Word of Honor

by Radclyffe

  *

  Cam stared at the monitor, which provided a still image of the country house and the surrounding grounds where they believed Matheson had gone to ground. No lights, no vehicle in the drive. She clenched her jaw as Savard’s voice came over her radio feed.

  Place looks deserted, Commander.

  “Deploy your teams,” Cam told her. The satellite image wasn’t precise enough, especially at night, for her to track the movement of individual team members, and as the minutes dragged on the muscles in her neck screamed from tension. She should have been there. What if word of their plans had gotten out somehow? What if there was an ambush? What if she was wrong and Matheson had laid in a force like the cadre that had hit the Aerie?

  Nothing, Savard reported. The bastard’s like smoke.

  Cam closed her eyes. Where the hell was he? Matheson on the move was going to be twice as hard to locate and three times as dangerous.

  *

  Matheson passed through Cumberland, Virginia, and headed north on Route 220 into Pennsylvania at 4:10 a.m. Right on schedule, he noted with satisfaction. The rental car that had been delivered to his safe house a little before midnight was appropriately nondescript, the kind of midsize low-budget sedan any businessman might drive. When he pulled into the parking lot of the Denny’s restaurant, there were a dozen others like it parked nearby. He got out and stretched, then made his way beneath the still-dark sky to his hastily arranged meeting.

  He stopped just inside the door, pretending to survey the newspapers in the coin-operated boxes while scanning the area. Considering the hour, the restaurant was more crowded than he had expected with truckers and travelers heading north to the turnpike. All the better. In his bland khaki jacket, dark trousers, and tab-collar blue shirt, all purchased in the men’s department of a low-end chain store, he doubted any of the busy waitresses would remember him in an hour. That might not be the case for the man he was meeting, which was why he detested doing business in public places. However, the alternative—a clandestine rendezvous—was unacceptable when he couldn’t bring backup. Here, at least, he was unlikely to be targeted if his friends decided he was no longer useful. Of course, he was under the same constraints himself, but he had no doubt that when the time came to eliminate any unwanted associates, his men would rise to the occasion.

  “Breakfast for one?” a careworn blonde asked him as she automatically handed him a shiny laminated menu.

  He took the menu and smiled. “Thanks, I’ll just grab a booth if that’s okay. My business partner just ducked into the john.”

  “Sure, go ahead,” she said, already turning away.

  Matheson settled into the bench seat of one of the smaller booths facing the door and ordered two coffees, giving the waitress who barely looked at him the same story. A minute later, another traveler entered, took a quick look around the room, and walked directly to Matheson’s table. Dressed in casual business clothes, he too would have gone unnoticed as easily as Matheson if he hadn’t been so obviously foreign. Matheson resented the necessity of working with nonwhite men, finding them inherently untrustworthy and lacking in true moral character. But war demanded that men sacrifice, and the cause sometimes necessitated unusual alliances. This one had so far proven valuable.

  “Good morning, my friend,” the dark-skinned man said as he sat down across from Matheson. His English was even less noticeably accented than it had been on the phone.

  “Morning,” Matheson said, taking a sip of his coffee. Weak, just like all diner coffee. “While I’m always happy to be of service, I’m afraid my schedule is very tight today.”

  “Yes, I imagine you have a plane to catch, do you not?”

  Matheson’s gut tightened, but he knew the man was fishing. No one except his most trusted man knew his destination was the Pittsburgh airport. “I didn’t expect we would meet again.”

  “While our previous venture was successful beyond our greatest expectations, circumstances have changed since last we talked.”

  Matheson managed not to smirk. Yes, things had certainly changed. The country had gone on red alert and the military was kicking terrorist ass in Afghanistan. Soon, the U.S. would make its presence felt in other parts of the Middle East, he was certain. The show of force wasn’t enough, but it was a beginning. He contained his smile and waited.

