by Radclyffe
“We'll find out from the computer analysts later,” Savard interjected, looking the length of the table at Blair. “When was this?”
“A little over a week ago.” Blair glanced at Cam, her voice pitched low. “The day you came back.”
Blair didn’t need to say anything more. Cam realized that part of the reason Blair hadn’t informed anyone about the message was because she hadn’t been thinking about the threat to her life. Her attention had been focused on Cam’s sudden reassignment to the security detail.
Savard continued, “It could have been a virus implanted previously and activated by something as simple as a piece of code buried in an innocuous e-mail advertisement. Even though Ms. Powell’s system has been swept, it doesn’t mean he hasn’t infiltrated something else more recently.”
“Did he kill Jeremy Finch because I ignored him?” Blair looked at Lindsey Ryan, her face pale. “Is it my fault?”
“No,” Cam said quickly, vehemently. “None of this is your fault.”
“Commander Roberts is right,” Ryan interjected. “You’re not responsible for Agent Finch’s death. The only one responsible for that is the individual who placed and triggered the bomb. There is no way you could’ve satisfied his demands, because he is not even aware of what actually drives him. Regardless of what you do or do not do, he will never be content.”
Doyle took that moment to add contemptuously, “You are certainly not to blame. However, no one would have been able to plant a bomb if security measures had been adequate.”
His criticism was clearly directed at Cam, but it was Mac who responded.
“You sorry son of a bitch!” He was on the move, rising from his chair, when Cam’s voice cut him short.
“Mac.” Her tone carried a clear command.
Mac remained half standing, his hands braced on the table, his expression murderous as he glared at Doyle.
“Let’s take a break,” Cam said calmly, pushing back her chair. She stood but didn’t move until everyone except her and Doyle had left the room.
“If you have something to say to me, Agent Doyle, say it now,” she said, facing him squarely.
“You lost a man, Roberts, not me.” His expression was smug. “I have no idea why you’re still in command, but I wouldn’t get too comfortable if I were you.”
Cam waited until he had walked out before she sank slowly into her seat. She would have argued if he hadn’t been right.
“Cam?” Blair stood at the door of the dining room. “You don’t believe that, do you?”
Cam had been staring blankly down at the table. At the sound of Blair’s voice, she straightened quickly and forced a smile. “Eavesdropping on federal business, Ms. Powell?”
“You know better. And don’t try to distract me with that charming smile.” Cam’s automatic attempt to hide her feelings didn’t mask the pain in her eyes.
“I heard what Doyle just said. He’s wrong to blame you.”
“No, he isn’t.” Cam sighed wearily, slumping slightly now that no one except Blair was there to witness her fatigue. “A man died under my command. That’s my responsibility.”
Blair’s first instinct was to argue, because she couldn’t bear to hear the anguish in Cam’s voice, but she knew it wouldn’t make a difference. She understood Cam’s feelings of accountability, even though rationally, no one could be expected to anticipate every eventuality. Not only was Cam trained to assume the blame, but also Blair knew that she was just made that way. This was one of the reasons she admired her, and, she admitted reluctantly to herself, it was also one of the reasons she loved her. Unfortunately, it was also one of the things keeping them apart.
“I talked to my father last night before you got here.” Blair crossed the room and pulled out a chair, sitting at Cam’s left. She extended her hand on the tabletop until her fingers just touched the back of Cam’s wrist. It wasn’t enough, but it was all she could have at the moment. “He told me that he had every confidence in you, and that I should listen to you.”
Cam couldn’t help but grin. “Why do I think you ignored that last part?”
“Well,” Blair laughed softly, “I don’t always do everything he tells me.” She stroked her fingers lightly over the top of Cam’s hand. “But I do agree with him that you are doing everything that can be done. And I’m so sorry for what happened to Agent Finch.”
