Honor Bound

by Radclyffe

Cam took one unsteady step forward, hesitated, and then another. When she spoke, her tone held none of its usual reserve. Tentatively she asked, “Would you mind very much if I...touched you...just to be sure?”

  Something that had lain cold and frightened in Blair’s heart warmed. She trembled faintly with the kind of anticipation she barely remembered, from a time before she had learned to expect disappointment from a lover’s promise.

  “No, I wouldn’t mind that at all.”

  Blair took one step to meet her, and then Cam’s arms closed very gently around her. Blair scarcely dared breathe, afraid that she might suddenly awaken to find it all a dream. Awaken and discover herself alone in the dark yet again, waiting for a woman to come and touch her. Waiting for a lover’s touch to set her free. She held very still and willed the moment not to end.

  Cam sighed, contenting herself with absorbing the warmth of Blair’s body. As she held her, Blair’s energy penetrated the numbness that had settled in her mind and body somewhere during the endless night. She still hurt...everywhere. But being close to Blair—feeling her heart beat, listening to her quiet breathing, leaning on her strength, being with her—was soothing the edges of her pain.

  Eventually, Blair ran her hands slowly up and down Cam’s back, cautiously, assuring herself that this woman was real. When she lifted her arms to encircle Cam’s shoulders, pressing closer to her, Cam gasped sharply.

  “You are hurt!”

  “It’s nothing,” Cam rested her cheek against Blair’s hair and closed her eyes. God, it’s so good just to be near her. She hadn’t realized how truly tired she was. There’d been so much to do.

  Once she’d finally been assured that Blair was unharmed and secured at the safe house, she’d had to deal with the scene. They’d had to cordon off the park in the immediate vicinity of Sheep Meadow, an impossible task in itself, and then there was the evidence collection, and the interviews. She’d had to call Jeremy Finch’s sister in Omaha, having nothing to offer but her presence on the line as the woman cried. And then report on a secure line to DC and brief the deputy security advisor and her own director, confirming that there was no imminent threat to Blair. Then came the decisions about where to move her, and when, and how deeply to sequester her.

  Goddamned Doyle argued with me every step of the way.

  Every minute of the previous twelve hours had been overlaid with wondering if Blair was hurt, even though Stark had reported no injury, and worrying that Blair might still be in danger, or that she was simply just frightened, and alone. Twelve hours apart from her had felt like a year. She tightened her hold on Blair and gasped again at the sudden surge of pain down her arm. She was having trouble closing the fingers of her right hand.

  “Tell me,” Blair whispered.

  “Just a few burns,” Cam mumbled, nearly asleep on her feet. It really didn’t hurt so very much just at that moment. She lifted her uninjured hand to stroke Blair’s face. “You’re sure you’re all right?”

  “I am now.” In that moment, she realized how badly Cam was shaking. And as much as she didn’t want to let her go, Blair knew it was essential. “Cam, you need to lie down.”

  “Let me just stand here a minute,” Cam replied, her voice eerily flat and her words forced and slow. “I’ll be fine if I just don’t move for a minute. Doesn’t really hurt if I don’t move. Just a little tired is all.”

  “I know,” Blair said. She began to move them both toward the bed, one careful step at a time. It worried her that Cam followed without protest. That wasn’t like her. This wasn’t just fatigue. “Cam?”

  “Hmm?” Cam asked dimly, trying to remember what she needed to do next. “Stark...Stark’s report. Need that.”

  “Did they give you anything for the pain?”

  Cam felt her legs hit something unyielding and she sat down. Bed.

  How did I get to the bed?

  “No. I told them no. I have to talk...to...Mac.”

  “Are you in pain now?” Blair asked, guiding her back against the pillows, one arm behind her shoulders.

  “Not so much, really,” Cam muttered. Now there was the strangest tingling in her right hand. Then she was aware of Blair lifting her legs onto the mattress, removing her shoes.

  “I shouldn’t be in here,” Cam remarked suddenly, as if just realizing where she was.

