Code of Honor

by Radclyffe

  A few minutes later, Jones walked in, strode to the gray metal cabinet, unlocked it, and removed a field pack. She tossed it to Cam. “You should know what to do with this. Go ahead.”

  “Lie down,” Cam said to Dunbar, who looked as if she was going to resist. “Go ahead. We need to get this cleaned up before you get infected.”

  Dunbar lay back against the thin pillow, wincing as she angled onto her right side so the wounded shoulder was elevated. Cam opened the field pack on top of the plain metal table that stood between the two beds. The guard kept her weapon trained on her while she worked. Jones stood at the foot of Dunbar’s bed, her arms crossed, watching. Cam cut Dunbar’s shirt up to her shoulder and peeled it back from the wound.

  “Do you have any local anesthetic?” Cam asked.

  “If we did, I wouldn’t waste it on her.”

  “Go ahead,” Dunbar said, the muscles around her mouth tight with strain. “I’ll be fine.”

  Cam opened the Betadine pack and pulled out the swabs. “I’m sorry.”

  Dunbar’s jaw clenched as Cam carefully cleansed the entrance and exit wounds, but she didn’t make a sound. Cam paused, giving Dunbar time to breathe. “I’ll have to clean inside the track to make sure there’s no foreign material from your clothes in the wound.”

  “I know.”

  Cam soaked the last swab in the remainder of the antiseptic and carefully worked it into the wound. Dunbar went rigid, her neck arching, sweat trickling down her temples into her dark auburn hair. Finished, Cam discarded the swabs, applied clean gauze, and wrapped a circular bandage around Dunbar’s upper arm. She leaned back on her heels and looked at Jones. “What about antibiotics?”

  “Maybe, if you cooperate,” Jones said.

  Cam rose. “What do you want?”

  “The name of someone with the power to make decisions and get me what I want. Someone who isn’t afraid to break rules.”

  Cam almost smiled. “Lucinda Washburn.”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  “Do you think I should address same-sex marriage in Ohio?” Andrew Powell leaned back in his leather desk chair behind the broad walnut desk in the Oval Office.

  Blair perched on an antique sofa, a cup of coffee steaming beside her. The valet had brought sandwiches, but she didn’t have much of an appetite. She would rather have been at home, waiting for Cam to call, but when her father had asked her to come by during one of his rare free hours, she’d come. “I think you should if they raise the point. Otherwise, this early in the campaign, you should probably concentrate on the major issues—healthcare, the budget, and jobs.”

  “You don’t think it’s a major issue?” His tone wasn’t challenging, just curious.

  “It is to me and others who will be affected by the decision, but for the average voter, no. They don’t really think about the things that don’t affect them personally, and right now, what affects them is their paycheck, the cost and availability of healthcare, and their economic future.”

  “And the war?”

  “Same issues—the war impacts all those things, but if you can keep the focus on the positives here at home, you’ll avoid the topics that end up being a banner for the other side to wave while they avoid the real problems we face in the next four and a half years.”

  Andrew nodded. “I think you’re right, although sometimes it frustrates—” His phone rang, signaling that his secretary needed to speak with him. She rarely interrupted him and never did when he was with his daughter, unless it was urgent. Frowning, he picked up the phone. “Yes, Kelly. Of course. Tell her to come right in.”

  He hung up, still frowning.

  “Should I go?” Blair asked, assuming he’d received some notice of a new emergency.

  “No, it’s Lucinda. She asked that you stay.”

  “Me?” Blair said, the uneasy churning she’d had in her stomach all day blooming into roiling anxiety. “Did she say why?”

  “No, but she’ll be here any second—”

  A loud knock reverberated on the door as it opened, and the secretary hurriedly stepped aside, allowing Lucinda Washburn to pass.

  “Thank you, Kelly,” Andrew said, when his secretary looked to him with a question in her eyes. “We’ve got this now.”

  Dutifully, the secretary closed the doors. Lucinda strode toward them, her eyes glittering blue chips of ice.

  “What is it?” Blair said, holding onto her delicate china cup as if it were an anchor.

  “I just got a call on my direct line. A woman claiming to have taken Cameron hostage—”

  Blair knew Lucinda was speaking, but the words were indecipherable. All she heard was the roar of the ocean pounding in her head. From deep inside, rage welled up like a flaming geyser while a glacier carved its way through her heart. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “A woman said Cam had given her my number—that she was holding Cam captive.”

  “What does she want?” Blair said, her voice sounding eerily steady in her own ears. Her heart pounded so loudly she was surprised the other two couldn’t hear it.

  “She wants to trade for Jennifer Pattee.”

  “Get Averill in here and call the bureau chief.” Powell sat rigid behind his desk, his palms flat on his blotter, his jaw a study in stone.

  Lucinda took a slow breath. “I would advise against that, Mr. President.”

  Andrew’s brows rose. “Why?”

  Lucinda glanced at Blair. “Give us a minute?”

  Blair carefully set her cup on the saucer beside her, pleased when it did not rattle, wondering how it was that electricity burned through her nerves but her hands did not shake. She rose on legs she could not feel. “You don’t discuss Cameron without me here. Say what you have to say, Luce.”

