"I believe it's a gentleman named Macintosh, or something like that."
Cam nodded faintly, reassured. Mac would not let anything happened to Blair. Secure in that thought, she slept and healed.
**********
Marcea Cassells looked down at her sleeping child. She thought of the other young woman who had spent so many hours beside this bed, holding her daughter's hand, stroking her hair, whispering to her in low loving tones. She knew whatever battles her daughter had been waging, those long dark hours had been made lighter by this woman's presence.
Marcea wondered if either of them understood the depth of their connection, which perhaps could only be appreciated by someone standing outside the circle of their intimacy. She knew her daughter's sense of duty well enough to know that Cameron would not have allowed anything to transpire between them. It was just as clear to her that despite their best intentions, something very significant had.
Marcea walked down the hall to the pay phone, and held the slip of paper in her hand as she punched in the numbers that had been written there for her.
"This is Marcea Cassells," she began when a male voice answered. She was told to wait a moment, and then a woman spoke anxiously into the phone.
"Yes? Is she--"
"She's awake. Weak, but otherwise she seems to be quite all right."
A moment of silence, then a voice that shook slightly. "Thank you so much for calling me."
Marcea hesitated a second, then continued, "She asked about you immediately."
Blair took a sharp breath. God how I wanted to be there when Cameron awoke When it was clear that the Secret Service agent was out of danger, the White House and Secret Service had put unbearable pressure upon her to be sequestered in a safe house until the investigation could be carried out. She hadn't wanted to leave Cam's side, but she could not fight everyone alone. Even Mac had gently told her that Cameron would have wished for her to go. It was when he reminded her that Cameron had nearly died trying to keep her safe, that Blair finally relented. Nevertheless, leaving Cameron had been the hardest thing she had ever done. She felt like she was leaving her heart behind.
"Could you tell her--tell her--I--," Blair halted in confusion. Cameron would never believe her.
"I think you'll have to tell her that yourself, when the time is right," Marcea said gently.
"Yes, of course," Blair said swiftly, her emotions now firmly under control. She thanked Cameron's mother, and hung up the phone. She turned away, knowing that there would never be a time when she could share with Cameron what was in her heart.
Chapter Nineteen
"How did she take it?" Mac asked.
Assistant Director Stewart Carlisle studied Mac carefully, wondering how much he could disclose. What he saw was a look of genuine concern and something more, something that looked a lot like sympathy.
"She took it well-- she didn't argue, or put up a fight."
"Uh oh," Mac said hollowly.
"Yeah. Worries me too." Stewart didn't know what to make of the look on Cameron Roberts' face when he informed her that she would not be returning to the security detail assigned to Blair Powell when she had recovered. Her face had been a careful blank, but he thought he saw something dark pass through her eyes.
"Did the doctors say I wouldn't recover fully?" she had asked at length.
Carlisle had looked out the window, searching for words, wishing he had a different answer. He didn't understand it, but it wasn't his call. Cameron Roberts was a hero throughout the agency, and had been publicly commended by the President. She had done, without hesitation, what each of them had secretly asked themselves if they could do. She had been willing to die in the line of duty. They didn't come any better than her. What he had to say didn't make any sense.
"The doctors said youll be fine. Blair Powell requested that you be removed from the position."
Cameron's right hand gripped the covers tightly, but otherwise she lay without moving. "I see," she said in a voice devoid of emotion. She had been hoping - What you were hoping doesn't matter anymore. You were wrong.
He had tried to make light of the situation, assuring her that once she had made a full recovery she could have her pick of assignments. Hell , he reminded her, after what you did, you could sit out your days until your pension on a desert island for all anyone would care . She had let him go on, but he knew that she did not hear him. He felt like a fraud, but he did what he had to do. When he left the room, Cameron was staring at some distant point, her face and body so still he could barely see her breathing.
"Yeah, well, she'll be fine. She always is," Carlisle said sadly.