“So am I,” Cam whispered, remembering the terrible silence on the end of the line when she informed Jeremy’s family that he had been killed. Their stoic response and gracious thanks to her for calling them personally made it all the harder to bear. But that wasn’t the worst of it. “You could’ve been in that car, Blair. Another thirty seconds, and it would have been you.”
“I wasn’t.” Blair responded urgently to the naked torment in her eyes, her fingers closing on Cam’s arm. “Don’t torture yourself.”
“I don’t know what I would have done,” Cam murmured, trying hard not to think about the possibility.
“Don’t do this. I’m all right, and as long as you’re safe, I’ll be fine.”
Cam smiled. Blair’s presence, as always, banished the nightmare images from her mind. “We seem to be in the same situation then, Ms. Powell. Because as long as you’re safe, I’m all right, too.”
“Finally, we agree on something, Commander.”
For a moment, they simply rested with one another, their hands very lightly touching, but their connection much deeper than physical.
Reluctantly, Cam said, “I need to finish up the briefing. Do you want to stay?”
“Will you fill me in later?” Blair asked.
“Yes.”
“In that case, I think I’ve had enough of people and procedures for a while. Is there any rule against me going outside?”
“Not as long as you don’t mind company,” Cam said. “And I’d prefer if you stayed on the grounds, at least for this afternoon.”
“You know, I don’t even know where we are.”
“I’m sorry, I never thought to tell you.” Cam looked momentarily chagrined. “Croton-on-Hudson,” she said, naming a small, scenic community on the Hudson River.
Blair pushed her chair back and rose reluctantly. “I’ll see you later, then, Commander.”
Cam stood, too, and watched Blair disappear into the other room, then squared her shoulders and followed. Mac was waiting just outside the door. “Let’s get this done, Mac,” she directed. “Bring everyone back in.”
“Doyle is trying to make trouble for you,” he seethed.
“Let him try,” Cam said resolutely. “Let’s not forget our priorities. We need to stay focused on Egret’s safety, and I think he’s got information we need. Let’s use him.”
Mac looked in the direction that Blair had gone, then asked in a low voice, “Are you going to tell her about the photograph?”
“Yes.”
“Service protocol dictates that we never advise the protectee about threats.” He grimaced. “Of course, it’s a little late now.”
“I know what the protocols are, Mac.” She answered him because she liked and respected him. She didn’t ask him if he approved, because she didn’t require his approval. She also had a feeling that he wouldn’t agree, but then the decision wasn’t up to him. “She needs to know.”
It was close to sundown when Cam finally finished the briefing and went to find Blair. She found her sitting on the side of a small dock on the edge of the river that ran along the rear of the property. Ellen Grant watched from under a small clump of trees twenty yards away, while Harry Rodriguez, another Secret Service agent Cam had brought in from the New York City field office, scanned the river and opposite shore with binoculars. She and Blair were as alone as they were likely to be for the foreseeable future.
Cam eased down beside her. “Hello.”
“Long meeting, Commander.” Blair smiled softly.
“Yes.”
“Anything new?”
“Not much yet.” Cam sig
hed in frustration. “A lot of conflicting theories about the bomb, but not much hard data. It appears to have been a high-order explosive, probably RDX, the current material of choice. Captain Lane says that the limited range of the blast indicates a small charge that could have been detonated with something as innocuous looking as a radio pager.” She tugged at a small splinter on the dock and then flipped it into the water.
“We have no idea how or when it was placed, but the vehicle was serviced three days ago. Doyle has a team at the shop now—interviewing employees, tracking parts that might have been used… anything.”
“But surely someone was watching the car while it was worked on?”
“Yes,” Cam confirmed, “but Lane said it wouldn’t take more than a second to slip something under the carriage with a magnet or even a quickbond of some kind. It could even have happened yesterday while the car was following us along the race route. Jeremy would have had to go slowly and make multiple stops because of the crowds.”
Blair shivered, but could find no words to express her horror.
“There’s something else.” Cam handed her the small white rectangle she had been carrying in her pocket for hours.