  “You’re safe for the moment,” Blair said gently, staring at the white gauze bandage, spotted in places with dark blotches, wrapped around Cam’s hand and arm. She hadn’t seen that before. She swallowed around the lump in her throat and stroked Cam’s cheek lightly. “I don’t think you’re in any condition to break any rules tonight.”

  “This is definitely...against...regulations,” Cam remarked drowsily, reaching for Blair’s hand but only managing to brush her fingers over Blair’s palm.

  “Yes,” Blair whispered, leaning down to kiss her very softly on the mouth. “I know that, Commander.”

  Then Blair pulled the covers over the sleeping woman and quietly left the room.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Blair pulled the bedroom door closed behind her and came face-to-face with John Fielding, who was standing in the hallway three feet from the room. She raised her eyebrows in question.

  “Do you need something?”

  “Mac would like to speak to the commander.”

  “Not now. She’s asleep.”

  If he was surprised by her response, he gave no sign of it. He merely nodded and walked to the far end of the hall. Then he situated himself in a position where he could see out the window as well as back along the hallway, past the closed door of Blair’s room, and into the rest of the house.

  In the living room, Blair immediately noted an unfamiliar man standing next to the front door in the place Stark had occupied. Savard was on the couch, leaning back, her eyes half-closed. She looked worn, but her smile was still electric.

  “Couldn’t sleep?” she asked, surprised to see Blair. It hadn’t escaped her notice that when Cameron Roberts walked through the door the first person she’d asked for was Blair Powell. After issuing a few curt orders, Roberts had disappeared down the hallway to Blair’s room. Savard didn’t know exactly what she thought might happen next, but it wasn’t this. She hadn’t expected to see Blair up in the middle of the night, a fierce expression in her eyes, looking like she wanted to go ten rounds with someone. “Anything I can get you?”

  Ignoring the question, Blair said, “You should go to bed, Agent Savard. Even the FBI can’t require that you work twenty-four-hour shifts.”

  “I was thinking about doing that,” Savard admitted with a faint smile. “I just thought I’d wait until Grant came back from the hospital. She took Stark to be checked out about half an hour ago. I wanted to...hear how she was.”

  “How did she seem?” Blair heard the edge of worry in Savard’s voice.

  “Cranky. Fussing about leaving her post.” Savard chuckled. “She wouldn’t have gone if the commander hadn’t ordered her to either be examined or be relieved.” She smiled, a smile soft with feeling. “Stark’s a regular Boy Scout.”

  Blair recognized the undercurrent of affection in her voice. Interesting. “Where’s Mac?”

  “The dining room.” Savard indicated the room opposite. “It’s apparently our new command center. I think he’s waiting for the commander in there.”

  “Then he’ll have to wait,” Blair said flatly. “She’s exhausted. If anyone goes anywhere near that bedroom, they’ll answer to me.”

  Interesting, Savard thought as she moved to get up. “Right, then. I’ll go tell him.”

  Blair stopped her with a raised hand. “Never mind. I’ll tell him myself.”

  The proprietary tone in her voice was unmistakable, and for an instant, the two women’s eyes met in silent understanding.

  Mac looked up from the notebook computer he was using as Blair Powell entered the room. He was relieved to see that other than a weariness she couldn’t quite disguise, she looked uninju
red. Considering the devastation of the blast, he couldn’t even think about what might have happened if she’d been fifteen feet closer to the vehicle when it exploded.

  “For God’s sake, Mac, sit down,” Blair said quickly when he started to stand. The man looked surprisingly fresh at first glance, but there were hollows beneath his eyes she’d never seen before, and his clothes were smudged with soot.

  “How are you, Ms. Powell?” he asked politely.

  “I have no idea how to answer that question.” She laughed grimly. “Other than the fact that I feel like I’ve been dropped into the middle of some awful B-movie, I’m basically fine.”

  “It’s been a hell of a day. And tomorrow will be hectic, too.” He smiled sympathetically and moved some file folders off the chair next to him. “You’re welcome to sit down. The commander will want to fill you in herself, I’m sure.”

  “In the morning, Mac.”

  He stared, surprised and clearly confused. “I’m sorry?”

