by Radclyffe
"Blair," Cam said, desperately wanting to reassure her. "We'll get him. I promise. We have thousands of feet of video from the park, and hundreds of still shots. We have Marcy Coleman's description of the person who handed her the envelope. Lindsey Ryan's profile is running through every database in the country right now. The ATF bomb squad is constructing a profile from the bomb remnants. Every hour that passes we have a better idea of how to find him."
"And until you do, you're in danger," Blair argued, her chest tight with panic. "You or Stark or Mac or Savard or someone whose name I don't even know might die."
Cam took her hand, uncaring that Grant would see them. "Every single one of us is well-trained and we're all aware of the danger. Nothing is going to happen."
"You can't know that."
"You're right, I can't," Cam said, her voice rising with a combination of frustration and sympathy. "But I don't intend to walk away. I know how to do this job, and I have more reason than anyone else to do it right." She clasped Blair's other hand and stared intently into her troubled blue eyes. "Damn it, Blair, I love you."
"If you did, Cameron, you'd leave me alone," Blair protested, pulling her hands free of Cam's grip. Then she turned and climbed hurriedly up the slope past Grant and disappeared into the house, leaving Cam staring after her.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
When Cam walked back into the house it was just after eight p.m., and Patrick Doyle was piling folders into a large battered briefcase, obviously preparing to leave. He glanced at her as she entered the living room.
"My team says that Egret's building is secure. I told her she could go home any time she's ready," he said casually.
"What part of the fact that you don't have any say in her security don't you understand, Doyle?" Cam said, for the first time not bothering to hide her irritation. She'd had a hell of an afternoon, and her recent exchange with Blair had left her nerves raw. "You don't have a say in where she goes or when she goes or how she gets there. You don't have anything at all to do with her movement or her security."
"Just trying to help you out," Doyle replied smoothly, feigning surprise. "Since you're down a man, I thought I'd give you a hand with her."
She moved a step closer to him, a dangerous glint in her dark eyes. "I don't need your help with her, Doyle. All I need is for you to keep me apprised of any intelligence regarding Loverboy. That's it. That's all. Is that too much for you to comprehend?"
Mac walked into the room just in time to hear Cam's last remark, and the edge in her voice surprised him. He had never seen her give even the slightest hint of losing control. Anyone who didn't know her probably wouldn't notice anything amiss now, but he saw that her hands were clenched tightly by her sides and there was something just a little dangerous in her eyes. Savard must have thought the same thing because she was watching both Doyle and the Commander carefully as she stepped cautiously nearer.
Doyle closed the clasp on his briefcase and reached for his suit jacket, which he had left lying over the back of a nearby chair. Almost as an afterthought, he added, "Everyone wants us to catch this guy." He paused and grinned at Cam, a taunting grin completely without humor. "But you know, it's hard to catch fish if they don't bite, and they almost never bite if there's nothing on the hook."
Cam moved so swiftly that Mac and Savard were completely taken off guard. She had her hands on Doyle's shirtfront before he had a chance to stop her. In the next instant, she had shoved him up against the wall, her fists twisted in the fabric of his shirt, pulling the collar tight across his throat. His usual ruddy complexion rapidly turned crimson.
When she spoke, her tone was low and lethal, but everyone in the room could hear her. "Blair Powell is not bait. She is not part of this, and she never will be. Don't suggest it; don't eventhink it. You don't go near her without clearance from me. You don't talk to her; you don't brief her; you don't so much as look at her."
Doyle's face was purple and he was gasping for air, but he outweighed Cam by seventy pounds, and he was a trained agent. He chopped down on her right forearm with both of his fists, and even if she hadn't been injured, he probably would have broken her grip. Her face went white as pain exploded through her arm, and she let go of him as she reflexively took a step backwards.
Doyle grabbed for her, but Savard caught his right arm and Mac stepped in front of Cam, effectively separating the two.
"You're out of control, Roberts," Doyle wheezed. "And we both know why, don't we?"
Cam tried to step around Mac to get at Doyle again, but she was having trouble staying on her feet. A wave of nausea followed fast behind the burning pain that streaked up her arm. She marshaled every ounce of strength she had and said very clearly, "Remember what I said. Stay away from her."
"Commander," Mac said calmly, "you appear to be bleeding. You should sit down."
"Come on, sir," Savard said quietly, wedging herself in front of Doyle and widening the distance between the two senior agents. "Everybody's on edge. Let's all cool off."
Doyle looked at her as if just now realizing that she was in the room. "Just remember whose side you're on, Agent Savard," he warned as he finally picked up his briefcase and headed toward the door. He glared at Cam, unconsciously rubbing his neck where the collar of his shirt had left a raw spot. "Your reputation won't protect you forever, Roberts. Heroes are quickly forgotten."
Cam didn't answer. She was having trouble getting enough air.
"Savard," Mac said urgently, his voice a harsh whisper. "Can you please get the Commander out of here and see to her arm?"