  “The item of mutual interest,” the man said smoothly, pushing his coffee cup aside untouched. “We no longer wish to divest ourselves of it.” He spread his hands as if he were discussing motor parts and not the first daughter of the United States. “We believe it has value in our forthcoming negotiations.”

  Matheson leaned back casually, thinking furiously. Eliminating Blair Powell had always been his main agenda, but only a side note for these men. Why, suddenly, had they taken an interest in her? And what negotiations? He resented being played, especially by men who weren’t fit to polish his boots. He met the dark eyes across from his. “Valuable how?”

  The foreigner shrugged. “Consider it currency.”

  Currency. Trade. Exchange. Matheson’s lips curled as he considered the advantage to his own long-range goals. If the president’s daughter were suddenly the bargaining chip between the U.S. government and foreign terrorists, he wondered how long the president would pay lip service to his policy of not negotiating with terrorists. The president’s capitulation would strike another blow to his credibility and further weaken his paper tiger government.

  “We’re talking about a very expensive commodity,” Matheson said.

  “Money is of no consequence to us.”

  “Twenty million.”

  “A very reasonable sum. You can send information regarding payment through the usual channels. We would prefer a midweek delivery. We have a busy schedule too.”

  The foreigner smiled with obvious satisfaction and Matheson wanted to put a bullet between his eyes. Instead, he rose and carefully placed payment for the coffee plus a fifteen percent tip on the table. If he couldn’t deliver as promised, he could always fall back on his initial plan and kill her. “Consider it done.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sunday

  Dana barreled out of her bedroom and nearly ran over Emory in the hall. Emory obviously had just come from the shower, since her hair lay in damp wavy strands on her shoulders and she wore nothing except a large white bath towel rolled over just above the tops of her breasts.

  “Sorry,” Dana said, grasping Emory’s shoulders to steady her as she stumbled backward. She tried really hard not to look down at Emory’s breasts, but she failed. And when she looked back up, she knew Emory had noticed. “Sorry.”

  “For what?” Emory asked, enjoying the off-balance look in Dana’s eyes. And enjoying the appreciation in them too. She’d never given much thought to her body. She was happy that she was fit and healthy. But she wasn’t so self-deluded as to pretend she didn’t know others considered her attractive. That was nice, but didn’t rank high on things that were important to her. Except in the last two days. She loved that Dana found her attractive. Knowing that she could somehow make worldly Dana as off-kilter and unsure of herself as she seemed to be gave her a thrill. She wondered how much more excited she would feel if Dana actually put her hands where her gaze had just lingered.

  “What?” Dana asked, sounding dazed.

  Emory smiled. Dana wore jeans, a navy T-shirt with long sleeves that she pushed up to her elbows, and scuffed brown boots. Her almost-tight T-shirt outlined her small, neat breasts and narrow waist. Sexy, God, she was sexy in a completely unstudied way. “Sorry for what?”

  “Uh, for almost running you over.” Dana backed up a step. Emory smelled like Ivory soap again, and her skin was flushed. Probably just from the heat of the shower, but Dana just knew Emory’s skin would be exactly that color when she was aroused. And she wanted nothing more in the world than to open that towel and slide her hands over the full breasts that lay beneath it. She wanted it so much she was choking on desire.

&nbs
p; “Did you sleep all right?” Emory asked, trying to decipher Dana’s expression. Lean and hungry. She’d never really thought about what that phrase meant until just this moment, but that’s exactly how Dana looked at her. As if she were ravenous and wanted to taste her. Emory backed up in the other direction, fearful of broadcasting her arousal because she had no idea how to hide it. She licked her lips and cleared her dry throat when Dana continued to stare. “Were you going somewhere?”

  “Coming to find you,” Dana said. “Patrice Hara called down. We’re on schedule to fly to Colorado today. Blair is looking for you. She said to give you the message to come up.”

  “I’ll get dressed and pack, then.” Emory circled around Dana to get to her own room. Just before she went inside, she turned back to where Dana still stood in the hall. “I had a nice time last night. Just talking and watching television. I haven’t done anything that simple in a long time.” Emory hesitated. “And I liked the good-night kiss too.”