  “Have you looked at her?” Blair was unable to keep the irritation from her voice. What is wrong with these people? “She’s falling down on her feet, and she’s hurt. She’s asleep right now, and no one is going to wake her up.”

  This time, Mac’s incredulous expression was followed very quickly by an unmistakable look of respect. “Of course. There’s nothing that won’t keep a few hours.”

  “She couldn’t tell me very much.” Blair sighed, finally sitting down on the straight-backed dining-room chair across from Mac. “Just how badly is she hurt?”

  “Uh...” Mac looked away, uncomfortable talking about something that he knew Cam wouldn’t want discussed. Herself. He’d rather Blair had asked him to reveal top secrets.

  For a few seconds, Blair thought he wouldn’t answer. “Mac?”

  Then he met her gaze and responded quietly, “As far as I can gather, she’s got fairly severe burns on her right arm, shoulder, and neck. A state trooper who was near the blast site grabbed her and dragged her away from the car before she could sustain more serious injuries.”

  He wasn’t about to tell her how damn scared he’d been watching helplessly from the surveillance vehicle. First, he’d seen Jeremy’s car rock on its axles, then burst into flames. Then people were being thrown to the ground for fifty feet around from the percussive waves. When he had looked to the spot where he had last seen Blair’s group, all that was visible was a cloud of smoke. For a moment, he’d been paralyzed with the fear that they were all dead. Fortunately, Grant was cool in a crisis, and she was already racing in the backup car toward Egret’s last known location.

  Almost the instant the air cleared slightly, he’d seen the commander running straight into the raging inferno as if she didn’t even notice the flames. Then Stark’s voice had clamored in his ear that Egret was secure, and while he was frantically trying to clear the lines of communication and direct the evacuation, he’d seen a burly state trooper dive into the blaze and tackle Cameron Roberts. While Grant sped from the scene, the trooper dragged the commander away from the fire-engulfed car, beating at her smoldering jacket with his hat. Mac had an eerie sensation that if that officer hadn’t grabbed her, she might not have moved. He took a steadying breath, banishing that disquieting image.

  “It took me the better part of two hours to get her to let the EMTs near her. But they checked her out and bandaged her in the field.”

  “What did they say at the hospital?”

  He stared at her blankly.

  “You did take her to the hospital?”

  “Uh...we were pretty busy out there, Ms. Powell. I—”

  “I can’t believe it.” Her voice had dropped dangerously low, and her heart pounded with a combination of fury and fear. The horror in the park, the hours of waiting, the memory of Cam’s last brush with death still so fresh—all of it strained her control past the breaking point. “Has it occurred to any of you that she’s flesh and blood? Just how much do you think she can take?”

  She rose quickly and walked to the window, her back to him. She would not let him see the tears.

  “I...I didn’t think...I—”

  “I’m sorry,” Blair interrupted, turning back, relieved that her voice was steady and that the shadows hid the moisture on her cheeks. “It’s not your fault. I’m sure a presidential order wouldn’t have gotten her to leave.”

  Mac laughed as the tension dissipated. “Agreed.”

  “Was anyone other than Agent Finch seriously injured? I had a friend with me. Dr. Coleman?”

  “I don’t have the figures yet.” He was solemn now. “There were a number of bystanders with bumps, bruises, and assorted fractures, but as far as I know, Jeremy was the only casualty.”

  Blair heard the slight waver in his voice. She realized with sudden clarity that Mac had lost a friend as well as a colleague yesterday.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Mac nodded mutely. There really wasn’t anything to say, especially to Blair Powell. He supposed he shouldn’t even be briefing her, but in the months that he had served as the head of her security team, he had gotten to know her better then he might have otherwise. He didn’t presume to think that they were friends, but he understood her isolation a little bit better now. It wasn’t right to keep her in the dark, especially when the events so clearly involved her.

  “You should get some rest, Ms. Powell,” he said. “It’s relatively quiet now, but I doubt that it will be in the morning when the FBI shows up in force.”

  Blair realized that indeed she was exhausted. She had been running on pure adrenaline for hours, waiting to know. And now that Cam had arrived, alive and more or less intact, she could allow her fatigue to surface.

