Above All, Honor

by Radclyffe

“Get her inside,” Cam ordered, but her voice came out a whisper on a plume of red mist. She had her gun in her right hand, but it was very difficult to raise her arm. She turned her head with effort, her vision oddly blurred.

  Blair was surrounded by secret service agents who were half carrying her back into the building. Blair appeared to be struggling, screaming something, her hand outstretched toward Cam.

  She’s safe

  Cams mind was quite clear, and she relaxed, accepting the strange lassitude that suffused her. She rolled slowly onto her back, opening her hand, letting her gun rest gently on the sidewalk. She stared up into the bluest sky she could ever recall, then peacefully closed her eyes as her heart stopped beating.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Someone far away screamed her name, an agonized, animal scream of pain. Then—nothing.

  “We need another line here... Hang more fluid Son of a bitch! I can’t get a blood pressure... Where the fuck is the O neg... Push the intracardiac epi again... Here we go—crack her chest... Anything?... I’ve got a rhythm... Shit, still no pulse... Keep up the compression... Nothing... Pump more blood... Come on, come on Normal sinus rhythm... Oh, man—tell them to move it “

  Cam had no memory for the trip, or the frantic 40 minutes in the emergency room before she was transported to the operating room. For the first few days, she was kept sedated in the intensive care unit, a tube in her trachea delivering oxygen, larger tubes in her chest removing blood and tissue fluids. A machine breathed for her; she could neither move nor talk. Occasionally some stimulus would penetrate her consciousness, and she would register some small sensation—sound, a light, someone touching her. Always, there would be a soft voice, murmuring words of consolation that had no meaning, but were strangely soothing. Pain was a distant thunder, rolling slowly through the landscape of her awareness, ever present.

  “Hurts...”

  “I know, darling, I know... Can’t you give her something, for god’s sake!”

  “Cameron, you’re going to be all right. Hold on please. I need you to live.”

  The voice was so familiar, yet the face so elusive. Once, Cam opened her eyes and was certain that the tear-stained face bending near her own was Blair’s. But that couldn’t be right, could it? The next time she opened her eyes, she was lucid enough to realize it was only a nurse.

  Cam listened to snippets of conversation, desperately trying to make sense of what was happening to her. Unfortunately, there were huge gaps in her consciousness, destroying any sense of reality.

  A man’s voice, “Let me drive you home. You need to get some rest.”

  “No. Not yet. They said another 24 hours before they were sure...”

  “Please, it won’t help...” The man again, insistent, but gentle.

  “It helps me.”

  Cam was aware of people touching her. Turning her, covering her, bathing her. The single touch that anchored her the most, however, was a gentle hand that seemed to enclose hers for hours on end. Whenever she could summon the will, Cam squeezed the fingers clasping hers, and the voice would come again, murmuring tender words of love and encouragement in her ear.

  “Who.. are...”

  “It’s all right, love, don’t try to talk now.”

  “Stay..”

  “I will.”

  ———

  Cameron lay quietly, eyes closed, taking stock of her situation. Most of the tubes she had been dimly aware of the last few days were gone. The noise level around her had also decreased, and she sensed that she wasn’t in the intensive care unit anymore. A hand slowly stroked her hair. She opened her eyes and focused on the woman beside her. She was surprised at how bright the sunlight filtering through the window appeared.

  “Hello darling.”

  Cameron reached for the fingers softly brushing her cheek. She was amazed, and not a little frightened, at how difficult a task that was. She hoped she didn’t looked as weak as she felt. “Hello, mother.”

  Her memories converged all at once, and panic ripped through her.

  “Blair Powell! Is she all right? Was she hurt?”

  She actually tried to sit up, and found that she was unable to raise her shoulders more than a fraction of an inch. The pain she had been living with for days suddenly coalesced into a bright hot lance of fire searing through her chest. “Oh oh—,” she gasped involuntarily, collapsing against the pillows.

  “Lie still, Cameron,” her mother admonished firmly. “Ms. Powell is fine. She wasn’t injured. In fact, you were the only one—” she hesitated for a moment, steadying her voice. “You were the only one who was shot.”

  Cam closed her eyes briefly, sapped by the effort to sit up. Despite her fatigue, she felt peaceful and content. Sleep was coming quickly, but she needed to know, “Who is in charge? Who is looking after her?”

  “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 b
e 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 you’ll 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 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 characteris
tics 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.”