by Radclyffe
Blair raked a hand through her hair and smiled. "Hi, Jamie. How are you?"
"Terrific. Really looking forward to your show." Jamie directed the young man with her toward the canvases. "Take the smaller ones last, Dick. Thanks."
Within a matter of minutes, the paintings, the culmination of a year's work, were gone. As Diane waved goodbye, Blair surveyed the nearly empty studio with a conflicting mixture of trepidation and anticipation. Some critical part of her soul was about to be exposed, and she could no longer protect, defend, or explain that part of herself. Her art would have to speak for itself. Why am I doing this? I'd be just as happy painting even if my canvases never left this room. For one insane moment, she wanted to follow Diane out to the elevator and tell her to bring the paintings back.
"You okay?"
"No," Blair snapped, jerking around to face Cam. "I can't believe I'm doing this. I don't even want to do this." She saw the surprise in Cam's face at the heat in her voice, and the fire instantly left her eyes. She leaned her hips against the back of the sofa and shook her head. "God, I'm being a bitch. Sorry."
"It's all right," Cam said as she walked over to her lover. "This last week has been hell."
Blair ran her fingers along the edge of Cam's silk lapels, then smoothed her palms over Cam's chest beneath the jacket. Her hand brushed the leather strap that crossed Cam's left breast to the weapon harness snugged beneath her arm. "It hasn't been a picnic for you either." She fingered the leather as she rested her forehead against Cam's shoulder and closed her eyes. "I thought after the news that I'm BRCA-negative I'd feel better, but I'm still all churned up inside."
Cam softly caressed Blair's neck before kneading the tight muscles in her shoulders. "It has to have brought up a lot of painful memories for you. That, and the surgery, and the pressure to get things ready for the show—no wonder you're a bit..." She stopped, searching for an appropriate word.
"Bitchy?" Blair suggested with a faint laugh.
"Well, that might be one term for it." Cam grinned.
"Okay, fair enough. But what about you?" Blair tapped Cam's chin with a fingertip. "What's bugging you?"
"Me?"
"Yes, Cameron. You. You're never restless, but every time you're up here you've been wearing a path in front of my windows."
"Uh," Cam flushed.
"What?"
"I'm nervous about this weekend."
Blair blinked. "Why?"
"Blair." Cam shook her head in fond exasperation. "I'm about to spend the weekend with my lover in the company of her father. For the first time. And oh, by the way-—her father happens to be the president of the United States. Don't you think that entitles me to be a little bit nervous?"
Delighted, Blair laughed. "I can't believe it. That is so cute."
"Cut it out," Cam growled just before she dipped her head and unceremoniously bit Blair's neck.
Blair arched her head back. "Mmm, now that's more like it."
"Well, since we're leaving in a few hours, that's about all we're going to have time for."
"Yes," Blair murmured, "but now that I don't have to worry about my health or my work, I can concentrate on what I've been missing." Deftly, she opened the top two buttons on Cam's shirt and slid her hand inside. Fingers drifting over the top of Cam's breast, she noted in a husky voice, "And that, Commander, would be you."
Cam slapped her palm down over Blair's hand, pinning it to her chest. "I have absolutely no intention of having sex with you if your father is anywhere in the vicinity."
"Well,'" Blair danced her fingers lower to stroke Cam's nipple, purring faintly when she felt it hardening beneath her touch, "it's a big compound."
Gasping, Cam protested, "Not big enough."
"So you say."
0700 2 September 2001
Naked, Cam rested her butt against the sink in the spacious bathroom and watched Blair towel dry. She noted with satisfaction that her lover's breast was barely swollen now. "How's it feel?"
"Itchy. I wish the rest of the goddamn stitches would fall out."
"You're a terrible patient."
Blair cocked an eyebrow. "Look who's talking. As I recall, you had second-degree burns on your entire arm and shoulder and—"
Cam held up both hands in surrender. "Okay. Okay. You win." Laughing, she took a step closer and cupped her palm beneath Blair's breast, lifting it gently to peer at the suture line. "It looks really good. Just a faint line. Do you think I should—"
"Darling," Blair interrupted quietly. "That's my breast you're holding up for inspection."
