Price of Honor

by Radclyffe

  Dusty tightened her arms around Viv. “I want that too, more than anything. I should’ve told you that first, shouldn’t I? Before I asked?”

  Viv kissed her, her heart so full she had trouble finding her voice. “Dusty, honey, you’re doing everything exactly right. Don’t change a thing. Please, not ever.”

  “I won’t.” Dusty rolled them over, somehow managing the turn so Viv was on her back without dumping them on the floor. “I think I want to try something else.”

  “By all means,” Viv said, gripping Dusty’s ass and pulling her tight between her thighs. Dusty’s weight gently pinning her down ignited tendrils of pleasure between her legs. “Anything you want.”

  “I want all of you.”

  Dusty kissed her way down between Viv’s breasts and onto her stomach. Viv spread her fingers into Dusty’s hair, needing to be grounded as her body threatened to fly away. She arched as Dusty stroked her hips and along the inner curve of her thighs toward her center. “Dusty, you feel so good.”

  “I can’t wait any longer,” Dusty murmured.

  “Don’t. I can’t wait either.” Viv tugged Dusty’s head closer, aching for the silky heat of her mouth. “Please.”

  Guided by instinct and the memory of how Viv had made her feel, Dusty kissed her lightly. When Viv jerked and pressed closer, she covered her with her mouth, letting Viv’s soft cries set the pace, calling the rhythm.

  “Inside me,” Viv gasped suddenly. “Fill me up, and you’ll make me come.”

  Dusty obeyed, and Viv came against her mouth. When Viv quieted, she gathered her into her arms again and cradled Viv’s head against her chest.

  “Don’t move.” Viv stroked the back of Dusty’s neck. “I love listening to your heart. I’ve never imagined being so close to anyone like this.”

  “Neither have I.” Dusty closed her eyes, wanting to capture the rightness of the moment in her memory.

  “Give me a min—”

  Dusty’s cell rang in the pocket of her cargo pants.

  “Sorry,” Dusty said.

  “Damn,” Viv echoed.

  Dusty grabbed her pants and found her cell. “Nash…Yes, sir. On my way.” She closed the phone and eased Viv to the side. “Sorry. Gotta go.”

  Viv stroked her back as she swung out of bed. “I understand. Is everything all right?”

  “I don’t know,” Dusty said, jerking on her shirt. “Could be just a change in the schedule.” She paused at the door. “Be careful, okay?”

  “Of course. You too,” Viv whispered as the cabin door swung closed.

  *

  Hooker hunched in the wind next to the open rear of the Jeep, watching Jane work. The drones didn’t take much to assemble, the pair of them looking like oversized toys. Guess that was because they were. “Can you really direct those things?”

  “The electronics are very sophisticated. You can set GPS coordinates and they’ll find their target without any other direction.” Jane carefully taped the payloads in place, balancing the weights so the aeronautics would not be compromised. She’d need to test them to be sure the guide paths were still accurate, but she had time. “Or you can direct fly them visually.”

  “As long as they don’t come flying home and blow us up.”

  Jane smiled grimly. “Don’t worry. I’ve had plenty of practice with these.” She ignored the cold wind, laced with the tapering snow, blowing through her hair and double-checked all the mechanics. After activating both and checking the camera feeds to her phone, she shut them down to conserve battery power. She’d been flying them in remote areas of the mountains in South Carolina for the past six months, ever since her father had decided these were weapons of opportunity. Opportunity once owned, he always said, was a powerful weapon, and this was a sweet one. She loved flying them.

  She packed her rucksack with ammo, food, and backup batteries for her phones, radio, and drones and shouldered the forty-pound load. After sliding her sniper rifle from its case, she turned to Hooker. “There’s a little town twenty miles away. La Veta. Head back to the main road, find a diner in town, and wait for me until twelve hundred hours. If I haven’t checked in by then, you’re on your own.”

  “How are you gonna get to me?”

  “I’m going to hike.”

  “Jesus, they’ll be looking everywhere for you.”

