Honor Bound

by Radclyffe

  “This is Special Agent Renee Savard,” Patrick Doyle said officiously, indicating the woman with him. “She’ll be assigned as personal guard to Egret until further notice.”

  Cam sensed Stark stiffen next to her. She commended her restraint but expected no less of her team. As she regarded Doyle, she was happy to see that he was beginning to perspire. Her voice was totally even in response.

  “Agent Doyle, I already have a full complement of experienced agents. Agent Stark is currently functioning as Egret’s primary guard. I don’t need anyone else.”

  Mac kept his mouth shut, watching the volleys flow back and forth across the table between the two senior agents. It had been like this for the last thirty minutes, ever since SAC Doyle had arrived to inform the commander about the reorganization of Egret’s security detail. It was clear that Doyle didn’t have carte blanche from the security director in DC, or he'd just have walked in and taken command. But he was trying to bully his way to the top anyway. The commander had been cool, composed, and unyielding as stone. She hadn’t given one inch, and Doyle was starting to crack. The guy clearly wasn’t used to playing hardball.

  “Look, Roberts,” Doyle grated, his fists clenched on the stack of folders in front of him, “I can’t run the task force effectively without an inside agent.”

  “As I understand it, you’ve been running it for months without one,” Cam observed mildly. She waited a beat. “Although, as you say, not particularly effectively.”

  She was still incensed that he’d had the arrogance to keep the Secret Service on the outside when Blair was in imminent danger. On the other hand, she needed his intelligence as much as he needed her access. Her game, her rules, however.

  “I’ll be happy to have Agent Savard come on board as a liaison. She cannot, however, function as Egret’s security. She’s not trained for it, and I don’t know her.”

  Doyle flushed. Next to him, the striking coffee-skinned woman lifted piercing blue eyes to Cam’s, a flicker of anger hardening her gaze. Cam continued, unperturbed.

  “In return, I expect daily briefings pertaining to any new information you might have.”

  “Are you suggesting that an FBI agent can’t be trusted to secure the president’s daughter?” Doyle demanded, half rising from his seat while handily ignoring the issue of shared intelligence.

  Cam stood, gathering her papers. “I don’t know how an FBI agent would react if Egret’s life was at stake. I do know how every one of my people would respond.” She glanced at Doyle and continued casually, “This isn’t the time for on-the-job training.”

  “With respect, Commander,” Renee Savard said, “I am fully prepared to assume responsibility for Egret’s safety. I would like the opportunity to carry out my assignment.”

  Cam studied her, impressed by her composure when it was clear that she was insulted. Still, this wasn’t about personal feelings. This was about the willingness of one person to die for another. Secret Service agents were carefully screened and extensively tested to determine their psychological willingness to sacrifice themselves for an individual or, in many cases, simply an ideology. For better or worse, this was what it took to do the job. The FBI and the Secret Service were not interchangeable, and she would not relax her requirements now, when the possibility of ultimate sacrifice was more than probable.

  “Your request is duly noted, Agent. However, Agent Stark is primary on Egret’s detail. If she can find a way for you to assist her, that will work. And that’s the best I can do for you.”

  She turned around and walked out, leaving the two Secret Service agents and the two FBI agents measuring one another across the expanse of the conference table.

  “I want a close-up look at your surveillance system and an overview of your tactical routines,” Doyle demanded of Mac, trying to regain some semblance of dominance. If he couldn’t get what he wanted from the hard-ass lead agent, he’d get it from someone else.

  Mac stood politely, taking a page from his commander’s book. “I can show you the relay station and the closed-circuit monitors. Right this way.”

  He ignored Doyle’s hard stare and obvious displeasure. He wasn’t going to offer any information on their video camera placement, building motion sensors, advance site preparation protocols, or anything else without the commander’s clearance.