"Is it?" Cam inquired, raising her head. The corner of her mouth lifted. "I hadn't noticed that."
Blair tightened inside as her nipple tightened beneath Cam's thumb. "My father and six Secret Service agents are waiting for us to go jogging. I'm not going to be able to do that if I get any more aroused."
"Oops." Eyes twinkling, Cam lowered her head and kissed Blair's nipple. At her lover's swift gasp, she chuckled and stepped out of reach before Blair could do damage. "I'd better get dressed."
"You'd better, because I don't care if the Joint Chiefs of Staff are on the other side of that bedroom door, I'm not waiting much longer."
Cam grabbed for the shorts, T-shirt, and jog bra that lay on the counter and retreated to the other side of the bedroom, pulling on clothes as she moved. Since their arrival, they'd spent most of their time in the president's company. He still worked for part of each day, but they'd taken their meals with him, worked out with him in the mornings, and spent the evenings together relaxing in the entertainment center. Although she and Blair shared a bedroom and a bed, they hadn't made love in the two nights they'd been at Camp David. In truth, both of them had been emotionally and physically exhausted, and it had been enough just to hold each other safe while they slept.
"Tell me you 're not ready," Blair said as she sat on the side of the bed to lace her running shoes.
There were some things that Cam would not tease about. She knelt by Blair's side and rested her hand on Blair's bare thigh. Her expression completely serious, she said softly, "I missed you so much this week. Holding you at night has been so good."
"Cam—"
"But," Cam interrupted gently, tracing her fingertips lightly up and down Blair's leg, "I'm about ready to burst."
Blair's brilliant smile flashed. "Oh, good. That's fine, then." She leaned down and kissed Cam swiftly on the mouth, then sidestepped her kneeling lover and rose agilely to her feet. "Come on, darling. Let's not keep the president waiting."
Laughing, Cam followed her lover from the guest room and down the hall toward the main living area. As she did automatically several times a day, she mentally reviewed Blair's upcoming itinerary. The president's daughter had no trips scheduled for two months, and the gallery showing was her only public outing for several weeks. That meant they were facing a relatively quiet period. Thank God. We all need a bit of a break.
"Good morning," the president called heartily. "You two ready to go?"
"Yes sir," Cam replied, falling into step beside the president on the sidewalk in front of the compound. Blair dropped back a pace to run beside Deborah Kling, the only female agent on her father's first team and an old friend of Blair's.
As the group moved off onto a dirt path that led into the woods surrounding the compound, the president asked, "What are your long-term plans, Cam?"
"Sir?"
"Are you a career agent, or are you considering moving into the private sector at some point in the future?"
"I haven't really given it much thought, sir," Cam replied, glancing swiftly over her shoulder in Blair's direction. Her lover's attention was on something the Secret Service agent beside her was saying. "For the duration, sir, I don't plan on making any changes."
"I take that to mean the duration of my tenure?"
Cam nodded.
"Very diplomatic of you not to stipulate a time frame on that."
"I have every confidence that you wil
l be reelected-—"
Laughing, Andrew Powell interrupted. "We'll worry about that when we need to. I don't imagine, however, that Blair will want you to continue any longer than necessary in this particular line of work."
His tone was entirely conversational, and Cam didn't get the impression that he was probing for anything personal regarding her lover. Nevertheless, she replied neutrally, "We haven't talked about it, but she's sacrificed enough for the public welfare. I won't ask her to do it indefinitely."
"You mean she's sacrificed for my career, don't you?"
"Sir." Cam flushed. "I certainly meant no disresp—"
"It's Andrew, remember? And I know you didn't, Cam. And you need never apologize to me for loving my daughter."
Cam turned her head and met the president's gaze steadily. "I never would, sir."
The president grinned, and for an instant, he looked much younger. "I'm very glad you came this weekend, Cam."
"Yes, sir. So am I."