  “We may want to make decisions that can go no further than this room. I don’t believe involving any other agencies is wise.”

  “How do you intend to get her back if we don’t bring in the FBI and Homeland?” Blair said.

  “We have a few options, but if we have to discuss the possibility of a trade, we don’t want a record—”

  “No,” Blair said. “No trade. You know as well as I do that that won’t ensure Cameron’s safety. And”—she had to stop to swallow the shards of glass that slashed at her throat—“Cam would never forgive any of us for doing that.”

  “Do you care, as long as she’s safe?” her father asked gently.

  Blair saw sympathy and what might be fear in his eyes. Her father was never afraid—even when she was young and her mother had been dying, he’d been a rock. The fear was for her suffering, she knew, and she let him see she was not going to break. “Cameron knows that I know what’s important to her. She trusts me to know what matters. We don’t compromise her. Jennifer Pattee stays where Cam put her.”

  “Do you know what Cam was doing out there?” Lucinda asked.

  “Not precisely. She doesn’t discuss these things with me in detail.” Blair tried to think. It was so hard when terror ate at the edges of her mind. Cam—someone was holding her by force. Someone who would hurt her, who wanted to hurt them all. She wished for a gun. She wished for a target for her fury. She wished to hurt those who would hurt Cam and knew that was not what Cam needed. She had to think. “She had a contact who was going to set up a meet for her with some undercover agents. She was looking at the militia—she was fairly sure Pattee had ties to them, Jones too. Maybe she talked to Wes when they were in Atlanta. She used her cell phone, so I’m not sure who she called—”

  “I can get someone to access her calls,” Lucinda said.

  “You can?”

  Lucinda shrugged. “Let’s keep that between the three of us.”

  “Do that,” the president said.

  “All right,” Lucinda said. “As soon as I have the names of Cam’s contacts, I’ll make inquiries personally and find out who she was meeting.”

  “How long?” Blair asked.

  “I should be able to track her calls
—”

  “No,” said Blair sharply. “How long did they give us to deliver Pattee?”

  “Twelve hours to make arrangements to transport the prisoner.” Lucinda’s fists tightened. “They’ll call me again for the details tomorrow at zero six thirty their time.”

  “And if we say no?” Blair asked.

  “They didn’t say—”

  “Luce,” Blair said angrily, “you can’t protect me from this. She’s my wife.”

  Lucinda’s expression softened. “I know, sweetheart. I know. We don’t know what they’ll do, and wondering, imagining, won’t help Cam. All we can do is our best to stop them. Let that be enough.”

  “We’ll stop them,” Blair said, “but it won’t be enough. It won’t be enough until someone pays.”

  *

  Loren rode past the Timberwolf Bar and Grill, slowing slightly as her headlights swept the narrow lot in front of the building. A new black Pathfinder sat next to Sky’s blue rental car. The tavern’s roadside sign was dark, and no lights showed other than a flickering security bulb on one corner of the run-down building that threw an uneven cone of light in the direction of the road. The building appeared empty and deserted. On her return trip, nothing had changed, and she pulled beside Sky’s car, cut the engine, and sat in the darkness. She listened for signs of life and heard nothing—no music, no rumble of voices, no clang and clatter to indicate the building was occupied. And yet, the vehicles suggested someone should be around. Her every sense screamed trouble.

  She climbed off her bike and pulled her Glock from the inside pocket of her leather jacket, held it down to her side, and climbed up onto the wooden porch. Keeping close to the face of the building, she sidled up to the nearest window and took a quick look inside. A faint light above the counter coming from a beer sign revealed nothing but an empty room. She tried the front door and it opened. Cautiously, she pushed it wide and ducked low into the room, keeping her back toward the wall and fanning the space with her weapon. Nothing.

  A sign indicated restrooms at the far end of the room, and she worked her way in that direction. She peeked into the men’s room—single stall, the door open, empty. Same for the women’s room. The only other door was behind the bar, probably leading to the kitchen. The room beyond was dark. Once more, she pushed the door open and went in low, making herself as small a target as possible. The place was small, crowded with appliances and a few boxes of supplies, and smelled like old grease and burnt coffee. It was also empty, except for the body lying on the floor in the moonlight just inside the back door. She stepped over him, checked out the back door, and saw nothing other than a pickup truck. The two of them were alone. She knelt down and felt for a pulse. The faint ripple in his carotid artery told her he wasn’t dead, just unconscious. She found a dish towel on the counter, ran it under cold water, wrung it out, and placed it on the back of his neck. A few seconds later, he stirred and moaned.

  “Just hold still,” Loren said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  The man on the floor didn’t move but his eyelids flickered. “You the one who put me down here?”

  “No. I’m looking for a redhead who came in earlier, probably met someone.”

  “Don’t remember much,” he muttered.

  “Are you hurt anywhere besides your head?”

  “Not’s I can tell. Somebody hit me from behind, I guess. Came around once before, head hurt, went back to sleep.”