  “Not off-road—not right away, and even if they do, they won’t find me.”

  “They don’t have any reason to think I’m with you.”

  “Then you have nothing to worry about.”

  Hooker frowned. “You’re letting me take the Jeep.”

  “I can’t use it. You’ll have plenty of time to get there before any roadblocks go up. They don’t know the vehicle. They don’t know my face. Hopefully, they don’t know yours either.”

  “What about the money?” Hooker peered into the back of the Jeep. “It’s not in here, is it?”

  She smiled. “No.”

  “Did you ever plan to pay me?”

  “Of course. I just never said when.” Jane shouldered her rifle. “If you want it, you’ll have to wait for me.”

  “Good luck,” Hooker muttered.

  Jane set off down the slope in the semi-dark. Luck was for gamblers, not soldiers, but today she hoped for a little luck on her side.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  With Dusty gone, the berth felt cooler even though Viv doubted the temperature had actually changed. Dusty’s presence simply changed everything, heightening every sensation and painting the moments with possibility. She wasn’t sure when she would see her again. The morning press briefing was still a couple of hours away, but she could make use of the time to firm up the article. She hadn’t really been thinking about work much beyond the essentials in the last twenty-four hours. Thinking about anything was hard with thoughts of Dusty intruding at unexpected moments. She hadn’t been so distracted, so completely diverted from everything that usually defined her life, in years. Possibly in forever. She’d always been so grounded, so focused, so goal-directed. Although she supposed she was just as goal-directed now, only her goal was more of Dusty and the incredible excitement of being with her.

  Determined to at least earn her daily wages, she stepped into the shower, smiling at the aches in places she didn’t usually ache, reminded that she hadn’t had hours of abandoned sex since she’d been a teenager. And back then, she hadn’t known what she was doing, so the aches didn’t always translate into mind-blowing sex. She knew what she was doing now, though, and so, miraculously, did Dusty. Her instincts were incredible, and her hands and mouth were even more phenomenal. How had she gotten so lucky? Honest, bold, sexy as hell, and incredible in bed. If she didn’t stop thinking about Dusty, she wasn’t going to get out of the shower or the cabin anytime soon.

  Turning her face up into the spray, she reveled for another minute in just feeling wonderful. Drying and dressing quickly, she grabbed her shoulder bag, double-checked her equipment, and headed forward toward the dining car. Now that she was moving, she realized she was starving. They’d eaten a few nibbles of the picnic dinner Dusty had brought, but that seemed like a week ago. All of the physical exercise had left her ravenous. The press dining car was empty but the coffee urn was hot and full. She poured a cup and wandered forward to the main communications car in search of the White House press staffers, none of whom ever seemed to sleep. They were great sources of info, and it paid to foster their friendship. The car was empty except for Blair Powell, Lucinda Washburn, and Ian Wilcox, the presidential press secretary, sitting around a table in one corner.

  “Oh,” Viv said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to barge in on a meeting.”

  Ian gave her a wave. “It’s all right, we were just comparing notes on the schedule. You’re up early. Cabin fever?”

  At the mention of cabin and fever, Viv immediately pictured her and Dusty naked and sweaty, unable to get enough of each other. Her face heated and she prayed no one noticed. “Not exactly, just a
little restless. I’ll leave you to it, then.”

  “Vivian!” Blair called. “You free for a while?”

  Viv paused. “Sure. Just wandering.”

  “Me too.” Blair rose. “Do you want to discuss the article now?”

  “That would be great.” Viv joined her.

  “This place is likely to get crowded before too long,” Blair said. “Why don’t we walk back to my car where we’ll have some privacy.”

  “Of course.” Viv followed the first daughter forward, wishing she’d dressed for the workday already instead of having pulled on casual pants and a clean if somewhat wrinkled cotton shirt. Blair managed to look elegant in a tailored white-and-blue-striped boyfriend shirt worn loose over slim-cut jeans and plain dark loafers. “I really appreciate this. It’s these kinds of personal touches that readers really relate to, and of course, they’re fascinated with you and anything you have to say.”