Mac wasn't nearly so sure.
**********
Nine months later, she was fully recovered, and back at work. It was almost as if the last year had never happened. She finished rehab, she completed her mandatory psychiatric counseling, and she sat in front of Stewart Carlisle discussing her newest assignment. She had been reassigned to the investigative division, where her true instincts and abilities lay.
It was deja vu, but everything was different, including her. She was more alone than ever. Once, as she was sorting through her things after being released from the hospital, she came across the note Claire had left that night a lifetime ago.
I have a feeling I won't be hearing from you for a while. I'll miss you - more than you know. If ever you need - anything, call me. C.
Cam had never called.
She brought her attention back to what Carlisle was saying. He briefed her on the counterfeiting/money laundering operation her team would be investigating. She told him she had no problem with any of the agents assigned to her. Her field exposure would be limited, although she was perfectly fit for the duty. When she pointed this out, Stewart made it clear that he did not want her taking any risks.
"Being shot twice in the line of duty is enough for any agent," he commented dryly. "Despite the fact that you're a hero, you'll give us a bad name."
"Heaven forbid," Cam said with a perfectly straight face.
"Well, just keep your ass out of the line of fire," Stewart said roughly. He looked to the papers on his desk, indicating that their obligatory meeting was over. He was surprised when she spoke.
"How is Mac handling the other detail?" she said quietly.
He was almost successful in hiding his surprise. This was the first time she had referred in any way to her previous experiences. He contemplated issues of security for a few seconds, and then thought, What the hell, she deserves an answer.
"No major security breaches, if that's what you mean. He's very circumspect with his reports, but I gather that the subject is still throwing up roadblocks whenever possible." He regarded her intently for moment. "As a matter of fact, I can use a straight briefing about what's going on up there. You're not due to report to this new post for a week or so. How about dropping in on Mac and getting the the real story?"
Cam stiffened, her displeasure clear. "I'm not going to spy on another agent. Mac is perfectly capable, and I'm sure if you speak with him, he'll tell you whatever you need to know."
"I'm not doubting Mac's ability. But I'm no fool either. I know damn well that he is soft-peddling the details of the reports to protect Blair Powell. Remember, the guy who tried to kill her is still out there, and we couldn't keep her secluded forever. She is still in real and imminent danger. Any information can only help us. If you don't want talk to Mac, talk to her."
Cameron stood abruptly. "No way." She turned and strode purposely toward the door.
"Roberts," he said in that soft deadly tone that meant he was completely serious. "Don't make me pull rank. Just find a way to do it that you can live with. Five days. Then I'll expect to hear from you."
She didn't answer. She didn't trust her voice not to tremble.
Chapter Twenty
As she drove through the Lincoln Tunnel into Manhattan, Cam reminded herself that she was in New York City for the sole purpose of attending the opening of her mother's
gallery exhibition. It was the first East Coast showing in a number of years, and Cam knew it would please her mother for her to be there. She had absolutely no intention of visiting the command center, and certainly no desire to see Blair Powell. She reminded herself of this every few minutes, whenever she found her mind drifting to the images that she thought she had successfully eradicated. Images of Blair, in a smoky bar, her hair wild and her hunger unleashed; Blair, elegant and cool on the dais of the parade route; Blair, vulnerable and weary in the hospital after the ski accident. Blair's memory triggered a kaleidoscope of wistful wanting and explosive sexual desire. Cam forced her concentration back to the congested city traffic, grateful for something, anything, to distract her from the aching need that was never far from the surface of her consciousness.
She allowed the attendant at the Plaza to valet park her car, and gave the bellman her luggage to bring up to her penthouse suite. She was not traveling on company time, and felt no need to account for her expenditures. In fact, she felt unaccountable to anyone for the first time in her adult memory. She was between assignments, and despite Stewart Carlisle's edict, she had no intention of performing any duty for the United States of America for the next seven days.
