by Radclyffe
Blair clung to her, shuddering as wave upon wave of sensation flooded her body. She buried her face against Cam’s shoulder again, trying to contain her cries, whimpering softly as the last contractions fluttered through her belly.
“Don’t let go,” she gasped finally.
Cam was still inside her, and they were pressed tightly together, using the wall as support. Her breath heaved through her chest as she hovered on the brink of orgasm. “You...neither.”
With a tremulous laugh, Blair finally succeeded in getting her fingers to work. She gently grasped Cam’s wrist, forcing her to ease out, then pulled open Cam’s fly and pushed her hand inside Cam’s jeans. Immediately, Cam jerked into her palm.
“Oh God,” Blair whispered. “You’re so wet.”
“Uh-huh,” Cam grunted, pressing harder against Blair’s fingers. She couldn’t think, couldn’t see; all she knew was the ferocious pressure pounding between her legs and the desperate need to release it.
Blair felt Cam shiver and knew she was on the edge. Another time, she might have teased her, but it had been too long for both of them, and she wanted her to come. She wanted to feel her lose control and she wanted to hold her. And she wanted to have her, completely, for just a few moments. She worked her hand deeper inside Cam’s jeans until she could cup all of her in her palm. Then, bringing her thumb slowly and deliberately along the length of Cam’s clitoris, she massaged her rhythmically.
Cam braced herself with one hand on Blair’s hip, her body bowed, her head down, gasping. Her thighs trembled as the blood seemed to halt in her veins and every muscle clenched. The next knowing stroke of Blair’s fingers sparked the explosion, and her breath burst out on a low tortured groan. Dimly, she heard Blair moan softly, almost in exultation, but all she could do was struggle to stand as her bones melted before the onslaught of sensation.
“Oh, yeah,” she finally murmured, sagging against Blair. Her head was still pounding.
Blair laughed faintly as the last ripples of Cam’s orgasm pulsed against her fingers. She ran her free hand up and down Cam’s back, soothing her. She didn’t think anything had ever satisfied her as much as having Cameron in her arms, trembling and so unguarded.
“I wish I’d known sooner that all I had to do was ask,” she remarked breathlessly, unbuttoning Cam’s borrowed shirt so she could run her palms over her chest.
“You don’t need to ask.” Cam sighed and straightened up, leaning back to look into Blair’s face. Their legs were still pressed together and just the sensation of Blair’s skin against her own was exciting her again. She grinned, but was very serious. “I can’t even be near you without wanting you.”
“Really?” Blair asked, aware of Cam’s hips rocking persistently against her own, and realizing, too, they weren’t done yet. She stripped the shirt off Cam’s shoulders, easing it gently down her injured arm. “Is that a problem for you, Commander?”
“Not at the moment,” Cam muttered distractedly as she hooked her fingers under the edge of Blair’s T-shirt, lifted it upward, and pulled it off over her head. She tossed it somewhere behind them and brought both hands down to Blair’s breasts, her eyes fixed on the tight pink nipples under her thumbs. “No problem at all.”
“Cam,” Blair said urgently. “You’re bleeding.”
“What?” For the first time, Cam was aware of a burning discomfort along her right palm. The gauze wrapped around her hand was bright red with blood. “It’s nothing,” she said, dismissing it, as she lowered her lips toward Blair’s breasts.
Blair caught Cam’s chin with her fingers, halting her motion. “We need to look at it.”
“Later,” Cam warned, her eyes dangerously dark, her expression impatient with need.
“No.” Blair pivoted slightly and slipped out from between Cam and the wall. Grasping Cam’s good hand in hers, she dragged her through the doorway into the bathroom. “I want to look at this, now.”
“Blair, God damn it.”
They faced each other in the small space, Blair completely nude, Cam naked from the waist up with her jeans open. The air around them shimmered with urgency as they stared at one another, flushed and breathing heavily.
Then Cam advanced on Blair, her expression determined. “I’m not waiting.”