  “That is truly frightening,” Blair said with a rueful smile.

  “I imagine that it is a bit of a burden.”

  “Most people think that it’s glamorous.”

  Viv shook her head. “I suppose sometimes it must be. I kind of feel that way about being in the press corps. The places we go, the dignitaries we meet, the history we witness. But it’s a bit of a fishbowl too, isn’t it? And for you, so much worse.”

  “It has its good and bad moments.” Blair nodded to an agent standing post by the door to one of the private cars. She opened the door and led Viv into an expansive lounge with furnishings far more plush and elegant than what she’d seen previously in the rest of the train.

  “Ms. Powell,” Viv said, suddenly realizing that the first daughter was probably very aware she was speaking to a reporter, and Viv hadn’t been thinking like one. Blair was far more approachable than she’d expected of someone in her position, and Viv had been speaking her mind as casually as she might to a new friend. “None of this is on the record, just so you know.”

  “I appreciate that.” Blair smiled and gestured to a seating area with side tables next to upholstered chairs. “We’ve got some breakfast staples, if you’re hungry.”

  “Coffee is good for now.”

  “Sit anywhere. I’ll grab us coffee.”

  Blair handed Viv a cup of coffee and sat down across from her.

  “Thanks.” Viv took out her recorder and tablet. “If it’s all right with you, I thought we’d just chat a little bit. I’ll tell you about the article, and what I’ve seen so far. Anything you might want to add from a personal perspective would be terrific. If you’d like, you can read the transcript of our discussion, and I’ll be happy to redact anything you don’t want included.”

  “You haven’t been on the White House beat very long, have you?” Blair asked.

  “No, but I’ve been a reporter for quite a long time.”

  “An unusual one. It usually takes reporters a long time to discover they’ll learn a lot more if they start a conversation rather than an inquisition.”

  Viv laughed, understanding exactly why the country loved the first daughter. She was beautiful and charming and perceptive. “I totally agree. Let’s talk.”

  *

  Jane built a tripod out of rocks and packed ice and snow around the base for extra stability. She set up her rifle and sighted on the tracks. The rails jumped into view within the circle of the scope. Mid-distance shot. No challenge.

  She pulled out the battery packs she’d kept warm inside her jacket, close to her body, and inserted them into the drones. The electronics came to life at the push of a button. The remotes checked out. Her cell phone was edging into the low power zone—probably dying from the cold—but the burn phone battery was full. Fifteen minutes and the train should be within range. Visibility had improved over the past hour as the sky lightened and the blowing snow relented. Her window of opportunity would be short, but she didn’t need long. She didn’t believe in fate, but like all soldiers, she was superstitious. So far that morning, luck had been on her side. Her father would disagree, she knew, and point out her success, or failure, was due to planning or lack of it. That was one of the differences between them. Jenn had planned the bio-attack for years, had sacrificed her personal life to work her way inside the White House, and in the end, she’d fallen victim to someone else’s shoddy performance.

  Jane set aside thoughts of Jenn and her father and focused on the terrain below. This was her op, and hers alone. She’d selected a blind 500 yards up the snowy escarpment from the tracks and dug in beneath a rocky overhang where she’d be invisible from the air. A pair of helicopters had flown over forty-five minutes before, the advance security teams checking the train tracks to be sure there was no obstruction. They would’ve been watching the roads for suspicious vehicles parked along the train route or shadowing the train’s progress too, but Hooker should be long gone by now. Her thermal winter BDUs and the small snow cave she’d scooped out beneath the overhang helped conserve her body heat. She wasn’t cold. Her blood raced too hot and fast for her to be cold or nervous.

  A distant rumble traveled through the shallow valley and her pulse jumped for an instant before she settled into battle mode. Calm settled over her, her heart rate slowed, her vision cleared, and her mind went crystal sharp. The train was coming. Now timing was everything. Like always, the battle came down to a matter of minutes, minutes in which she would win or fail, live or die. She scanned the length of the track with the long-range binoculars and saw the first glimmer of flashing steel in the gray distance. Judging the intercept, she released the first drone. As it flew, she punched in the number she had programmed into the burn phone.

