by Radclyffe
Without taking his eyes off the screens, he answered, "No ma'am. She went upstairs briefly and then directly into the park."
Cam glanced at the far upper-right monitor that showed a panoramic view of Gramercy Park, the block-wide private park across the street from Blair's apartment building. It was surrounded by towering pre-war buildings and completely enclosed with a high wrought-iron fence. She couldn't actually make visual contact with Blair, the foliage was too dense to permit that. Nevertheless, she looked for her.
"That's where I'll be," she finally said.
"Roger that," he said, making a note on his handheld personal unit about something he had seen on the video that he wanted to review from a different angle.
Cam was very much aware that Patrick Doyle was still on site, but she had absolutely no intention of being his tour guide. She had work to do, and her most immediate duty was to inform Blair that she could expect several new faces in her security detail. Unfortunately, that was the least difficult of the topics they needed to discuss.
She let herself into the park by unlocking one of the gates that permitted access to those with clearance and a key. The park was nearly small enough to see across. At the midpoint, in front of a small fountain, she could make out John Fielding. He was standing, statue-like, to all appearances staring vacantly into space. She knew, however, that he held Egret within his sight line and was in all likelihood turning at regular intervals to keep the entire square under careful watch. There was no way for a Secret Service agent to be unseen, and under some circumstances invisibility wasn't even desirable. The visible presence of a bodyguard was often enough to deter people from casual approach. On the other hand, Blair, like most in her position, understandably did not want every moment of her personal life witnessed. Because of that, the Secret Service agents were trained to walk a fine line between doing their job and actually impairing the lifestyle of those they guarded.
As Cam walked forward, she nodded briefly in his direction and he acknowledged her with an almost imperceptible motion of his head. She continued past him along a small gravel path flanked at discrete intervals by iron and wood benches to one of the most secluded and idyllic corners of the park. A riot of shrubs and flowers grew everywhere, a natural barrier offering privacy. Enough sunlight filtered through the overhead branches to outline Blair in a pale flickering glow.
Cam slowed as she approached, telling herself that she did not want to startle her. Actually, she wanted a few extra seconds just to observe her unaware. Blair was bent over a sketchpad, her legs drawn up under her on the bench. Her hair was loose, a tawny riot of curls reaching almost down to her shoulders. Cam knew how those tresses felt, flowing silken over her hands as she kissed her.
She was wearing a sleeveless shirt that exposed her arms, muscled from hours in the gym and tanned from the sun. She was striking in any lighting, remarkable in any pose, but never as much as when she was lost in her work. That was perhaps the only time, except after making love, when Cam had ever seen her at peace.
"Ms. Powell," Cam said quietly.
Blair lifted her hair away from her face with one hand and looked at the taller woman standing nearby. The sunlight was behind her, casting Cam's face in shadows. "Good afternoon, Commander."
"Am I disturbing you?"
Blair gestured to the bench beside her. "No."
Cam sat down, barely suppressing a sigh as she leaned back, warmed by Blair's presence as much as the afternoon sun.
"You wanted to speak to me?" Blair asked, knowing that she sounded stiff and formal, but unable to help it. It was so hard to be near her and pretend that there was nothing between them. It was even harder when she could see how weary Cam was. She was still angry with her - angry and hurt - but when she looked at her, she wanted to pull her down against her shoulder and stroke her. She pushed the image away with irritation. If Cam had needed that, needed her at all, she would never have let this happen. Besides, it wasn't what she wanted to happen either - this almost paralyzing ache that never seemed to lessen unless Cam was near. She had never wanted that, not with anyone. Ever since they had slept together, ever since she had allowed herself to hope, being near her had become something very close to constant pain. "More good news?" she asked again sarcastically.
"The FBI made an official appearance this morning," Cam began, watching the light play through the leaves of the trees above them. Blair was inches away, but she felt as if their skin touched along the length of her body. She knew it was only visceral memory, but the sensation was so acute that her blood was racing. She wondered how long it would be before she could be close to her and not respond. She feared that it would be a very long time.
"I take it you're not pleased," Blair said, wondering at Cam's odd stillness.
"That, Ms. Powell, is considered classified information. According to any number of sections in the manual, personal observations on internal matters should not be shared, especially with civilians," Cam said lightly, a half smile on her face. Her eyes, however, were wintry as she thought of the weeks that Blair had been a potential target and none of them had known.
"Well, we both know how dear the manual is to you," Blair rejoined sharply.
Cam didn't bother to protest. How could she? She'd chosen duty over Blair's wishes. She had no defense. And ordinarily she would never discuss matters of protocol with someone she guarded. But she and Blair had gone so far beyond the limits of acceptable professional behavior, it was ridiculous to stand on ceremony now. It was enough that she did not touch her. That was a hardship she had created herself and would learn to bear. She would not place Blair at a disadvantage because she had overstepped her bounds. "I thought that you should know."
