the answers to be easy to find. If they were, it never would have happened to begin with." She stroked Blair's hair as she studied Diane. "You look even more happy than usual, which is saying a lot. What's going on?"

  Diane's brows rose. "You really are a secret agent, aren't you. Very good, Commander." She took one look at Blair, seeking permission, then at the slight nod of affirmation, replied, "Blair has just given me carte blanche to plan your wedding."

  Cam sat up straighter. "Really."

  "Uh-huh."

  "Tell me when and where to be, and I'll be there." She kissed the top of Blair's head and stood abruptly. "I'm going back to work."

 
"Chicken," both Diane and Blair called toward her retreating back.

  *

  Savard rolled over onto her back and tilted her face to the Florida sun. The ocean sounded a gentle roar twenty yards away, and a breeze cooled the sweat from her skin. She and Stark were the only ones on the beach behind her parents' beachside home. Eyes closed, she stretched out a hand and found Stark's arm, then trailed her fingers down until she reached her hand. Clasping Stark's fingers, she said, "This is wonderful."

  Stark turned her head and surveyed her lover. Her caramel skin had darkened in just a few days to a dark bronze, and the shadows beneath her eyes were nearly invisible now. The last two nights she'd slept without awakening. Stark knew it would take more than a few days away from the stress and horror to heal, but her heart felt lighter to see Renee's pain ease even a little bit. "It's great."

  "It's our first vacation."

  "I know. I never knew you golfed."

  "I played on the junior circuit as a teenager," Savard said, turning onto her side and smiling at Stark. "It seems like a million years ago now."

  "I was pretty terrible at it yesterday."

  "Yeah, you were. But you looked really sexy in those shorts and that tight shirt." She stroked Stark's forearm. "You've got such a great body."

  "Jeez," Stark mumbled, but she grinned with pleasure.

  "Honey, you know I love you, right?"

  Stark frowned. "Sure I do."

  "I want to go back to work."

  "We've only been here five days. The commander said at least a week."

  "I know what she said," Savard replied, drawing random patterns in the sand between them. "But they need me up there. I'm the FBI connection, and I was in the counterterrorism division. They need me working on what happened at Blair's."

  "You need a little bit of a break," Stark said carefully, "so you'll be able to work the way you should. That's all."

  Savard met Stark's eyes. "I know I almost lost it for a while there. And I know you know."

  "Sweetheart—"

  "No, it's okay. I'm not embarrassed that you know that I'm not always... strong."

  "You are. You're the strongest woman I've ever known. And the bravest."

  "I love you." Savard smiled softly. "You know I've seen my old therapist—the one I saw when I was a teenager—twice since I've been down here. It's helped."

  "Yeah, but sometimes it takes longer—"

  "I know that too. But I can talk to him on the phone from wherever we are, whenever I need to. And I will, I promise."

  "I just want you to be okay. I don't care about anything as much as I care about that."

  Savard braced a hand in the sand and leaned forward, brushing her mouth over Stark's. "I know. And that's one of the reasons I'm going to be fine."

  "Can I tell you something?" Stark said quietly.

  "Anything."

  "I want to go back to work too. It's driving me crazy that the commander's doing my job."

  Savard laughed out loud. "I never would've guessed you were that territorial."

  "Oh yeah?" Stark reached out and pulled Savard onto her beach towel, and kissed her hard. "Just try looking at some other woman."

  "Really?" Savard's voice rose, surprised at the unexpected show of aggression from her normally laid-back lover. "We did need this vacation. I'm learning all sorts of wonderful things about you."

  "I'm really glad we came. I love being alone with you like this. Your folks are great too, though."

  "I told you they'd love you," Savard said. She frowned and ran her hand over Stark's abdomen. "Did you put on your sunscreen? Your stomach's getting pink."

  "I did, and that's not a sunburn." Stark grinned. "It was the kiss."

  "Don't tell me you're ready again."

  "I've been saving it my whole life just for you."

  Savard leaned closer, her breasts nestling against Stark's, and kissed her lightly on the mouth. "You are adorable. And so goddamned sexy. And as soon as we shower, I'll take care of that burn of yours."

  "We can't."

  "Why not?" Savard sat up and dusted sand from the back of her legs.

  "Your mother's home."

  "Paula, honey, she knows we sleep together."

  "Yes, but if we disappear into the bedroom in the middle of the afternoon, she's going to know we have sex."

  "Oh, I'm sure that never occurred to her before." Savard smiled. "We'll do it in the shower, then."

  Stark's breath caught. "Oh man. Now we're going to have to."

  "What's the matter," Savard asked, pressing even closer, the bare skin of her stomach sliding over Stark's, "did that just make you wet?",

  Stark blushed. "It made everything...happen." She glanced down, half expecting to see her sudden excitement apparent through her bathing suit. "Just thinking about you touching me makes me so excited, I want to.. .you know. Come."