  The men walked out, leaving Stark and Savard regarding one another in silence. Stark considered any number of options, including her preference, which was to stick Savard in the control room with Mac. She was still smarting that she’d been the object of an internal FBI review and had actually been considered a suspect in the shooting that almost killed her commander. She was also struggling with her own guilt over the fact that she had allowed Egret to unwittingly place herself in danger by eluding their surveillance. If to no one other than herself, she needed to make amends, and she wasn’t going to miss her opportunity to do that. I won’t take any interference from the FBI.

  “I’m not trying to take your job,” Savard said, surprising Stark with her bluntness. “I’m just trying to do mine.”

  Blushing profusely, Stark wished that she were better at masking her emotions. She envied the commander her ability to keep all of her feelings inside, something she had not yet learned to do.

  She regarded her counterpart steadily, thinking that Savard didn’t quite fit the standard FBI mold. Indeed, she wore the requisite navy blue jacket and slacks, with a tailored pale blue shirt and the hint of a bulge over her left hip where her weapon was holstered. Cross draw, Stark thought absently. And she appeared fit and confident, but Stark would’ve expected that as well.

  Less expected was the challenge in her intense blue eyes that was surprisingly without malice. It was the kind of dare offered by a worthy opponent in a contest, not by a rival seeking to harm. Stark also couldn’t help but notice that Savard was beautiful—beautiful in the way that cover models were beautiful—with elegant cheekbones and an exotic expression that suggested the Islands lingered somewhere in her background.

  Stark tried not to think about that as she answered, “My job is to safeguard the president’s daughter. I’m not sure what your job is supposed to be.”

  “My job is to apprehend Loverboy. Since Egret is what we have in common, I suggest we try to work together.”

  “I already have a partner,” Stark said, but her resistance was wavering. It was hard not to respond to Renee Savard’s compelling directness. “But there’s room for a third,” she finally relented, “as long as you don’t interfere with me doing my job.”

  Renee Savard studied her opposite number. She envied Paula Stark. It was clear that her formidable commander respected her abilities and awarded her with the appropriate responsibility. She wished she could expect the same from Patrick Doyle, but she certainly didn’t count on it. She had to admit, she also liked the way the dark-haired, feisty young agent tilted her chin in a faintly aggressive posture as she staked out her territory. Under other circumstances, she might have considered her cute.

  “That seems fair to me.” Savard stood and extended her hand across the table. “Looking forward to working with you, Agent Stark.”

  “Is Egret in the Aerie?” Cam asked Jeremy Finch, a bespectacled, mildly pudgy agent who sat watching a bank of six monitors that displayed strategic points throughout the apartment building. He was simultaneously running a real-time video of the previous twelve hours that had been captured by the cameras mounted at each corner of the external perimeter. Via the videotapes, he could review foot and vehicular traffic directly in front of the building for any time and from almost any direction he chose.

  Most people would have found the multitude of flickering images overwhelming, but Finch seemed more at home in the electronic environment than in the real world. In addition to being a very solid agent, he was a computer wizard, and now that computer surveillance and analysis were a routine part of intelligence gathering, experts like him were essential.

  From his
personnel dossier, Cam knew that Finch had been a computer hacker in college, and that he’d distinguished himself by breaking one of the Department of Defense encryption codes. In point of fact, rather than considering such attempts felonies, the DOD and many major civilian corporations tacitly encouraged them. If a code could be cracked, it was considered defective, and discovering that fact provided an opportunity to improve security.

  Jeremy Finch had managed it not once, but twice. Because of that, he had been targeted for government service. Apparently, he’d surprised a great many people by choosing the Secret Service over the much more glamorous Central Intelligence Agency.

  Cam was happy that he had. Human intelligence was always critical, but in her area of operation they were heavily computer dependent, especially in the advance planning stages for Egret’s public outings. Good intel was particularly critical for international venues like Paris, when security, motorcade routes, emergency medical evacuation plans, and personnel deployment all had to be juggled on a minute-to-minute basis.