1100 02Sep01
Report - Strike Team Three. Departure confirmed: Washington Dulles International Airport. American Airlines Flight 77. Destination: Los Angeles. Target: Washington/DC. Tickets purchased, Internet credit card sale. Team en route by automobile to Silver Spring, Maryland.
Back in their room, Blair stripped out of her T-shirt and shorts. She reached for her bra and winced.
Instantly by her side, Cam asked, "Did you pull something?"
"No, it's all right," Blair said gently. "I think that problem stitch just got snagged."
Carefully, Cam eased the garment away from Blair's breast and drew it up over her head. After dropping the garment onto the bed, she turned her attention back to the incision. "Seems okay."
"I don't know," Blair mused. "I think you might need to kiss it and make it better."
"How much time do we have?"
"Time enough."
Cam pushed down her running shorts and kicked them off, then pulled her T-shirt and bra off in one motion. "Shower?"
Blair stepped close to her, the tips of her breasts just brushing Cam's. Her nipples hardened instantly but there was no pain, only the heavy ache of desire. "That sounds like a very good place to start."
The water, just barely warm, was cool against Blair's overheated skin. She rested her shoulders against the slick tile and looked down at Cam, who knelt between her spread thighs. Steadying herself with the palm of her left hand against the wall, Blair teased the wet black strands of her lover's hair through her fingers while anticipation coalesced like a clenched hand in the pit of her stomach. Lids nearly closed, she arched her neck, choking on a groan as Cam's teeth tugged at the gold ring piercing her navel. Cam's face swam before her eyes, her vision blurring with the rush of desire bursting inside her head.
"Put your lips on me," Blair whispered, but her words were lost in the rush of water beating down around them. She tensed as Cam's fingers spread wide on the inside of her legs, opening her. "Please...suck me." But the plea faded on a sob as her breath fled. She lifted her hips and tightened her grip in Cam's hair, sliding her sex urgently against her lover's cheek. "Oh God, I need your mouth." But Cam only turned her head away and licked the soft skin high on the inside of Blair's trembling thigh.
The ache inside verged on pain, and when the muscles in her stomach spasmed, jerking her forward, nearly bending her double, Blair gave a desperate cry. She drove both hands into Cam's hair and pulled Cam's face to her, forcing her lover's mouth against her clitoris. "Please...baby, please."
Cam wrapped one arm around Blair's thighs and took her the way she needed to be taken, using her tongue and her teeth and her lips to fire the blood and ignite the nerve endings that throbbed with wild desperation beneath her mouth. She felt Blair's legs tighten and her clitoris swell and knew she was coming. Only then did she push her fingers inside, driving her to a second climax before the first had peaked. When Blair moaned and began to sag down the wall, Cam rose, her hand still deep within, and pulled Blair against her body, preventing her from falling.
"Hold me, hold me," Blair sobbed into Cam's neck.
"I will never let you go," Cam whispered fiercely. Believing, Blair surrendered to her lover's tender care.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
0600 05Sep01
Report: Strike Team Four. Departure confirmed: United Airlines Flight 93 from Newark. Destination: San Francisco. Target: Washington, DC. Tickets purchased at Baltimore/ Washington International Airport, cash transaction.
0700 06Sep01
Alone in an austere office in his rustic mountain compound, General Matheson logged on to the Internet and brought up a site featuring classic cars. He scrolled through the menus to a page displaying a '57 Mercury Cruiser and moved his cursor over the image until he found an html link, which he clicked to open.
Final communique. Four teams assembled and dispatched: East Coast targets 1-4 only. Teams five and six currently deactivated. Date confirmed: 0900 HSept2001. Glory to the righteous.
Matheson grunted and shrugged away a flicker of apprehension. There was no turning back now, even had he wanted to. These men were zealots and would not be deterred. They would strike, and he and his compatriots would take advantage of the shock and chaos to make their own voices heard. There had never been a better time for the Patriot mission than the present. With certain determination he reached for his cell phone and punched in a familiar number. The call was answered at once.
"Hello, Agent," Matheson said quietly. "You are green-lighted. Your team will assemble tomorrow."