  What she really wanted to do was go back to her room and stretch out on the bed next to Cam. Perhaps that isn’t the best idea, considering the house is filled with Secret Service agents, not to mention the FBI. If I go in there now, they’re not likely to be able to ignore the fact that I’m sleeping with Cameron Roberts.

  She almost smiled at the sheer absurdity of the situation.

  “I’d say that’s good advice, Mac, and you should probably take it as well.”

  “I think I will,” he said with a smile. As Blair rose, he added, “This is a very large house, and other than this room, the living room, and the kitchen, all the other rooms are bedrooms.”

  She studied him thoughtfully, but she couldn’t read anything in his clear blue eyes. “Thank you, Mac. I think I’ll go find an empty one.”

  He watched her leave the room, thinking once more how glad he was that he did not carry the ultimate responsibility for safeguarding her life.

  Shortly after seven the next morning, Blair walked into the small galley-style kitchen. She found Cam in the process of pouring a cup of coffee, juggling the pot somewhat awkwardly with her left hand. The security chief was wearing blue jeans that were an inch too long, a loose-fitting pale blue button-down-collar shirt that looked suspiciously like police issue, and running shoes. The shoes, at least, were hers. Remarkably, when she glanced at Blair and smiled, her eyes looked clear and rested.

  “How in the hell do you do that?” Blair grumbled, stumbling in the direction of the coffee cup Cam held out to her.

  “Do what?” The corner of Cam’s mouth lifted again in an irritatingly knowing grin.

  “Look so damn good after no sleep.”

  Cam thought Blair looked just fine in her gray sweatpants and navy blue T-shirt, although both were a little too large for her. She was happy to see that Blair’s primary mood appeared to be grumpy, rather than frightened. She knew from experience that the fear must be there somewhere, and that eventually it would surface, but for now, they could let it rest.

  “I don’t need very much sleep.”

  Ignoring her, Blair leaned against the counter and gratefully sipped the steaming brew. After the first few scalding swallows, she asked, “What happened to your own clothes?”

  Cam hesitated for a second, then said n
onchalantly, “I had to throw them out. I borrowed these from the trunk of an NYPD patrol car. The officer assured me they were clean.”

  Blair didn’t smile. Cam seemed fine now, but Blair remembered her exhaustion and pain of just a few hours before. She stared at the bandage wrapped around the palm of Cam’s right hand and disappearing under the unbuttoned sleeve of her blue shirt. “How bad is that?”

  Cam shrugged and started to speak, but Blair interrupted impatiently. “And don’t say ‘it’s nothing’ one more time, or I swear to God I’ll forget that you’re sore and take you down right here.” As she spoke, she lifted a hand and turned back the unbuttoned collar of Cam’s shirt, drawing a sharp breath when she saw the angry swatch of blistered skin that extended along the lower side of her neck onto her shoulder. “Jesus, Cam.”

  Using her left hand, Cam set her coffee down and then met Blair’s eyes. “It’s been looked at,” she assured her. “It’s just superficial—nothing too serious. It should be a lot better in a few days.”

  “The doctors said that?”

  “Ah...well.” Cam hesitated again. “Not exactly...no.”

  “Never mind. I already know that you didn’t go to the hospital.”

  “Checking up on me?” Cam asked, one eyebrow raised, but a smile in her eyes.

  “What were you thinking?” Blair demanded, unswayed by Cam’s attempt to distract her from the subject of her injuries. She was rapidly accumulating memories of Cam in danger, or hurt, or literally dying, and the images didn’t get any easier to take with reviewing. Her fear only fueled her anger. “Damn it, don’t you care if you get hurt? Don’t you think I care?”

  Cam looked away. It had happened so quickly, and then, after, there had been so much to do—so many things to check and organize and confirm. She had put it from her mind.

  “I wasn’t thinking,” she said softly.

  Surprised, Blair just stared at her. “You’re always thinking. What happened this time?”

  “I...” Cam faltered, suddenly uncomfortable. Doyle was likely to show up at any minute, and she needed to brief the team and discuss strategy before that. “We should talk about this some other time.”