“I don’t understand.” Blair stared at the photograph. It was an image of herself standing on the platform in Sheep Meadow, with Cam visible just behind her, clearly taken the previous day during her speech. Her eyes were riveted on the circled X inked in red over her chest. “If he targeted me while I was on the stage, why didn’t he...shoot?”
“Turn it over,” Cam said gently.
Blair did and read in chillingly familiar block print on the back: IT COULD HAVE BEEN YOU. She caught her breath, and her hand trembled.
“This is what was in the envelope that Marcy was trying to give me, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“What is he saying?”
“Agent Ryan believes that you were never the intended target yesterday. Loverboy didn’t mean to kill you at all. He simply wanted to send you the message that he could have if he’d wanted to.”
Blair stared at Cam, a horrible realization dawning upon her. “And the rifle shot outside my building? Was I the target then...or was it you all the time?”
“That’s unclear.” Cam looked uncomfortable, but she wouldn’t lie to her. “It’s impossible to reconstruct the scene exactly, because we don’t have adequate video documentation. I didn’t realize there even was a reconstruction until this afternoon. The FBI had confiscated all of the tapes from your building that showed the day of the shooting, and none of us had ever seen them.” Another splinter sailed into the river.
Blair waited, watching Cam’s face.
“You can’t tell from the camera angle the precise sequence of events when the shot was fired. Even with digital remastering and time sequencing, it’s unclear whether the trajectory line was toward you or me, because we were so close together, and there aren’t good sightlines on the video.” She paused a heartbeat. “I just can’t say for sure.”
“I don’t believe this. Are you telling me you spent all afternoon watching a videotape of yourself being shot?”
“Well, not all afternoon,” Cam said, hoping to defuse the anger she heard brewing in Blair’s voice. It hadn’t been that difficult after she had seen it the first time and recognized how quickly everyone had responded and how well protected Blair had actually been. Reviewing the tape had relieved a great deal of her anxiety about Blair’s vulnerability.
Blair stood quickly, wrapping her arms around herself. Although the night air was still hot and humid, she was chilled. She tried but could not comprehend what it would take to sit there and watch something like that.
“Blair,” Cam stood and went to her side, “it’s all right.”
“No, it isn’t,” Blair snapped, unable to contain the buffeting storm of emotions. “It most certainly is not all right. It’s bad enough knowing that you might have been killed trying to protect me. It’s worse thinking that you might have been killed just to get my attention.”
She turned so suddenly in Cam’s direction that their bodies touched briefly. Cam took a half step back, uncharacteristically startled, as Blair’s fiery gaze locked onto hers.
“Now do you understand why I don’t want you on my detail?” she demanded. “Can’t you understand that I don’t want to lose you?”
“Blair...” Cam was desperate to reassure her. “We’ll get him. I promise. We have thousands of feet of video from the park, and hundreds of still shots. We have Marcy Coleman’s description of the person who handed her the envelope. Lindsey Ryan’s profile is running through every database in the country right now. The ATF bomb squad is constructing a profile from the bomb remnants. Every hour that passes, we have a better idea of how to find him.”
“And until that happens, you’re in danger,” Blair argued, her chest tight with panic. “You or Stark or Mac or Savard or someone whose name I don’t even know might die.”
Cam took her hand, uncaring that Grant would see them. “Every single one of us is well trained, and we’re all aware of the danger. Nothing is going to happen.”
“You can’t know that.”
“You’re right, I can’t,” Cam said, her voice rising with a combination of frustration and sympathy. “But I don’t intend to walk away. I know how to do this job, and I have more reason than anyone else to do it right.” She clasped Blair’s other hand and stared intently into troubled blue eyes. “I have to do this. Damn it, Blair, I love you.”
“If you did, Cameron, you’d leave me alone,” Blair protested, pulling her hands free. Then she turned and climbed hurriedly up the slope past Grant and disappeared into the house, leaving Cam staring after her.