  “You’ve probably got a concussion. I’ll call for an ambulance in a minute.”

  “No,” he said with surprising strength. “Don’t do that. I’ll be all right.”

  “You might be hurt worse than you think.”

  “I’ve been hurt more than this before. Help me sit up.”

  Loren put her Glock back in her pocket, got her hands under his arms, and helped him sit up with his back against the counter. She found a light switch by the stove and turned it on. He blinked, focused on her.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “Just somebody looking for a friend.”

  “Nobody out there in the other room?”

  She shook her head.

  “Can’t help you any. Didn’t see anything.”

  “Hear anything?”

  He frowned. “Like I said, I was kind of in and out. I think I dreamed there was a gunshot.” He touched his chest as if to see if he was bleeding. “Guess it was a dream.”

  “Didn’t see anyone?”

  “Door opened behind me while I was getting coffee. Before I could turn, somebody hit me.”

  Ambush, Loren thought. Sky’s partner had set her up, or someone had set him up to get to Sky. She needed to talk to him, find out who else knew about this meet. Both Sky and the Homeland Security agent were missing. There was only one conclusion. Someone had taken them by force.

  “I’m going to check the other room.”

  “Yeah, I’ll just stay here.”

  She found a light switch next to the door and hit the overhead lights in the bar. An overturned chair she hadn’t seen in the dark lay next to a table by the windows. An irregular stain a foot in diameter marred the floor next to it, and she crouched down to look. She knew before she touched it what she’d find. Blood.

  One of them had been hurt, fairly severely, and they were both gone. A storm of anger and self-recrimination surged through her. Sky was in trouble, and Loren should have been there. She’d played this all wrong, and now Sky was paying the price. She had to find her before the price became too much to pay.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  “Where are you going?” Blair’s father asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Blair said. She stifled the urge to run—she needed some air, some space, some room to collect herself. Her mind was whirling as if she might fragment into a thousand jagged shards of glass at any second. “Probably home. I need to move around, I can’t just sit here.”

  “But Luce might find—”

  “Luce will call me when she gets anything,” Blair said. Inactivity was going to drive her mad. And she knew if she stayed, her father might feel compelled to do something he shouldn’t do. She couldn’t put him in the position of violating national policy because of who she was. But she couldn’t stand by and do nothing, and short of negotiating with the terrorists for Cam’s release, there was nothing that she considered beyond possibility. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to do anything crazy.”

  He smiled sadly. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

  “I want her back. I don’t care what it takes, and I’m not going to talk about it with you.”

  “I won’t ask you to. But I want a promise.”

  “If I can.”

  “Don’t trade yourself for her.”

  Blair smiled wanly. “I suppose I might consider that, if I didn’t know how much it would piss her off.”

  “She loves you. So do I.” He rubbed his face. “How can I be the most powerful man in the world and not be able to help my own daughter?”

  “Because being the president means you have to put the personal aside.”

  “I’m sorry. For this—for all the times—”

  “Don’t. You don’t have to apologize for anything. It hasn’t always been what I wanted, but I never wanted you to change anything. I still don’t.”

  He studied her for a long time, as if seeing her for the first time. “I love you, and you’ve always made me proud.”

  “I love you too. And you’ve always made me proud.”

  Blair grabbed her coat, left the Oval Office, and walked out of the White House alone. As soon as she reached the street, she made a call. “I need to talk to Valerie. Right away.”

  “All right.” Diane must have heard the urgency in her voice. She didn’t ask anything at all. “Is this number all right for her to call?”

  “Yes. But tell her it’s a private matter.”

  “I will. Do you need me to do anything?”

  “I don’t know. I guess, just be around.”
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  “Sweetie, for you, I’m always around. I love you, stay safe.”

  “I will.” Blair walked a few more blocks and then hailed a cab. She felt as if she were turning to stone inside, as if all her emotions were solidifying into hard edges and brittle planes. If her anger were a blade, the world around her would be a bloodbath. And she wouldn’t care.

  *

  Loren checked to make sure the tavern owner was stable and accepted he didn’t want her to call for help. Outside, she straddled her bike and punched in the number she’d never used—her emergency backup number, the one she was supposed to call if Sky didn’t answer. She got voice mail, identified herself, and disconnected. Five minutes later her phone rang.

  “This is Dan Bussy. What do you need?”

  “I need to know why you picked the Timberwolf for Sky’s meeting.”

  “I…I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t care if you understand or not. Who gave you the name of the place?” If she’d been standing in front of him, she’d have had her hands around his throat. He was the weak link—he had to be.

  “Look, let me talk to Sky.”

  “I’d really like to do that, but she’s not available right now.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Unless you want me to come down there looking for you, you’ll answer my questions. And I promise I won’t ask nicely if I have to find you.”

  “I don’t answer to you.”

  “You do now, or I’m going to start making calls to people you might not want me to be talking to.”

  “Look, I don’t know what’s going on there, and I haven’t much to tell you. Sky needed backup, and I arranged for it.”

  Loren went cold. “Backup. Who knew?”

  “Just the local sheriff. And they didn’t know who she was—”