"Operation confirmed?"
"0900.9-11."
"Very well." A few seconds of silence ensued. "I will assume command of the strike team. It's best if we terminate further communications.'"
Matheson hesitated, considering his options and the likelihood of repercussions if any part of the mission failed. It was imperative that he protect his organization to ensure the future of the freedom movement. "Agreed. Good luck and Godspeed."
0515 7 September 2001
Cam jerked fully awake at the first ring of the phone. She pulled her cell off the bedside table and sat up, opening the phone with one hand and flipping the covers back with the other. Her feet touched the floor and she stood, saying succinctly, "Roberts."
A second later, she sat back down on the edge of the bed. "No problem, Tom. What can I do for you?... Jesus, you're kidding...No, I understand...What do you want from my end?"
Listening intently, she made a mental list of things she needed to do. "Right. I'll take care of it." She laughed. "No, they certainly don't make it easy."
Terminating the call, she checked the clock. She had enough time to get in a run before the morning briefing. She was tired; she never slept well when she didn't sleep with Blair. And Blair had a busy weekend coming up, which meant more work for the team and more worry for her. She thought about the surprise call she'd just received from Washington and shook her head. More complications she didn't need.
"Christ. What a job."
0700 7 September 2001
"Good morning, everyone," Cam said briskly as she walked to the head of the table. "The itinerary for the weekend remains unchanged. Tonight at 2000 hours, Egret has the private opening at the Bleeker Gallery. Tomorrow evening at 2100 hours, the general showing. There will, however, be a change in the shift assignments for this evening. Please see Mac at 0900 hours for further details."
Mac straightened nearly imperceptibly, but his expression remained neutral. He hadn't been advised of any changes.
"In addition to the personal guest list, Egret has agreed to Ms. Bleeker's request that a small number of art dealers also attend the pre-show this evening." It wasn't unusual for dealers who represented wealthy clients or large consortiums to be allowed to preview the works before the gallery opened a show for general viewing. She looked at Mac. "Do you have those background checks completed?"
"I ran those," Cynthia Parker responded. She passed out information packets to each agent
. "Bios and photos. Nothing tipped a flag."
"Good," Cam replied, flipping the folder open. She'd seen the list of names and had recognized two whom she'd met at her mother's shows over the years. "Just make certain you are all familiar with the—" she paused, staring at one image, "uh...the photographs of the dealers." Jesus Christ. The name below the photo read Valerie Ross. Carefully, she pressed her fingertips to the desktop to still the faint trembling. "Everyone else on the guest list should already be familiar to you."
Cam completed the rest of the briefing on autopilot and, when she'd finished, said quietly to Mac, "Wait a minute, will you, Mac?"
"Certainly, Commander."
Once they were alone, Cam pulled out the chair at the head of the table and settled into it, working not to allow her weariness to show. "I need you to rearrange the shift assignments for this evening. We need the entire team deployed."
"The whole team, Commander?"
"Yes." She rubbed at the headache beginning to form between her eyes. "Bring up the schematics of the area for a two-block radius, would you."
Without another word, Mac plugged a video cable into his laptop and clicked an icon on the desktop. A detailed street map appeared on the wall screen at the opposite end of the conference room. Cam got up and walked to it, pulling a slim laser pointer from her inside breast pocket. "Call Captain Landers and inform her that we'll need vehicular and foot patrols here, here, and...here."
"Got it," he replied, although he didn't actually understand the order at all. Captain Stacy Landers was the NYPD security liaison with Egret's team, but local law enforcement was usually only deployed for large-scale public outings.
"Now let me see the gallery building, street level."
A second passed, and then a blueprint of the building that housed the Bieeker Gallery appeared. Front, rear, and side entrances were denoted by red semicircles with the distance in feet to the nearest street or alleyway marked in bright yellow numerals. On the interior of the structure, the rooms and hallways, as well as the heating ducts and gas, water, and electrical conduits, were all marked in distinguishing colors. "Put two people each here, here, and here," Cam instructed, again pinpointing the areas with the tiny bright red laser dot.