"Why?"
"At least one of them will be working with our detail in direct contact with you. I expect they'll add their own car as well."
"That's not too subtle, is it?" Blair asked pointedly. "It's going to send a message that I give a damn what he says."
"It's going to send a message that you are well-protected and not a ready target," Cam answered immediately.
Blair looked away, across the park, wishing that she could be sitting there with nothing more on her mind than the sexy sound of Cam's deep voice, enjoying the flutter of desire that just being near her always produced. She sighed. "I guess it really doesn't matter. One more here or there won't change anything."
"They've been on surveillance for the last several months, and in truth, I don't mind taking advantage of their information-gathering capabilities. They've got access to much larger databases than we do, and at this point, I'll take everything I can get."
Blair sketched aimlessly as they talked, trying to absorb the words without letting them penetrate to her core. She couldn't live in terror every day. "Is this serious, do you think?"
It was a question she had avoided asking for months. Cam was the only one that she dared ask, because in spite of everything, Cam was the only one she trusted to see her frightened.
Cam watched Blair's hands move gracefully, with absolute certainty, over the surface of the paper, wishing she could touch her, just enough to comfort her. Her hands trembled she wanted to so much. The feeling was so strong, she pressed her palms flat against her thighs to hold them there. "I don't know," she answered, her voice low. "I have to assume that it is."
Blair nodded, not speaking. There was nothing she could do about any of it - the crazy lunatic sending her messages, the FBI dogging her steps, Cameron determined to accept the assignment her father directed her to take. She was uncomfortable feeling that helpless, especially when she had struggled her entire life for some semblance of independence. For the moment, however, she couldn't see any other course of action. "All right. I can live with it, if you can."
Cam laughed sharply. There was a tinge of irony in her voice as she responded, "We have something in common there, Ms. Powell. Neither of us has a choice."
Cam looked down at the drawing, surprised to see her o
wn face appearing. She studied the image, taken aback by the fierce, reserved expression. She wondered if that was all that Blair saw of her. She knew the answer as Blair's talented hands sketched her eyes and captured the shadows in her soul.
"Blair," Cam said softly.
Blair's hand faltered on the paper at the gentle intimacy in Cam's tone. It was the subtle changes in Cameron Roberts that never failed to tear at her heart. In one moment she was professional, aloof, as impersonal as any agent who had ever guarded her. And then she would say Blair's name with all the feeling that Blair could ever hope to hear from another human being. It was everything she wanted, and everything she feared. She didn't raise her eyes, but continued drawing the sharp features and the wild eyes, unable to look at the woman, knowing if she did she would touch her. "What?" She queried quietly.
Cam took a deep breath, wishing she had did not have to ask. "I'd like you to reconsider the race on Sunday. I'd like you not to go."
Blair stiffened, the pencil finally stilling. "I have to go. I'm the keynote speaker."
"Would you consider just arriving for the speech, but not racing?"
Blair put her sketchpad aside and turned on the bench until she was fully facing Cam. For the first time, she looked directly into her face, directly into her eyes. "It's more than political, this event. This is personal."
Cam nodded, understanding all too well. She knew why. Sunday was the annual Race for the Cure, a huge fundraiser for the treatment of breast cancer. Blair's mother had died of the disease when Blair was nine years old. She understood what it was to lose a parent. "I'm asking you, recommending it strongly to you, that you do not run in the race."
Blair knew that Cam could not order her not to race. "Why are you asking me this?"
Cam hesitated before answering. It was her job not only to guard Blair physically, but also to give her some semblance of normality, as ironic as that appeared on the surface of things. She didn't want to worry her unnecessarily. That's what she was getting paid to do - the worrying. She hedged her answer.
"I'm not sure I can run 15 miles." She didn't intend to tell her that it was a security nightmare. That even coordinating with New York City police and the transit police, and putting agents physically with Blair along the race route, it was about as unsecured a position as Blair could be in. Under any circumstances it would have been difficult. Now, with the threat that Lover Boy posed, it was nearly impossible. She supposed that she could go to the director of the Secret Service and request that he contact the President's security chief - try an end run around Blair. But she new damn well that if anyone ordered Blair not to participate in anything, let alone something as important to her as this, they could expect her to do exactly the opposite. And probably with no cooperation whatsoever. She said nothing, waiting for Blair to digest the request.
"I need to do this," Blair stated calmly. "I've seen you run, Commander. You can handle the distance quite well. I'll be fine." She couldn't stop herself from adding, "And I'll enjoy your company."
Cam was silent a moment, considering the options.This was the reason that personal relationships were discouraged. She couldn't think clearly because she cared about how Blair felt. She was afraid that she might care more about Blair's feelings than about her safety, and that kind of involvement was undermining her position and her authority and worst of all, it was impairing her judgment. She cursed softly under her breath. "I hope to hell that Stark can make it, too, because we're both going to need to go with you."
