by Radclyffe
“Anything unexpected?” he asked as she joined him.
“Not so far. The public functions are as outlined. For the gallery opening tomorrow, I’ll be inside with two others. Have two people with the car outside. That means the afternoon and evening shift will split the extra duty.”
He made a note. “Right.”
“We can use some of the White House detail for the dinner on New Years Eve. Have one team stay here to meet her plane when she returns for the parade. All of that is standard, and in the future you can draw up the duty rosters. Just be sure I get a hard copy of who will be where.”
“Done,” he responded. He waited, wondering how she was going to deal with the real problem.
“Ms. Powell will not confirm any personal plans, which puts us in a reactive mode. I do not want her to get away from us, especially not now. I have a feeling shell be testing our new command. She is going to move, you can be sure of that. Keep a car accessible in case she grabs a cab, and have someone ready for foot pursuit, preferably a woman. If she goes to a gay bar, it might be easier if we have a woman on the inside.”
“We’ve had lousy luck so far,” Mac remarked. “Half the time we lose her in transit.”
Can stood, stretching her cramped shoulders. “That is no longer acceptable. I’m going home. Page me the minute she steps out her door.”
“Until what time?” Mac asked as he prepared to make a note.
“ Any time,” she said with finality. “If she isn’t in her apartment, I want to know about it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mac responded crisply. He watched her glance once around the room, assuring herself that all was in order, before she left. He had a feeling Egret was in for a surprise, and he was looking forward to seeing it.
———
Cam stripped as she walked through her new apartment to the shower, eager to wash the effects of her flight and the first day of her new assignment from her body and her mind. The cool spray refreshed her, but did little to dispel the disquiet left from her meeting with Blair Powell.
It was not just the young woman’s confrontational manner that had affected her. She was angry at herself for the physical response, however unwelcome, that the woman had provoked in her. She had been aware of an insistent pulse of stimulation long after she left the apartment. It may have been unbidden, but she felt betrayed by her own body. With an irritated shake of her head, she pulled on shorts and a tee-shirt. She could hardly be expected to control her involuntary nervous system! And here in New York there was no discrete way to relieve it. She would just have to run off the lingering remnants of arousal.
———
Blair Powell looked down onto the busy streets below as Cam ran lightly down the steps of her brownstone and began her jog toward Central Park. She was very quickly swallowed by the crowds. An afterimage of her lean form lingered in Blair’s mind as she reached for her phone. It occurred to her that the agents downstairs might be listening, but she no longer cared. She dialed a number from memory.
“Hey, you,” she said with a smile in her voice, “How come you’re working on a Saturday?... Right! You’re still trying to be the youngest assistant director!... Of course I need a favor!.... Background check—a Cameron Roberts. This might be a tough one. She’s secret service.... Yes, I know how much you’re sacrificing! Just get me whatever you can.... Call me as soon as you have something, okay? And hey—I know I owe you, really.... Not in this lifetime you won’t!”
As she replaced the receiver, she contemplated calling downstairs to advise them of her change in plans. But then again, why alter the routine now. She slipped into a dark brown leather jacket as she left her apartment.
———
The pager clipped to the waist band of the small pack Cam wore beeped just as she completed the first lap around the Central Park Reservoir. She dug out her cell phone, punching numbers with barely a break in stride.
“Roberts.”
“Egrets on the move.”
“Do we know her destination?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Are we covering?”
“So far. She’s on foot and we have her in visual.”
“Good. Don’t attempt to make contact. Just stay with her. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. And Fielding?”
“Yes ma’am?”
“Tell them not to lose her.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Please god, don’t let us fuck up the first day, Agent John Fielding thought as he relayed his chiefs instructions to the two agents in pursuit.
———
“Where is she?” Cam asked without preamble.
“At the Soho gym,” Fielding replied with obvious relief.
“Do you have visual confirmation of that?”
“Yes ma’am. Paula Stark is inside.”
Cam relaxed. “Good. I’m going to shower and change. If she moves before I check in, call me.”
Twenty minutes later she sat across the street from the Soho gym watching the entrance. A metallic blue Ford diagonally opposite her held two secret service agents doing the same thing. She didn’t think they were aware of her. She wasn’t watching them. She trusted her agents for this type of routine surveillance. She was there because she wanted to get a sense of Blair Powell. She wanted to know where she ate, where she shopped, where she went for entertainment, and where she spent her evenings. Then she would begin to feel she could protect her.
Four hours later she was beginning to fill in some of the blanks. From a distance she had observed Blair dine with an exotic appearing dark-haired woman in a small Italian restaurant in the west Village. From there the two women had walked a few blocks to a neighborhood gay bar for a nightcap. They had taken their time, window shopping, stopping off at a bookstore, purchasing espresso from a curbside stand. They were in the bar now, and so was one of her agents. She didn’t really care if Blair saw him. Their presence should be anticipated. Cam simply told him to keep his distance and not to intrude upon them. Cam was considering calling it a night. It didn’t look like this was anything more than an evening out for Blair Powell, and the team assigned to shadow her seemed to have things under control. She was reaching for her radio to check out when she spotted Blair’s companion hurry from the bar and hail a cab. She was instantly alert.