  Without taking his eyes off the screens, Jeremy answered, “No, ma’am. Egret went upstairs briefly and then directly into the park.”

  Cam glanced at the far upper-right monitor—the one that showed a panoramic view of Gramercy Park, the block-wide private park across the narrow street from Blair’s apartment building. The heavily shaded, immaculately preserved square was surrounded by towering pre-WWI buildings and completely enclosed with a high wrought-iron fence. She couldn’t actually make visual contact with Blair; the foliage was too dense to permit that. Nevertheless, she looked for her.

  “That’s where I’ll be,” she finally said.

  “Roger that,” he said, making a note on his handheld personal unit about something he had seen on the video that he wanted to review from a different angle.

  Cam was very much aware that Patrick Doyle was still on site, but she had absolutely no intention of being his tour guide. She had work to do, and her most immediate duty was to inform Blair that she could expect several new faces in her security detail. Unfortunately, that was the least difficult of the topics they needed to discuss.

  She let herself into the park by unlocking one of the gates that permitted access to those with clearance and a key. The park was nearly small enough to see across. At the midpoint, in front of a small fountain, she could make out John Fielding. He was standing, statuelike, to all appearances staring vacantly into space. She knew, however, that he held Egret within his sightline and was in all likelihood turning at regular intervals to keep the entire square under careful watch.

  There was no way for a Secret Service agent to be unseen, and under some circumstances, invisibility wasn’t even desirable. The visible presence of a bodyguard was often enough to deter people from casual approach. On the other hand, Blair, like most in her position, understandably did not want every moment of her personal life witnessed. Because of that, Secret Service agents were trained to walk a fine line between doing their job and actually impairing the lifestyles of those they guarded.

  Cam nodded briefly in his direction, and he acknowledged her with an almost imperceptible motion of his head. She continued past him along a small gravel path flanked at discrete intervals by iron and wood benches until she came to one of the most secluded and idyllic corners of the park. A bevy of shrubs and flowers created a natural barrier offering privacy. Enough sunlight filtered through the overhead branches to highlight Blair in its pale shimmering glow.

  Slowing as she approached, Cam told herself that she did not want to startle her. Actually, she wanted a few extra seconds just to observe her unawares. Blair was bent over a sketchpad, her legs drawn up under her on the bench. Her hair was loose, a tawny riot of curls reaching almost down to her shoulders. Cam knew the feel of those tresses, flowing silken over her hands as she kissed her.

  Blair wore a sleeveless shirt that exposed her arms, muscled from hours in the gym and tanned from the sun. She was striking in any lighting, remarkable in any pose, but never as much as when she was lost in her work. That was perhaps the only time, except after making love, when Cam had ever seen her at peace.

  “Ms. Powell,” Cam said quietly.

  Blair lifted her hair away from her face with one hand and looked up. The sunlight was behind Cam, casting her face in shadows.

  “Good afternoon, Commander.”

  “Am I disturbing you?”

  “No.” Blair gestured to the bench beside her.

  Cam sat down, barely suppressing a sigh as she leaned back, warmed by Blair’s presence as much as the afternoon sun.

  “You wanted to speak to me?” Blair knew she sounded stiff and formal but was unable to help it. It was so hard to be near her and pretend that there was nothing between them. It was even harder when she could see that Cam was tired. She was still angry with her—angry and hurt—but when she looked at her now, all she wanted was to pull her down against her shoulder and stroke her.

  She pushed the image away with irritation. If Cam needed that, needed her at all, she would never have done this to them. Blair hadn’t wished for this almost paralyzing ache that never seemed to lessen unless Cam was near. She had never wanted that, not with anyone. Ever since they’d slept together, ever since she had allowed herself to hope, being near this woman had become something very close to constant pain.

  “More good news?” she asked sarcastically.