  Savard groaned. "That's it. We're going in the house."

  "Yeah," Stark muttered, standing and lifting her towel at the same time. "Maybe we can sneak by your mother."

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Wednesday, September 26

  C am pulled up a chair and regarded the three women seated around the dining-room table that now served as their conference area. Savard, she noted, looked tired, but not haunted. There was a clarity in her blue eyes that had been missing ten days ago. Some of the improvement, Cam surmised, was due to the fact that Stark showed no evidence of anthrax. Neither did Blair, and Cam knew just how much that meant in terms of her own peace of mind and ability to concentrate. She wouldn't feel completely comfortable until the sixty-day incubation period had passed, but Blair was taking the medication prescribed by Captain Andrews, and at this point she was perfectly healthy.

  "Good to see you back, Savard. Are you up to speed yet?"

  "Getting there, Commander. And thank you. It's good to be back." She and Stark had taken a night flight and then rented a car, arriving just after dawn. Paula had gone immediately to the main house, and she had sought out Felicia, who briefed her quickly over doughnuts and coffee. Just before the seven a.m. briefing, Valerie had come in through the back door. They hadn't had time to do more than nod to one another.

  "We've got our full complement of people back now," Cam said. "So let's hear where we are." She looked first at Valerie. "What do we have on the worldwide situation? Anything to tie in to our four UNSUBs?"

  "Nothing specific. Everything points to bin Laden as the mastermind of the WTC attack, although it looks like the terrorists responsible were assembled from an assortment of cells—some from Germany, some from the Middle East, and some who had been living here for at least several years. There's nothing that points to a direct American connection."

  "On the other hand," Savard interjected, "there is plenty of evidence to suggest that terrorist groups throughout Europe, the Middle East, and elsewhere have begun to collaborate with one another, putting aside their philosophical differences in favor of combined strength. It's not much of a stretch to imagine that something like that could've happened here."

  "It works in theory, I agree," Cam said flatly, "but we need facts. What have we turned up on the domestic front?"

  Felicia passed out file folders.

  Cam opened the top one, as did everyone else at the table. A computer image of a clean-shaven, white, middle-aged male with a buzz cut was on top. His face was square-jawed, with broad cheekbones and a short, relatively shapeless nose—an average face that reflected the melting-pot characteristics of many Americans of far-distant European descent. She looked up, waiting.

  "This is August Kreis," Felicia said, "the Webmaster of the neo-Nazi Sheriff's Posse Comitatus group based in Ulysses, Pennsylvania. On September 11, while the World Trade Center towers stood burning, he posted a message praising the 'Islamic freedom fighters' and calling the attacks 'the first shots in a racial holy war that will topple the US government.'"

  "Crazy bastard," Savard muttered.

  Cam nodded
. "I know who he is. He and his 'brothers' routinely get a mention in our internal security reports. So far, I gather he's come up clean for anything related to the attacks?"

  "He's been on the FBI watch list for years," Savard said. "There's nothing to connect him to the WTC, other than the timing of his statement. As far as that goes, he either made a very good guess as to who was behind the attacks or he actually knew something. Unfortunately, no one can prove prior knowledge. But if his group knew, other patriot groups did too."

  "What we've got," Felicia picked up the thread, "is a loose association of neo-Nazis, skinheads, white separatists, Christian Patriots, neo-Confederates—and the list goes on and on—who have slowly formed a coalition of paramilitary organizations in this country. They share intelligence and feed each other's fanaticism. And they don't give each other up. Code of silence and all that."

  "We're looking into all of these organizations for something that connects to these four men," Savard said. "The problem is, our intelligence on these groups is scattered among all the various agencies. We're literally reduced to combing through internal memos from FBI field offices and interagency communiques trying to put the picture together."

  "Have you put Foster into the mix as well?" Cam asked.

  The agents nodded.

  "And?" Cam leaned forward, still believing the answer would be found with him.

  "Foster is a cipher," Felicia said, reading from another file folder. "Twenty-nine years old—six years of government service. Nothing exemplary or problematic about his career. His passport, which is reviewed routinely by our agency, showed three trips to Europe other than for assignment-related travel. Each time to Paris, all three trips in the last five months."

  Cam narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. "Girlfriend over there? Boyfriend?"

  "No sign of any serious romantic relationship here or abroad. And he appears to be heterosexual."

  "Savard, pull up the postings of Egret's travel schedule for the last twelve months." It was common practice for the White House press department to post the first family's schedule on the White House Web site as well as in briefings to the press corps, sometimes months in advance. It made the Secret Service's job more difficult, because it provided advance information to anyone who might be a threat, but it was part of the open communication policy that was at least paid lip service on Capitol Hill.