“Young—this is Roberts. Do you have Egret in visual?”
“Negative. She’s in the restroom.”
Cam switched channels. “Stark—get into that bathroom.”
“I’m on it,” the female agent replied as she exited the car parked just down the street from the small corner bar.
The moments passed slowly until Cams earpiece crackled to life.
“She’s not in here, Chief,” Stark announced.
“Recheck the entire bar. If she’s not inside, start a sweep of the surrounding area. She’s on foot, at least for now.” Cam punched in the numbers of the command center on her cell phone as she spoke. “Fielding, give me the addresses of all gay bars in a twenty block radius—start with known locales first.”
While she waited for the computer to produce the information, she considered the situation. Blair had intentionally evaded them, which was not all that hard to do since they weren’t guarding her with the manpower a criminal surveillance would demand. That was because Blair was supposed to be a friendly protectee. Now that she was out of their range she was at potential risk for kidnapping, or if documented in some compromising circumstance, for blackmail. The fact that she was not easily identifiable as the President’s daughter was the only thing they had going for them. It was going to be a long tense night until they found her.
“I’ve got that list for you, Chief,” Fielding said as he came on line.
“Go,” she said. There were six potentials in the immediate area. “Get Mac Phillips in to co-ordinate the teams. I’m going to check out the ones at the top of the list.”
“Got it. Good luck,” he signed off.
Right, Cam mutte
red to herself as she locked her car and joined the crowds on the ever busy streets of Greenwich Village. An hour later she paid her third cover charge of the evening and thanked a leather-clad bouncer for a particularly garish skull and cross bones stamped on her hand. She was in a loft on a dingy block just off Houston in a massive bar that was dimly lit with recessed red lights. The interior space was divided into several levels, with at least two bars, dance floors scattered at random, and what appeared to be a warren of smaller rooms in the rear. It was women only and predominately but not exclusively a leather bar. Cam bought a beer and began to wander through the crowded main room. Toward the rear, twisting halls led off to other rooms, all of them full. She glanced into each of the smaller areas she passed, noting that the overt sexual activity increased the deeper she went into the building. At one point she had to move sideways along the wall to pass two women with their hands inside each others clothing, oblivious to those passing by or standing in the shadows observing their heated encounter.
As soon as she pushed her way into the dark bar at the end of the long hallway, Cam saw her. She was leaning against the bar, facing the room. Cam turned her back, stepping behind several women grouped along the wall. She whispered her location and instructions to the other agents before returning her gaze to Blair Powell. The President’s daughter had been joined by another woman, who pressed close against her in the crowded space. The stranger whispered urgently into Blair’s ear. Blair gazed past her into the seething crowd of bodies on the small dance floor, not answering.
Cam observed the women impassively. Blair looked remote, as if her mind were elsewhere. The leather-clad woman with her was obviously trying to interest her in something a little more intimate. As she leaned to kiss Blair’s neck, she ran a hand up the inside of Blair’s blue-jeaned thigh, and would have pressed her hand to the triangle between Blair’s legs if Blair hadn’t gripped her wrist, pushing her hand away at the last second. Throughout the entire time, Blair’s face barely registered a response.
It was clear to Cam that no one knew or cared who Blair was. Everyone was absorbed in their own pursuit of sex, or whatever particular thrill they were seeking. Cam needed to be sure Blair remained anonymous, and she wasn’t entirely sure how to do that. Calling attention to her by trying to remove her against her will certainly wasn’t the best course of action. Cam resigned herself to watching for the time being. That proved to be more difficult than she anticipated.
Blair’s companion was not easily diverted, and continued her insistent caresses. She had essentially trapped Blair against the bar with an arm on either side of her while she straddled Blair’s leg between her own. Blair turned her face away as the woman persisted in kissing her neck, one hand now inside Blair’s shirt, fondling her breast. Blair did not seem particularly affected by the activity, but her ardent suitor apparently was. As Cam watched, the other woman began to ride Blair’s leg harder, her motions jerky and tense. Can had no doubt the woman was poised to orgasm right there at the bar.
Blair could feel the woman’s heat through the material of their clothing, and heard the shaky moans as her companion pressed her damp crotch against Blair’s thigh. It hadn’t been Blair’s intention to let her go that far, not until her eyes swept across the room and met those of Cameron Roberts. She was momentarily stunned. The agent leaned against the opposite wall, dressed in jeans, a white cotton shirt, and boots. She looked completely at home, and was easily one of the sexiest women in the room. The fact that Blair found the Secret Service agent attractive infuriated her, especially since she knew Cam was only there to watch her. Well, let her watch, she thought angrily to herself. She kept her eyes on Cams face as she cupped the woman’s buttocks in her hands, squeezing the taut muscles in small tight circles, lifting her leg hard into the other woman’s crotch.
“Let me have it, baby,” she whispered in her companion’s ear, pumping her own hips now. “You want to, don’t you?”