She signed in, and as soon as she was alone in her suite, she showered off the drives dust and grit. She had an hour and a half until the evening opening of her mother's show. She stood naked before the bathroom mirror, trying to tame her unruly waves into position.
She surveyed her image unemotionally. Her hair was still short and sleek, with new touches of gray at the temples. Despite the lengthy convalescence, with vigorous physical therapy and workouts, she had maintained her muscle mass and strength. She was sinewy and taut. The only visible difference were the scars on her torso from the surgical incisions and the multiple tubes that had been necessary to reinflate her lungs. She looked at herself dispassionately, and wondered for a moment how she would appear to another. She dismissed the thought quickly. It was a moot point.
She went about the process of dressing absent-mindedly. She did not glance at her reflection again, knowing that the black silk jacket and trousers were perfectly tailored for her, that her loafers were perfectly shined, and that the French cuffs of her white starched shirt were exactly the right length. When the driver let her out in front of the address she had given him, she knew that she was precisely on time. Everything in her life was exactly as it should be - predictable, ordered, and under control.
**********
The room was already full when Cam entered, as she expected it would be. The crowd overflowed the first level, up the stairs to the second floor of the gallery, a noisy mass of murmuring critics, artists, and members of the press. Cam accepted a glass of wine from a passing waiter, and began a slow tour of the area, stopping to study each new canvas. It had been a long time since she had seen so many of her mother's works in one place, and she had not seen any of her most recent works. The hallmark characteristics of her mother style were clearly evident, but Cam was surprised to find that the paintings seemed calmer at their core, with less of the pain that had been so evident in the early years following her father's death.
Eventually, Cam heard her mother's distinctive voice, and gravitated toward it. Her mother was tall like herself, and Cam could see her face despite the crowd of people around her. Marcea appeared relaxed, although something in her eyes spoke of exhilaration. Cam knew it was because she was talking about the thing she loved most in life, her art.
When she had almost reached the group, Cam stopped short, her heart pounding. Blair was standing next to her mother. It was as if someone had struck her, driving the breath from her body. For one moment, her mind was numb. Then every sensation she had been trying to suppress regarding Blair Powell returned. Her pulse raced, her blood pounded, and her hands began to tremble. Blair looked up and their eyes met. Blair's lips parted in surprise, and her blue eyes widened. A faint blush stole across her cheeks. She took an involuntary stepped forward, as if intending to rush toward Cam, then halted uncertainly. Moments passed.
Surprisingly, Blair regained her composure first. She threaded her way through the intervening crowd until she stood in front of Cam. She tilted her head and smiled wistfully. "How are you, Commander?" She asked quietly.
Cam finally found her voice, and answered with as much control as she could muster. "I'm fine, Ms Powell."
Blair studied her carefully. Physically, she did look fine. As striking as ever. But there was a strange flatness in her gaze, and an emptiness in her voice, as if something vital were missing.
Instinctively, Blair touched her arm. She was shocked to feel her tremble. "Are you sure?" she asked again, unable to hide her anxiety.
Cam nodded curtly, trying to hide her turmoil. "You have me at a disadvantage. I didn't see any of our people outside or in the crowd."
"Ever observant, Commander. They're in a car parked across the street." She continued quickly, when she saw Cam frown. Blair's smile widened as she assured Cam that everyone in attendance had been thoroughly prescreened. "I'm quite safe."
Cam finally smiled, and began to relax. "Forgive me. It is not my place to question these things any longer. It was good to see you again, Ms. Powell." She turned to leave, needing to escape from the penetrating blue gaze and the searing touch on her arm.
"Wait, Cam," Blair said impulsively. When Cameron turned back to look at her questioningly, she continued, "I wanted to say -- ' thank you'. It is so inadequate, but - I - thank you."
Cam spoke without thinking. "You don't need to thank me. I couldn't have borne it if anything had happened to you."