Savard glanced once more in her superior's direction, assuring herself that he really was leaving, and then turned toward the Secret Service agents. She gasped before she could stop herself when she saw the widening stain on Cameron Roberts' jacket. A rivulet of blood ran from under the end of her sleeve onto her hand and was in danger of dripping onto the floor.
"Right," she said, stepping quickly to Cam's side and putting one arm around her waist. "Come with me, Commander."
"I need to speak with Ms. Powell," Cam said, attempting to pull away. Her head was spinning and there were spots flickering across her visual field, but she could still think. And all she could think was that Doyle wanted to put Blair out there so Loverboy could have another try at her. She'd kill him for this. Her voice was oddly flat as she said, "She can't leave yet. I need Taylor's report. I want to see the FBI -- "
She stopped, dizzy and in real danger of vomiting. Savard tightened her grip as Cam swayed, and sent Mac a warning look.
"I'll see to that, Commander," Mac responded immediately. "Go on, Savard," he urged. He was afraid that Cam was about to pass out. He hated to see her in pain, and he knew that she'd be furious if any of the other agents saw her when she was physically compromised like this.
To his great relief, Cam let Savard lead her away. That crisis averted, he steeled himself for a meeting with Egret. Hopefully, she would not ask whyhe was briefing her instead of the Commander. He had never been very good at subterfuge.
*
Blair knocked softly, but she didn't wait for an answer. She pushed open the door to the bathroom in Cam's room and stepped into the small space. She'd heard the raised voices from behind the closed door of her room where she had been pacing and trying to calm down. Cam's revelation that Loverboy had been intentionally targeting her security detail had shaken her badly. It was more frightening than the threat to her own life. She felt responsible, and guilty, and trapped by circumstances and she wanted to pound something. It didn't help her mood in the least that all she could think of was Cameron Roberts declaring irritably that she loved her. Because those few words had rocked her more than anything else that had happened, andthat really scared her. Just when she thought she'd go stir crazy, Mac had come in, looking vaguely uneasy and asking her to please postpone any plans she might have for leaving until the Commander could speak with her. But he wouldn't tell her why Cam was unavailable, so she had come to see for
herself.
Savard was kneeling on the floor in front of Cam, who was seated on the closed toilet, her shirt off and her head back, eyes closed. Her face was beaded with sweat and her skin looked gray in the harsh fluorescent light.
Blair's stomach tightened. God, she hated this. "What happened?" she asked sharply, moving around Savard to see what the FBI agent was doing. "Mac said she was indisposed."
Indisposed. That was a pretty word for this horror.
Savard held a gauze pad over a long, gaping laceration in Cam's forearm that was steadily oozing dark blood. The surrounding burn was blistered and weeping and her entire arm was swollen to twice its normal size. "She tore open a bit of the burn here. The bleeding's almost stopped."
Blair didn't need to see the discarded pile of soaked sponges to tell the wound had bled heavily. All she had to do was look at Cam. "She needs a hospital."
Cam opened her eyes and after a moment was able to focus on Blair's worried face. "I'm all right. Savard has it."
"Renee, either put her in a car and drive her, or I'll do it myself." Blair's hands were shaking and she knew her voice wasn't quite steady.
"Blair," Cam said softly, "if I check into a hospital I'm likely to be relieved, at least temporarily."
"I don't care," Blair stated more firmly as the initial shock of seeing Cam's injury began to wear off. "Mac is here. He can take care of things." She edged closer to Cam, stroking her fingers over Cam's forehead, brushing a damp lock of hair away from her eyes. "You're cold," she murmured, struggling with the fist of anxiety in her gut.
She looked around for something to cover her with, and finally focused on the fact that Cam was wearing only a thin sleeveless silk T-shirt. Her dress shirt was lying on the floor, rumpled and bloodstained. Blair's eyes narrowed as she regarded Savard leaning between Cam's outstretched legs, but she decided she probably didn't have to kill her just then.
"There's a blanket at the foot of the bed," Savard remarked without looking up, as she started to apply a topical antibiotic burn ointment to Cam's arm.
Blair was gone for a few seconds and when she returned, Cam was sitting up a little straighter, obviously working hard to hide her discomfort.
"That's not going to work, Roberts," Blair commented darkly, covering Cam's upper body with the blanket. "You still need to go to a hospital."
"Ma'am," Savard said quietly, efficiently wrapping a soft gauze bandage from Cam's palm to her biceps, "I'm certified as a physician's assistant as well as an EMT. They're not going to do anything for her at a hospital that I haven't already done."
Blair turned to her, an angry retort on her lips, but Renee Savard met her eyes calmly, a soothing certainty in her gaze.
"You're sure?" Blair asked quietly. She had moved back to Cam's side and without realizing it had rested her hand on the back of Cam's neck. She ran her fingers gently through the dark strands of hair, caressing her softly.