“Yes, you are.” Blair sidestepped quickly and yanked the knobs on the shower to full on. She turned back just as Cam reached her. She hooked her thumbs over the waistband of Cam’s jeans and pushed down. “Get out of these.”
Relenting, Cam stepped free of her jeans as Blair backed into the shower. Cam followed, her eyes riveted on Blair’s. She reached for her, and Blair gently captured her injured hand between her own.
“Let me unwrap this,” Blair said tenderly as they stood together in the streaming water.
Momentarily defeated, Cam held out her right arm so that Blair could remove the bandages. She set her teeth as the water hit the cracked and crusted patches. Along the length of her arm, on her shoulder, and the side of her neck, the skin was blistered and raw. In places, blood still oozed slowly.
“How does it feel?” Blair asked, hoping that her voice was steady. The burns looked terrible, and for one horrifying moment she imagined what might have happened if someone hadn’t been nearby to drag Cam away from Jeremy Finch’s car.
“It doesn’t hurt.” Cam turned slightly so that Blair could not see the injury. With her other hand she caressed the side of Blair’s face. “It’ll be okay.”
“Why don’t I believe you?” Blair murmured, wrapping one arm around Cam’s waist.
“Because,” Cam whispered softly, her lips moving against Blair’s ear, “you don’t trust the Secret Service, Ms. Powell.”
Blair tipped her head back, offering Cam her neck. “That’s because you keep secrets, Commander.”
As Cam worked her way along Blair’s jaw and down the column of her throat, Blair found Cam’s uninjured hand and brought it to her breast. She gasped faintly at the swift sharp pressure of Cam’s fingers on her nipple and she quickened, her clitoris twitching rapidly at the renewed stimulation. “Oh, that’s trouble.”
Slowly, Cam knelt.
When she leaned forward to taste her, Blair braced herself with one hand against Cam’s shoulder. “Be careful...”
Dimly, Cam heard a moan as she moved her mouth over her, finding Blair still swollen and firm. Drawing her between her lips, Cam knew it would not be long. She tried to make it last, sucking gently, careful not to work her too quickly or too hard, but it didn’t matter. It was already too late. Blair was too sensitive and too close, and almost immediately, she began to come.
With the first pulse of release, Cam pressed harder, pushing Blair rapidly to another peak. She would have kept going if Blair hadn’t fisted a hand in her hair and pulled her away. The water streamed into Cam’s face and she had to shake her head to clear her eyes. Blair’s face was soft through the curtain of moisture.
“Stop,” Blair gasped hoarsely. “I can’t.”
“You can.”
Blair laughed, drawing Cam up next to her. She leaned into her and wrapped her arms around Cam’s waist.
“You’re right. I probably could, if I had a little more time and I didn’t think that John Fielding was going to burst in here at any second to find out why I’m screaming.”
“No one will come in,” Cam said firmly. “They’ll assume we’re having a private briefing. It’s perfectly normal under the circumstances.”
Blair kissed the pulse at the base of Cam’s neck. She wanted her again. She wanted to lie down with her and touch every part of her and taste her again and again. “There’s nothing normal about any of these circumstances, Cameron. If letting you go now means that I’ll be able to have you again, I’d rather stop.”
Cam closed her eyes and held her tightly. “Will you believe me if I tell you there will be another time?”
“I’ll try, because I don’t have a choice,” Blair whispered. “I have to believe it.”
“Your hair is wet,” Blair commented as she watched Cam gathering her scattered clothing. She leaned against the bathroom door, wearing the terrycloth robe that she had donned the previous evening when Cam had appeared at her door. “If you leave my room and go to a briefing like that, you might as well wear a sign that says I slept with the first daughter.”
Cam grinned as she buttoned the borrowed shirt. “It’ll dry while I put on my own clothes. I’ve got a suitcase in the other room that Mac brought.” She pulled on the jeans and smiled faintly. “Somehow I fell asleep last night before I got around to unpacking.”
“That’s because you were out on your feet,” Blair remarked with a combination of irritation and concern. “Will you get someone to take care of those burns?”