“Oh Jesus, yes,” the stranger panted against her neck. “Oh fuck, unhh—I need to come—” She was so far gone all she sought was that elusive instant of bone melting release. “Oh, god, yeah—”
Cams gaze never strayed from the sexual display. Her faced revealed no emotion, nor did Blair’s, as Blair’s partner in the drama shuddered into climax against Blair’s body. Cam might have been embarrassed to witness the encounter had she sensed a shred of intimacy in it. It was erotic, of that there was no doubt. She knew she was wet, but the physical arousal did not penetrate her consciousness. She wasn’t the only one watching, although the interest of the others was of a different nature.
As the woman’s spasms subsided, Blair extracted herself from her spent partners embrace, grasping her drink from the bar and pushing her way into the crowd. She did not look back at the woman sagging against the counter, gasping for breath. She did not acknowledge the occasional appreciative comments her performance had elicited. She took her time crossing to Cam.
“Enjoy the show, Agent Roberts?” she asked as she stepped to Cams side. The press of the crowds brought her within inches of Cams body. She could make out a light sheen of sweat on Cam’s skin in the soft red glow of the lights.
Cam’s eyes were impossible to read as she returned Blair’s gaze. “I have a car outside when you’re ready to leave,” was all she said. She had no intention of involving herself in a conscious way in Blair Powell’s personal affairs. She might have to witness them, if Blair continued with this kind of public encounter, but she didn’t have to be a participant.
“And if I decide to walk home?”
“As you wish,” Cam replied.
“I’m not sure I’ve had enough entertainment yet,” she said pointedly.
Cam shrugged. “The car will be there no matter how late you stay.”
“And will you be?”
“Yes.”
Blair sipped her Manhattan, the only drink shed had all evening. She might like to walk on the wild side, but she wasn’t a fool. She tried to gauge the agents attitude from her expression and the tone of her voice, and found she couldn’t. Cameron leaned relaxed against the wall, her tone friendly, her face composed. To anyone watching, they might be any two women in the first exploratory stages of a typical bar encounter. Except Blair knew they weren’t, and as much as Agent Roberts made it appear that she had some choice in the rest of the evening, the truth was that the moment they found her, her freedom had ended. She set her glass on the nearest table.
“You don’t make it as my choice for an escort,” she said bitterly. “I’m going home.”
Cam followed Blair out to the street at a discreet distance, and once she saw her climb into the car with two of her agents, she headed tiredly toward home herself. As she walked, she tried not to replay the image of a strange woman surrendering to passion in Blair Powell’s cold embrace.
Chapter Five
Mac was surprised to see Cameron walk in at seven a.m. on Sunday morning. The report from the night watch said it was she who had picked up Egrets trail and tracked her down in the late hours of the night. Interestingly, there was no report on the surveillance inside the bar. Roberts would have to do that herself. He nodded hello as she poured coffee and joined him at the large central work station.
“How long have you been on this detail, Mac?” she asked conversationally.
“Since the beginning of the President’s term,” he replied.
“Have things been this out of hand the entire time?”
He held his breath for a second, trying to judge who he might potentially offend that mattered. He couldn’t think of anyone. “Worse. At least last night we found her. There’s been a half dozen nights, and one whole weekend, when we didn’t know where she was.”
“Christ,” Cam muttered. “How in hell did you keep that quiet?”
Mac shrugged. “Egrets not stupid. She knew wed have to hit the panic button if she were completely out of contact, so she called in every few hours, randomly, from pay phones, to prove s
he was okay. We ran around like assholes the whole time trying to find her.”
“No repercussions?”
“Egrets got a lot of pull with her old man. If someone complains about her, and it gets back to him, it better be serious, or you’re looking for a new job. And he doesn’t seem to think a little joy riding is too serious.”
“I do,” Cam said flatly. “And since were not going to get any help from above, well have to stay tight on her, but not get in her way. She’s most likely to run if we crowd her.”
“I think everyone understands the plan,” he replied.
“See that they do.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
———
At three p.m., Blair emerged from the apartment building and climbed into the back of the nondescript black car waiting at the curb for her. Cameron Roberts was inside. Blair was dressed for the gallery opening in a simple black dress that spoke of taste and understated elegance. The thin straps accentuated the toned muscles of her shoulders and arms, while the scooped neck revealed just a hint of cleavage. This was a pre-publicized event, and the presence of the secret service was expected. Blair noted that Agent Roberts looked well-attired for the gathering in a gray silk suit and monochromatic shirt, beautifully tailored and fashionably cut. This was one public servant who did not buy her clothes off the rack.
The guest list was a mixture of all the important art collectors in the city and quite a few of the artists as well. Cam had photos of all of them, and invitations would be required for admission to the Soho gallery. Nevertheless, this was the most dangerous situation for Blair—a public function, advertised in advance. At the very least, there would be a curious crowd gathered outside. Cam planned on being inside with two other agents, while the second team waited in the car.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Powell,” Cam remarked as they traveled.
“Agent Roberts, we meet again. Are you to be my date today?” she asked mildly.