"Yes, ma'am, I am."
If Savard noticed Blair's actions, she gave no sign of it.
"I just need to lie down for an hour or so," Cam insisted, feeling better now that the pain was starting to abate.
Blair removed her hand and took a step away. "Will you see that she does, please," she asked Savard, her tone dull with resignation. She wanted to stay with her, and knew that she couldn't. Not here, not under these circumstances. It was agony to leave her.
Savard's voice was gentle with sympathy when she answered, "I will, Ms. Powell. You needn't worry."
Blair studied Renee Savard closely for a moment, then looked at Cam. "For once, Commander, let someone take care of you."
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mac was on the sofa, looking exhausted, when Savard returned to the room. He asked quietly, "Is she okay?"
Savard sank down on the couch next to him and blew out a deep breath. "She's got to be hurting like hell, but it's nothing that won't heal."
They regarded one another cautiously, each trying to judge the other's frame of mind. They were on opposite teams, in a manner of speaking, and had only been working together a few days. A few days that felt like a century.
Finally, Mac said, "Do you have any idea what that was all about?"
Savard chose her words carefully, aware of the fact that she was only on temporary loan to the Secret Service, and that ultimately she would have to survive within the hierarchy of the FBI. On the other hand, she would never defend someone like Patrick Doyle, even if it did mean risking her career. "Special Agent in Charge Doyle does not confide in me, Agent Phillips," she said quietly.
Mac waited.
"However," Savard continued, "speaking only as an observer, I would say the man has a hard-on for her."
Mac blinked, then grinned broadly. "Well then, he's going to wait a long time for a little relief."
"I'd say that's the truth," Savard said, grinning back. Then, she added seriously, "I don't know what's going on with him. At first I thought it was just bureau politics. But it seems like it's more than that, and I don't know him well enough to speculate."
Mac propped his feet up on the coffee table, suddenly aware of how very tired he was. "It's bad enough that we have to worry about Egret. Now we have to worry about Doyle and the Commander."
"I don't really think you have to worry about your commander, Mac," Savard responded. "She's a little torn up at the moment, but once she has her feet back under her, I'm sure she can handle him. She didn't get as far as she has by being pushed around by men who resented her position or her competence. I think we should all concentrate on catching Loverboy and let the Commander handle Doyle herself."
Mac sighed in agreement. "Sounds like a plan to me."
"Have you seen Stark?" Savard asked casually.
"The last time I saw her she was talking to Lindsey Ryan in the kitchen.
Savard raised an eyebrow and stood. "Was she now?"
Mac watched her walk away and wondered why he felt like he never really knew what was going on around him.
*
It was sometime after one a.m. when Cam stepped into the darkened hallway. She closed her door quietly behind her and turned, meeting the eyes of Renee Savard, who stood watch next to the window nearby. The hallway was in shadow, but there was enough light coming from the lamps in the living room to illuminate their faces. They studied one another silently. Then, very deliberately, Savard turned her back to Cam and looked out the window into the night. Cam crossed the few feet to the opposite side of the hall and opened the door to Blair Powell's bedroom.
She waited just inside the room for her eyes to adjust.
"Is this an official visit, Commander?" Blair said quietly from the darkness.
"No."
"Then I'll leave the lights off."
Cam made her way to the side of the bed and eased down on the edge, reaching for Blair's hand with her uninjured one. "I'm sorry about earlier. I didn't mean to worry you quite so badly."
"How do you feel?"
"Better." She hesitated a beat, and then added, because she knew she had to tell her, "The damn thing hurts like hell, but I'm not dizzy and my stomach has settled. I'm okay."
"Did you come here to give me a personal medical report?" Blair asked sharply. Relieved of her worry, she remembered how angry she was. She sat up against the pillows, acutely aware of the fact that she was naked under the light sheet. "Because if that's why you're here, you can consider your duty done."
Cam was wearing only a thin sleeveless T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. Blair had opened the windows, and the August air hung hot around them.
"No," Cam said softly, circling her thumb in the palm of Blair's hand. "I came because I couldn't sleep."
Blair's pulse began to hammer, but she steadfastly ignored it. This was one time she was not going to let her body rule her better judgment. "This isn't going to work, Cam," she said quietly.
A cold hand closed around Cam's heart, making it hard for her to breathe, but she answered calmly, "Why not?"
"You know why not. We've been all through this before. Because I can't stand caring about you and knowing that you might be hurt because of me. I can't do it. I don't want to risk feeling anything for you."
"If we were crossing the street," Cam said as if Blair had not just driven a knife into her depths, "and a car were about to hit me, would you push me out of the way even though you might be hurt yourself?"
"Yes," Blair said softly, "but the odds of that happening are almost zero."
"I know," Cam said, moving her hand to Blair's shoulder, running her fingertips lightly along the ridge of Blair's collarbone. "And the odds of me dying to save you are just as slim. We've just had a run of lousy luck."