  “The FBI made an official appearance this morning.” Cam watched the light play through the leaves of the trees above them. Blair was inches away, but she felt as if their skin touched along the length of her body. She knew it was only visceral memory, but the sensation was so acute that her blood was racing. Would there ever come a time when she could be close like this and not respond? Did she even want these feelings to pass?

  “I take it you’re not pleased.” Blair wondered at Cam’s odd stillness.

  “That, Ms. Powell, is considered classified information. According to any number of sections in the manual, personal observations on internal matters should not be shared, especially with civilians.” Cam knew she sounded wintry. She could not think about the weeks that Blair had been a potential target and none of them had known without cold fury engulfing her. She offered a half smile to compensate, but this seemed lost on Blair.

  “Well, we both know how dear the manual is to you,” she rejoined sharply. “Why are you telling me, then?”

  Cam didn’t bother to protest. How could she? She’d chosen duty over Blair’s wishes and had no defense. And ordinarily, she would never discuss matters of protocol with someone she guarded, but she and Blair had gone so far beyond the limits of acceptable professional behavior, it was ridiculous to stand on ceremony now. It was enough that she did not touch her. That was a hardship of her own making and she would learn to bear it. She would not place Blair at a disadvantage because she had overstepped her bounds.

  “I thought you should know.”

  “Why?”

  “At least one of them will be working with our detail in direct contact with you. I expect they’ll add their own car as well.”

  “That’s not too subtle, is it?” Blair asked pointedly. “If I go around with a parade following me, it’s going to send a message that I give a damn what he says.”

  “It’s going to send a message that you are well protected and not a ready target,” Cam answered immediately.

  Blair looked away, across the park, wishing she could be sitting there with nothing more on her mind than the sexy sound of Cam’s deep voice, enjoying the flutter of desire that just being near her always provoked. She sighed.

  “I guess it really doesn’t matter. One more here or there won’t change anything.”

  “They’ve been on surveillance for the last several months, and in truth, I don’t mind taking advantage of their information-gathering capabilities. They’ve got access to much larger databases than we do, and at this point, I’ll take everything I can get.”

  Blair s
ketched aimlessly as they talked, trying to absorb the words without letting them penetrate to her core. She couldn’t live in terror every day. “Is this serious, do you think?”

  It was a question she had avoided asking for months. Cam was the only one that she dared ask, because in spite of everything, Cam was the only one she trusted to see her frightened.

  “I don’t know.” Cam watched Blair’s hands move gracefully, with absolute certainty, over the surface of the paper, wishing she could touch her, just enough to comfort her. Her hands trembled she wanted to so much. The feeling was unbearably strong, and she pressed her palms flat against her thighs. “I have to assume that it is.”

  Blair nodded, not speaking. There is nothing I can do about any of it—the crazy lunatic sending me messages, the FBI dogging my steps, or Cameron’s determination to carry out the assignment my father ordered. She was uncomfortable feeling that helpless, especially when she had struggled her entire life for some semblance of independence. For the moment, however, she couldn’t see any other course of action.

  “All right. I can live with it...if you can.”

  Cam laughed sharply. There was a tinge of irony in her voice as she responded, “We have something in common there, Ms. Powell. Neither of us has a choice.”

  The sketch was taking form on the pad. Cam looked down at the drawing, surprised to see her own face appearing. She studied the image, taken aback by the fierce, reserved expression, and wondered if that was all Blair saw of her. She knew the answer as Blair’s talented hands sketched her eyes and captured the shadows in her soul.

  “Blair,” Cam said softly.

  Blair’s hand faltered on the paper at the gentle intimacy in Cam’s tone. The way she did this, the subtle shifts she revealed, never failed to tear at Blair's heart. One moment, the agent was professional, aloof, and as impersonal as any of the scores of individuals who had ever guarded her. And then, she would say Blair’s name with all the feeling she could ever hope to hear from another human being. It was everything she wanted, and everything she feared. She didn’t raise her eyes, but continued drawing the sharp features and the wild gaze, unable to look at the woman, knowing if she did she would touch her.