“I’ll ask Stark. The EMTs left something for me to put on them.” She crossed to Blair and put her hands lightly on her waist. “I’ll take care of it, I promise.”
“You’d better,” Blair said, her voice husky. As much as she hated to, she added, “You should go.”
“Yeah.” Cam sighed, reluctant to leave. “I’m going to be tied up all day with the briefings. Stark will see to anything that you need.”
Blair smiled wryly. “As long as she doesn’t make me play pinochle with her. That’s where I draw the line.”
“Understood.” Cam pressed her lips lightly to Blair’s forehead. She didn’t dare do more, because she was afraid if she felt the softness of Blair’s lips, she might not be able to stop with one kiss. She couldn’t seem to control herself the way she was used to—couldn’t seem to stop wanting this woman.
Finally, she stepped away and crossed to the door, pausing with her hand on the doorknob. “By the way, Dr. Coleman is fine. I think she might have ended up on the bottom of the pile when we all hit the ground. She was shaken up a bit by the blast, but she’s all right.”
Blair studied her for a moment, looking for some sign that there was a hidden message in Cam’s words. She should have known there wouldn’t be. Cameron Roberts did not play games. “Thank you. I was worried.”
“I thought you might be.” Cam nodded and opened the door.
“Cam?” Blair said quickly, and the agent turned back. “You do know there’s no one, don’t you?”
“I’d hoped,” Cam replied softly, and then she was gone.
Two hours later, Blair stood in the doorway of the makeshift command center and surveyed the people grouped around the long dining room table in the center of the room. Cam, attired now in a dark gray suit and silver silk shirt, sat at one end of the table while Patrick Doyle occupied the seat opposite her at the far end. Mac was to Cam’s left, and Stark, a bandage on her forehead and a very impressive bruise on the side of her face, was beside him. Across from them were a man and woman Blair did not recognize. Savard looked mildly uncomfortable situated between Stark and Doyle.
Patrick Doyle frowned and asked tersely, “Can I do something for you, Ms. Powell?”
Blair studied him for a moment, then walked around the table and pulled out a chair next to Cam. “I’d like to get some idea of what’s happening.”
Obviously annoyed, Doyle cleared his throat and rearranged some of the papers in front of him. When he looked up at her, his gaze was wintry. “I think at this point anything I could tell you would be premature. I’ll advise you of any facts you need to know at a later date.”
It was obvious to Blair that Patrick Doyle did not want her there, but it wasn’t his opinion she cared about. Silently, she turned to Cam. No one could keep her out of the briefing, although it wasn’t routine for her to sit in on one. “Commander?”
“We’re just getting started.” Cam didn’t even look in Doyle’s direction, instead introducing the redhead next to Blair. “Ms. Powell, this is Special Agent Lindsey Ryan, a profiler from the behavioral science division at Quantico. I’ve asked her here to give us an idea of what to expect from Loverboy in the future.”
“I think we should discuss the crime scene evidence and find out what we have from the bomb,” Doyle immediately countered. “What we need is hard data, not theory.”
Cam did stare the length of the table at him then, but responded evenly. “Everything is important. My primary objective at this juncture, however, is to anticipate the potential threat to Ms. Powell—”
“She shouldn’t be here,” Doyle snapped. “Protocol—”
“And to that end,” Cam continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “I’d like to have as much information about the perpetrator as we can get.” Indicating the handsome dark-skinned man next to Ryan, she continued, “Captain Lane is our liaison from the ATF bomb division, and he’ll fill us in shortly regarding the information you’re interested in, Agent Doyle.”
Doyle’s color rose, and although it appeared that he wanted to object further, it would be difficult and politically inadvisable to argue that Blair’s safety was not of primary concern. It was also clear that he was irate at having been subtly outmaneuvered. He merely closed his jaws tightly and gave a curt nod.
“If you would go ahead, please, Agent Ryan,” Cam said.
Lindsey Ryan sat forward slightly. “After the incident yesterday, I reviewed all the information available on the UNSUB beginning with the first contact early this year. My specific intention was to track his behavior, looking for any kind of cyclical or repetitive pattern. I was hoping to identify some kind of trigger that could help us predict what he would do next. This is a rough timeline.” She passed out several pages to each person at the table.