  *

  Cam, Evyn Daniels, Tom Turner, and Stark sat opposite the president’s campaign manager, Adam Eisley, and two White House staffers under his direction in the USSS command car. The president had been clear about continuing his campaign trek, but he might be convinced to modify his plan if a viable alternative could be provided.

  “Our recommendation,” Cam said, “is to terminate the train excursion at Trinidad. The president can continue with his planned itinerary by motorcade and plane. That way, we can isolate him to a far greater extent than we can here, and decrease the threat level.”

  “Absolutely not,” Adam said. “Have you looked at the ratings lately? They’re climbing every hour. We’re getting great press coverage. TV networks are running maps of his route morning and night. All his personal appearances are pulling prime-time coverage. He’s the biggest show in town during a long, cold winter. This has been the shot in the arm he’s needed. Hell no, he’s not getting off this train.”

  “You’ve got plenty of time to bolster his ratings,” Cam said, not bothering to point out to someone like Adam, who lived and breathed poll reports, that Andrew Powell’s ratings were the least of her concerns. “His security is far more important than a ten-second TV spot.”

  “Twenty second. What you fail to understand,” Adam said dismissively, “is the impact of appearances. If you did, you and the first daughter wouldn’t have started the circus show by getting marr—”

  “Be very careful,” Cam said quietly. “You don’t want to bring Blair into this.”

  A few uncomfortable coughs and clearing throats followed and the campaign manager shrugged. “What’s done is done. But the president hired me to manage his reelection campaign because I’m the best there is. I know what I’m doing.” He glanced at Tom Turner. “Unless, of course, you feel that your people aren’t adequately prepared to protect the president—”

  “Look,” Tom snapped, “this isn’t about who has the most power here. This is about securing—” Tom broke off and jumped up, his hand to the receiver in his ear. “The president just signaled a code red.”

  As Cam bolted to her feet, her phone rang, and she grabbed it. “Roberts.”

  “Cam,” Lucinda said, her voice vibrating with urgency, “we have a situa—”

  An ear-shattering screech filled the car and the trai
n decelerated rapidly, throwing everyone off balance. Cam caught herself on the edge of the table, trying to stay upright. “Where? Lucinda, where?”

  “Stand down,” Lucinda ordered. “No one is to approach the private cars. Tell Tom—no one is to try to come forward.”

  Cam’s gut clenched. Blair was somewhere forward in the train. She motioned to Tom and switched her phone to speaker. “What is the president’s status?”

  “We’re…he’s fine.” Lucinda drew a breath. “But, Cam, we’ve got someone claiming there’s a bomb on the tracks.”

  Tom said, “I’ll alert the—”

  “No,” Lucinda said, “you can’t. She says anyone trying to clear the tracks will be shot. And Tom—she says there’s another bomb. On the roof of one of our private cars.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Blair managed to avoid the coffee sloshing across the table as the train jerked to a halt. She regained her balance, righted the coffee mug, and pushed to her feet. Across from her, Vivian grabbed onto the chair beside her, her eyes wide. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” Viv said, swiping her recorder from the floor. “What do you think it is?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ll find out.” Blair hurried toward her father’s cars. When she tried to slide the door open, it wouldn’t budge. An icy chill slid down her spine. The train was no ordinary train, and like all her father’s transportation, it was equipped with multiple layers of enhanced security, including mechanical. Something had probably triggered the lockdown system on his private cars when the train made an unscheduled stop. She’d been through things like this before. She thought about the elevator ride the day before. Probably just another glitch in some electronics somewhere. Just a precaution. She pushed the kernel of panic back down where it belonged. The train was filled with dozens of highly trained Secret Service agents. They were as safe here as they were in the White House. She turned back and met Vivian’s concerned eyes.