"Thank you," Blair said softly. She knew that Cam had relented against her better judgment. She touched her hand briefly, a fleeting gesture of appreciation. "It will be all right," she said, wishing somehow that were true.
Chapter Thirteen
Cam knew that she should go. Blair had sought privacy and peace in a quiet corner of this tiny sanctuary, and Cam had brought danger and uncertainty into it. For the first time that she could recall, she resented her job.
"I'm sorry I had to bring that up," Cam said, surprising them both. "I should leave you to your work."
"You don't have to be sorry," Blair responded softly. "And you don't need to leave."
Before Cam could respond, her earphone crackled to life. She turned her head slightly away, listening a moment. The expression on her face became grim, but her voice was completely uninflected as she said softly into the tiny microphone clipped to the collar of her blazer, "Send him in then."
She turned to Blair and informed her, "It seems that we have company."
Blair looked past Cam across the tiny park as a large man hurried towards them. "This would be the FBI, I presume," she noted tightly, a look of faint repugnance on her face.
Cam laughed in spite of herself. "Very observant, Ms. Powell. Perhaps you should consider a future career in intelligence."
Blair smiled faintly, but there was no laughter in her eyes. "Believe me, Commander, by this time I can recognize every branch of our esteemed intelligence agencies by the cut of an agent's suit and the arrogance in their walk. At least the Secret Service has always been polite."
"Ms. Powell," the burly man said imperiously, looking down at the two women on the bench, but pointedly ignoring Cam. "I'm Special Agent in Charge Patrick Doyle, Federal Bureau of Investigation. I wanted to meet you in person since I'll be spearheading your security detail until such time as we have apprehended the UNSUB."
Blair saw Cam go rigid beside her, and she said very coolly, "Mister Doyle, my security is a matter for Commander Roberts. If you have something to relay to me in that regard, I suggest you do it through her. One daily briefing is all I can tolerate." She gathered her sketchpad and drawing pencils and stood abruptly, forcing Doyle back a step. She glanced at Cam, whose expression was most likely unreadable to Doyle, but she saw the hint of laughter in her eyes. She smiled softly at her and turned to go. "I'll leave you two to sort out your territory."
Patrick Doyle turned on his heel and watched the President's daughter walk away. A muscle stood out in his jaw as he ground his teeth. When he faced Cam again, his fury was tinged with contempt. "She doesn't know what's good for her," he said condescendingly. "I suppose you think you do?"
Cam stood, and when she did she was nearly eye-to-eye with him. "I don't pretend to know what's good for Ms. Powell, but I can assure you of one thing. I know precisely what's good for her security. I can also advise you that if you have any suggestions or recommendations regarding that matter, you bring them to me. That's the chain of command, and I suggest you follow it."
He moved forward a step, trying unsuccessfully to force her back. Their chests were almost touching. "Listen here, Roberts," he growled, his face livid. "You get in my way on this thing and there just might be a little leak to the media about what you like to do in your off-hours, and who you like to do it with."
"We've been down this road before, Doyle," Cam responded, her eyes never leaving his. "You're wasting your time."
"Your director and the Security Chief might not think so if your activities happen to involve the President's daughter."
She smiled at him, a thin smile, cold and hard as granite. "Doyle, you really are a fool if you think you can take on Blair Powell. She'll have you for lunch."
She stepped lightly around him and walked out of the park the way she had come.
She glanced across the street, thinking that Blair was probably already back in her apartment. She contemplated going after her and then stopped abruptly when she realized why she wanted to. She missed her already.
*
Nine stories up, Blair leaned against the window frame, staring down at Cameron Roberts. Her security chief was standing just outside the gates of the park, her hands in her pockets, one shoulder leaning against the stone pillar that marked the entrance to the square. Patrick Doyle stormed through the gate and passed her without a word.
She looks so tired,Blair thought to herself. She could only imagine how difficult it must be for Cam dealing with the FBI pre
sence. She'd been around politics all her life, and she knew that interagency power struggles were vicious and self-interest paramount. Often agents lost sight of their objective in their eagerness to advance their own positions. She had no doubt that Patrick Doyle cared less for her safety than for his own desire to be the one to apprehend Lover Boy. She wasn't foolish enough to think that she really mattered to him, and she didn't care. She knew - more importantly, shefelt - that to Cameron, she did.
She'd felt that caring the first time Cameron walked into her loft and made it clear that she would do her job, but that she'd try to make it tolerable for Blair. She'd seen it manifest in horrific detail the day Cam had stepped in front of her and almost died from the bullet meant for her. She didn't want to see that again. She didn't want Cam standing in front of her for any reason, but certainly not for a reason that could cost Cam her life.