“What we see,” she continued, her voice practiced and steady, “is a fairly erratic temporal pattern marked by predictable sequential events. Namely, he attempts seduction, and when that is unsuccessful and his overtures are rejected, he follows with aggressive retribution.”
“Does this explain why someone who is presumably obsessed with Ms. Powell would also want to harm her?” Mac asked, frown lines deepening between his brows.
Ryan nodded. “Initially, he left a written message delivered to Ms. Powell’s door, suggesting that he was the most worthy recipient of her attentions. He also indicated underlying anger by suggesting that she was misguided in placing her affections with people who were unworthy. In essence, he was offering himself as a suitor.”
She waited for the subtle agitation around the table to settle. “Clearly, when this approach failed, his anger escalated, and he made his first attempt on Ms. Powell’s life. This is not inconsistent with his obsessive attraction, in that very often a rejected suitor resorts to aggression. It’s the old case of If I can’t have you, no one else can either.”
“What about the fact that he’s changed his methods? First a sniper attack and now a bomb?” Cam did not look at Blair, but she was acutely aware of their arms resting only inches apart on the tabletop. It had to be difficult for Blair to hear herself being discussed so impersonally by relative strangers. Cam wished she could spare her that. She knew, however, that that was neither feasible nor desirable. Blair had a right to know about the threat that involved her, and keeping her in the dark would only result in losing her cooperation. And if Blair didn’t cooperate with them, she would be in even greater danger. “Doesn’t that run contrary to the opinion that a repeater usually uses the same form of attack—once a gun always a gun?”
“Unfortunately, in this case, I don’t think so,” Ryan said with certainty. “He doesn’t seem to be attached to any particular form of violent expression, as some psychopaths appear to be. I think it’s more likely that he chose a more dramatic method of expressing his displeasure because his tolerance for failure is decreasing. Nothing else he’s tried has worked, so he’s going to be sure that she takes him seriously now.”
A hard fist of anxiety clenched in Cam’s chest. “So, are you saying we can expect an escalation in the violence?”
“Probably in both timing and form. This latest action is a statement. He’s reminding us that he has power, that he’s i
n control, and that he should not be ignored. Frankly, I’m surprised he hasn’t made some attempt at personal contact before this.”
“He has,” Blair said quietly.
Cam stared at her, a muscle in her jaw clenching. It took all her effort not to raise her voice. “Has he approached you in some way?”
“Not exactly.” Blair hesitated, then met Cam’s penetrating gaze. “He sent a message saying he wanted me to meet him.”
Doyle rose halfway from his seat, barking out, “When did this happen? Why weren’t we made aware of it?” He glared at Cam. “Roberts, if this is some kind of attempt by the Secret Service to cut us out of the loop, I’ll—”
“I didn’t tell anyone,” Blair interrupted him, and he sank back into his seat, apparently speechless.
“Why not?” Cam questioned softly.
“I didn’t realize at the time that it was significant.” Blair's eyes shadowed with worry. “He’d been sending messages regularly, mostly e-mails and the...videos. You know that...I reported that. I thought it was just more of the same.”
Cam’s stomach turned as she recalled the explicit sexual images that Blair had received, and the graphic messages describing in excruciating detail what this nameless, faceless man fantasized about her.
“What was it this time?”
“It was just another message. At least that’s what I thought.” Blair's voice trembled slightly. “I just logged on, and it came up on the screen. He said...he said he’d been waiting for me, and he couldn’t wait any longer for me to make up my mind. He said he would have to do it for me.”
Stark looked at Doyle accusingly. “What happened to the FBI’s mighty Carnivore program? I though you guys were supposed to be able to selectively monitor her servers, waylay all messages. How did this e-mail get through and we didn’t know?”
“You’re out of line, Agent,” Doyle growled.
“She has a point. An important one,” Cam stated. “Why didn’t any of us know this?”