Chapter Sixteen
When Cam walked back into the house just after eight in the evening, Patrick Doyle was piling folders into a large battered briefcase, obviously preparing to leave. He glanced up as she entered the living room, and said, “My team says that Egret’s building is secure. I told her she could go home any time she’s ready.”
“Where is she?”
“Packing, I suppose.”
“What part of the fact that you don’t have any say in her security don’t you understand, Doyle?” Cam was indignant, for the first time not bothering to hide her irritation. She’d had a hell of an afternoon, and her recent exchange with Blair had left her nerves raw. “You don’t have a say in where she goes or when she goes or how she gets there. You don’t have anything at all to do with her movement or her protection.”
“Just trying to help you out,” Doyle replied, feigning surprise. “Since you’re down a man, I thought I’d give you a hand with her.”
“I don’t need your help with her, Doyle.” She moved a step closer to him, a dangerous glint in her dark eyes. “All I need is for you to keep me apprised of any intelligence regarding Loverboy. That’s it. That’s all. Is that too complicated for you to comprehend?”
Mac walked into the room just in time to hear Cam’s last remark, and the edge in her voice surprised him. He had never seen her give even the slightest hint of losing control. Anyone who didn’t know her probably wouldn’t notice anything amiss even now; however, he saw her hands clenched tightly by her sides, and there was something just a little dangerous in her eyes.
Savard must have thought the same thing. She was watching both Doyle and the commander carefully as she stepped cautiously nearer.
“Hey, we all want to catch this guy.” Doyle closed the clasp on his briefcase and reached for his suit jacket, which he had left lying over the back of a nearby chair. He paused and grinned at Cam, a taunting grin completely without humor. “But, you know, it’s hard to catch fish if they don’t bite, and they almost never bite if there’s nothing on the hook.”
Cam moved so swiftly that Mac and Savard were completely taken off guard. She had her hands on Doyle’s shirtfront before he had a chance to stop her. In the next instant, she had shoved him up against the wall, her fists tw
isted in the fabric of his shirt, pulling the collar tight across his throat. His usual ruddy complexion rapidly turned crimson. When she spoke, her tone was low and lethal, but everyone in the room could hear her.
“Blair Powell is not bait. She is not part of this, and she never will be. Don’t suggest it. Don’t even think it. You don’t go near her without clearance from me.” Each phrase was punctuated by a slight shove. “You don’t talk to her. You don’t brief her. You don’t so much as look at her.”
Doyle’s face was purple and he was gasping for air, but he outweighed Cam by seventy pounds, and he was a trained agent. He chopped down on her right forearm with both of his fists, and even if she hadn’t been injured, he probably would have broken her grip. As it was, her face went white as pain exploded through her arm, and she let go of him, reflexively taking a step backward.
He lunged for her, but Savard caught his arm, restraining him. Mac stepped in front of Cam, effectively separating the two.
“You’re out of control, Roberts,” Doyle wheezed. “And we both know why, don’t we? Maybe if you weren’t trying to fu—”
“Shut up, Doyle,” Cam growled while trying to edge around Mac to get at the FBI agent again. She was having trouble staying on her feet, though, and a wave of nausea followed fast behind the burning pain that streaked up her arm. She marshaled every ounce of strength she had left and said very clearly, “Remember what I said. Stay away from her.”
“Commander,” Mac said calmly, “you appear to be bleeding. You should sit down.”
“Come on, sir,” Savard persuaded, wedging herself in front of Doyle and widening the distance between the two senior agents. “Everybody’s on edge. Let’s all cool off.”
Doyle looked at her as if just now realizing she was in the room. “Just remember whose side you’re on, Agent Savard,” he warned as he finally picked up his briefcase and headed toward the door. He glared at Cam, rubbing his neck where the collar of his shirt had left a raw spot. “Your reputation won’t protect you forever, Roberts. Heroes are quickly forgotten.”