  “So did I.” Dana grinned a little, recalling the exceptionally soft, exceptionally warm, and exceptionally wonderful kiss they had shared just before going to their separate bedrooms. Emory had been the one to lean forward when they stood outside their adjacent doors to say good night. Emory had kissed her first. “It was a great night. Even if we had sworn off orgasms for the evening.”

  Emory laughed. “I don’t know about you, but I didn’t swear off orgasms. Just not together.”

  “Are you saying you…” Dana closed her eyes. “Oh man, that is so so unfair.”

  “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

  Dana heard a door shut, and when she opened her eyes she was alone. She’d probably been awake the night before, restless and aroused, while Emory had been lying in the dark in the room next to hers, touching herself, making herself come. If she’d known, she doubted she would have been able to keep from going next door. But Emory had said she wasn’t ready, and more than Dana wanted her—and it felt like she wanted her more than she’d ever wanted any woman in her life—she wanted Emory to want it too.

  She’d just have to be patient, but God, it was hard, when she couldn’t seem to think about anything except tasting her, and touching her, and making her sigh with pleasure.

  “Perfect,” she grumbled, returning to her bedroom to grab her luggage. “Absolutely perfect time to be obsessed with a woman who might not even end up being interested—right when I’m in the middle of not just one, but two or three big stories.”

  “Are you talking to yourself?” Emory said from the open doorway.

  Dana spun around. Emory was no longer wearing a towel, but the silk T-shirt tucked into casual black slacks had almost the same effect. She was still beautiful and sexy. She was drying the ends of her hair with a hand towel, and after a few seconds she tilted her head quizzically.

  “Dana?”

  “Yes. I’m talking to myself. Well, apparently if you heard me, I’m talking to both of us.”

  Emory laughed. “Do you know that you don’t make a lot of sense sometimes?”

  “We’re not even kissing, and I’m stupid and senseless just from looking at you.”

  Slowly, Emory lowered the towel, and the look on her face changed from amusement to surprise. “If you didn’t look so flummoxed, I might not believe you. You don’t know what’s going on any more than I do, do you?”

  “Not exactly.” Dana grinned. “I understand some of it. The part where we get naked…”

  “That part I get.” Emory took a deep breath. “I came to ask what I should do with my luggage.”

  “Leave it inside the front door. Someone will pick it up and bring it down to the cars.”

  “I’ll be ready in a just a minute.”

  Dana lifted her battered canvas travel bag. “I’ll wait for you in the living room.”

  “Okay.” Emory turned away, then looked back. “I’m trying not to worry about the fact that I don’t understand what’s going on. And just for the record, I really like the way you look at me.”

  And then she was gone, leaving Dana feeling totally out of her depth and, strangely, not caring.

  *

  “Hey! Look who’s here,” a small, wiry redhead exclaimed when Emory and Dana walked into Blair’s loft.

  “Steph!” Emory hurried toward the woman. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

  “Tanner decided to give me some time off.”

  While Dana watched, the redhead—Steph—draped an arm around Emory’s waist way too casually, pulled her into a full body hug, and kissed her on the mouth. Dana narrowed her eyes, taking in the black fatigue pants, black T-shirt, and black boots. Jesus Christ, a mercenary. Well, these days they were called contract workers or security personnel or some other equally bland term, but they were mercenaries just the same. Where the hell did she come from? And what the hell was she doing pawing Emory? Dana checked the rest of the room. A power meeting was underway, by the looks of things.