Blair grasped her hand, and their fingers entwined instinctively. "Why do you think I would feel any differently?" She questioned, her throat closing on the words. "I was so frightened - don't you know I lo"
"I should go," Cam said desperately. Her carefully constructed barricades were tumbling around her. Every defense she had so carefully constructed was shattering in the face of Blair's simple statement. She felt defenseless, vulnerable, and overwhelmed.
"No, I should go. You came to see your mother. I know she is looking forward to you being here." Blair tried unsuccessfully to hide her bitter disappointment. She didn't think she could stand to be in the same room as Cam and feel the great distance between them. It was like a physical blow. "It was good to see you again, too, Commander. Please know I'll never forget you."
And with that, she was gone.
**********
Marcea kissed her daughter on both cheeks, then grasped both her hands and leaned back, surveying her fondly. "I'm so glad you came, Cameron. I know these aren't your favorite events."
Cam tried to smile, still shaken by her encounter with Blair. "I'm sorry it's been so long. I'm so happy for you."
Marcea detected the turmoil in her daughter's eyes, and glanced briefly around the room. She did not see Blair. She hesitated for a moment, and then spoke gently. "I know that Blair was hoping to see you here, too."
Cam swallowed, replying softly, "We just spoke."
Marcea remained silent, sensing Cameron's struggle for composure. Instinctively, she continued, "I'm sure no one told you, Cameron, but Blair stayed by your side for almost 48 hours after you were injured. She refused to leave until the doctors told us that you were out of danger."
Cam gasped, and her eyes closed briefly. "It was her," she whispered.
"Yes," her mother said simply.
Cameron at looked her mother intently, a great weight suddenly lifting from her heart. She smiled, her eyes flickering with a light that had been absent for more than a year. "Thank you, mother. Thank you."
Marcea had no time to answer before Cam turned and swiftly made her way through the crowd and out the door.
Chapter Twenty-One
"I need to see her, Mac," Cam said much more calmly than she felt. "I've been leaving messages for hours."
Mac didn't even consider not telling her. "She's downtown. We know
where she is, but it's awkward to make contact at the present time."
Cam didn't need an interpreter. "Okay, so she's in a bar." She took a deep breath, trying to ignore the sinking sensation in her stomach. "Or is it that she's gone home with someone she picked up?"
"No," Mac hastened to add clarify. "She didnt. Shes still at the bar." He didn't think it was his place to tell her that this was the first time in months that Blair had been out to a bar, or that she seemed to have given up her penchant for one night stands.
"I'd appreciate it if youd tell me which one," Cam stated quietly.
"The Hudson Arms," Mac said, indicating one of the seedier bars deep in the village. "Stark is inside somewhere."
Meaning Stark will recognize me if I show up, and he's worried about my reputation "Thanks, Mac," Cam said, not caring in the least what anyone thought.
**********
Thirty-five minutes later Cam was standing at the bar, surreptitiously scanning the room. It was Friday night, after midnight, and crowded with women of all ages, mostly in denim and leather. She didn't see her immediately, but she did see Stark. Stark saw her too, although Stark did not acknowledge her in any way. A slight raise of the eyebrow was all that indicated she had been spotted.
She's getting good , Cam thought with approval. She stopped searching faces, and allowed all of her senses to engage the room, feeling the damp heat of many bodies brushing against her skin; smelling the mixture of alcohol, cologne, and sex in the air; and hearing the murmur of the hunt swirling around her. She sensed rather than saw the ultimate huntress in the crowd.
Tawny blond hair, taut golden body, and a piercing, searching gaze that evaluated, then discarded, possible partners. Finally Blair's focus settled on a dark, lean warrior in tight blue jeans and a sleeveless black T-shirt. The young stud must have felt Blair's appraising glance, because she looked up and moved automatically closer to Blair. Cam didn't need to see any more. She knew exactly what would happen, and how quickly the capture would be consummated.
Radclyffe - Honor 01 - Above All, Honor Page 13