  Blair and Diane were in the sitting area, cups of coffee and a tray of bagels and muffins between them on the low table. Greg Wozinski sat on the arm of a chair near the door, drinking coffee and talking to Paula Stark, who was flanked by two burly jarheads dressed like the tough little number still fondling Emory. A gorgeous coffee-skinned woman with shoulder-length coppery gold hair stood next to the breakfast bar in conversation with Cameron Roberts. When the woman, whose body radiated tension, turned to survey Dana with an intense, flat gaze, Dana pegged her as federal. Not part of Blair Powell’s personal security detail—probably FBI. Valerie was missing, but then she often was—part of the OHS team, but still a loner. Dana’s skin prickled. She was getting the picture, a picture that said Cameron Roberts had put her OHS squad together by pulling from existing agencies, which made sense. Secret Service, FBI, civilian contractors—and Valerie? No Last Name Valerie had come from someplace deep and dark. Another story there.

  As much as Dana wanted to stay and drag Steph away from Emory, she was working. She walked over to Blair. “I hear we’re heading for the mountains.”

  Blair smiled. “At last.”

  “Looks like you’ve picked up a lot of new people.”

  “Just some friends who dropped by.” Blair pointed to the muffins. “Have something to eat.”

  “Thanks.” Dana sat down, poured a cup of coffee, and balanced a blueberry muffin on a napkin on her knee. “Where did you come by the private guys?”

  “They work for a good friend of ours,” Blair said. “You’ll meet her in Colorado. Tanner Whitley.”

  “Why do I know the name?” Dana frowned, then checked out Steph, who was still in animated conversation with Emory and the other two guys in black. “Whitley as in the Whitley Corp?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I heard they might be helping out with personnel and technical support over in the desert,” Dana said casually.

  Blair glanced at Diane, who raised her eyebrows as if to say she had no idea and if she did, she wouldn’t admit it. “Tanner has a lot of business interests I don’t know about.”

  “Tanner Whitley. She’s the daughter, right? The one who inherited the whole Whitley empire?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Really,” Dana said, her interest escalating. No wonder the president’s daughter appeared to have civilian contractors as part of her security team. Irregular, for sure. But it would explain why they were trusted. The real question was, why weren’t regular agents being used if Blair needed more security? Something had happened to cast doubt on the usual channels, and Dana was willing to bet it all went back to Boston, or maybe even before that. Whatever had gone down, Cameron Roberts and Paula Stark were distrustful of agents from inside the system. Jesus. What the hell was going on?

  “So you all know each other?” Dana asked.

  “Tanner and Diane and I have been friends forever,” Blair said.

  Diane Bleeker laughed. “Not exactly forever, Blair darling, but close enough.”


  Diane’s blond hair swirled elegantly around her long, graceful neck, and in her casual slacks and black cashmere pullover, she looked younger than Dana had first thought. She realized they’d all probably been in school together. She sipped her coffee. “That must have been fun—the three of you in school together.”

  “Well, Blair and Tanner were a little on the wild side,” Diane said self-righteously. “I was the model of decorum.”

  Blair snorted. “God, what an awful liar.”

  “Oh, all right,” Diane said, nudging Blair’s calf with her toe. “We all had our moments. But just look at us now. Tanner swore she never wanted the business. Never intended to settle down.” Diane shook her head “Now she’s married, to a career naval officer of all things, and you’re about to make a big public splash with a Fed.” She took Blair’s hand. “What a ride.”

  Blair gave Diane an affectionate look. “And it’s not over by a long shot.”

  Dana was struck once more by the clear and unself-conscious tenderness between the two women. Throw in Tanner Whitley and there had to be a great sidebar there, but the story was none of her business, and no one else’s either. She averted her gaze just in time to see Steph run her hand down the outside of Emory’s arm and briefly squeeze Emory’s hand.

  “Who is she, exactly?” Dana asked before she could stop herself.

  “Besides yummy, you mean?” Diane replied, her tone teasing.

  Dana hoped she wasn’t glowering.

  “She works for Tanner,” Blair repeated. “And she’s a friend.”

  A very good friend, at least of Emory’s from the looks of it. Dana couldn’t ever really recall being jealous before. Not the way she felt right now. Like she wanted to physically put herself between Steph and Emory and make some macho statement about ownership and beat her chest like an idiot. Emory would probably think she’d lost her mind. She probably had.