by Radclyffe
"You have any idea who might be doing this?" she asked Blair.
"Why should I?" Blair responded, surprised and defensive.
"Someone who might have approached you - at the gym, the gallery, maybe in a bar?"
"No, no one."
"Someone you spent the night with?"
Blair returned Cam's gaze steadily, her face expressionless. "Most of the women I go home with have no idea who I am. If they know anything at all, they know me by Allison."
"Your mother's maiden name," Cam observed. "And what abouttheir names? Can you give me any kind of list, any addresses?"
"Not unless you think the names 'baby, honey, and sweetheart' will do you any good," Blair responded acerbically.
"What about someone you've seen more regularly?"
"There hasn't been anyone," Blair stated flatly.
Cam ran a hand through her hair and sighed involuntarily. She hoped there might be a lead among Blair's sexual liaisons. If the stalker were indeed completely anonymous, unknown to Blair in any capacity, it would only be through luck that they would catch him, or her.
"All right then, when Mac gets back, I'll need you to look at the security tapes with us. Perhaps you'll recognize someone going in or out of the building."
Blair nodded assent. She felt like she'd been up for 48 hours, and looking at Cameron, she could tell that she was exhausted, too. Cam's usually pristine suit was rumpled, and she had dark circles under her eyes. Blair had a sudden urge to brush the tousled hair back from her forehead. She had an even more disturbing desire to slip the suit jacket off Cam's shoulders and guide her toward the couch. The next moment she saw herself unbuttoning Cam's shirt. She stood abruptly, forcing the images from her mind.
"I'm going to take a nap if you're going to have me up the rest of the night," Blair said curtly.
Cam glanced at her stiff back as Blair crossed the room and slammed the bedroom door behind her. She slumped down on the couch tiredly, allowing herself a few moments of rest before the long night began. The next thing she knew there was a knock at the door, and movement in the room. She opened her eyes to see Blair about to open the door.
Cam was across the room before Blair could turn the knob. Grasping her forearm, Cam said sharply, "Letme do that."
Blair looked at Cam in surprise. The security chief had her gun drawn, and the look on her face was intent. For the first time, Blair appreciated the severity of the situation. She also understood that Cameron Roberts was completely serious about protecting her. She remembered the angry red scar on Cameron's thigh, a lingering testimony to the woman's willingness to put herself in danger to protect another. Her stomach churned at the image of Cameron lying wounded on the ground, and for a second she hesitated.
"Step behind me, please," Cam ordered steadily. Turning to the door, her gun now at shoulder level, she said, "Who's there?"
"Stark and Mac," Mac replied.
Cam opened the door to the length of the security chain and peered out into the lighted hallway. Mac and the young female agent stood outlined in the doorway. She lowered her gun and opened the door to admit them. As they passed her, she briefly checked the hallway beyond, then reholstered her service revolver and secured the door.
"Have you got the tapes?"
"The tapes and dinner," Mac responded, unpacking several bags. He looked at his boss, knowing that she must be tired and hungry. The President's daughter was watching the commander as well. He couldn't quite describe the look on her face, but it seemed to be a mixture of fascination and uncertainty. There was something else there as well, something that reminded him of the way men looked at women. It was the first time he had ever seen anything so blatantly sexual between women. He wondered for a moment if the Commander was aware of it, or even if Blair Powell was.
"Right," Cameron responded. "Everybody grab whatever you want to eat and let's start looking at these tapes. Ms. Powell, I'm afraid I'm going to a have to ask you to sit through this with us. It will be tedious, but you may recognize someone."
"Of course," Blair said in a strangely subdued tone of voice. "Didn't someone promise me a Corona?"
Cam of looked at Mac with a raised eyebrow. "Mac?"
"Coming up," he said as he reached for the phone to call room service.
Three hours later the pizza boxes were empty, a six pack of Corona was gone, and daybreak was not far away. They had watched tapes from the previous three days and had found nothing out of the ordinary. It was unlikely that anything would turn up in surveillance from earlier in the week. Beginning with the morning shift, the agents would have to begin the labor-intensive job of interviewing all of the building's employees as well as everyone known to have made deliveries.
"Let's take a break everybody," Cam said with a sigh. "Mac, Stark-brief the others on what we need from the interviews. I'll stay here with Ms. Powell. Let's plan on another update at noon."
When the two agents left, Cam turned to Blair. "You should get some rest. This evening, I want to go over anything you can remember from the past few weeks that might have been unusual."
"Right."
Blair stopped at the door to the master suite, turning to look at Cam. "You should get some rest too," she said quietly.
Cam smiled slightly. "My thoughts exactly." She gave Blair an oddly gentle look. "I know this is hard for you. Just bear with me for a few days, and hopefully we can get back to normal."
"Normal?" Blair said with a tinge of sadness. "Commander, I wouldn't recognize it."
Cam stared thoughtfully after her as Blair closed the door between them. She could feel the loneliness penetrating the air, surprisingly so much like her own. She pushed the thought away, and stretched out on the couch, finally giving in to her fatigue.
When she awoke sometime later, she found a light cover had been placed over her. She was momentarily disoriented. The curtains were drawn, and the room was in near darkness. There was the sound of quiet breathing in the still room. After a moment, she could discern the shape of someone sitting nearby.
"Couldn't sleep?" Cam said into the darkness.
"No, I always have difficulty falling asleep anywhere other than my own bed." A hint of sarcastic laughter followed. "That's probably why I never spend the night with anyone."
"Leave the door open, and try again," Cam suggested. "Sometimes the sound of another's breathing is all we need to hear."
Blair was stunned. She hadnt meant to say anything, and the gentle response caught her off-guard. She couldn't remember the last time she had allowed anyone this close. It frightened her, and she resorted automatically to her long practiced defenses. "I think it might be better if you joined me in the bedroom. I can guarantee you at least one of us would sleep eventually."
Cam shifted to a sitting position, spreading her arms out along the back of the sofa. She looked towards Blair's face in the shadows. "I'm not available."
The words came quietly, and in a tone that might have suggested regret. Nevertheless, the rebuke stung. Blair knew that in her heart her offer had been serious.
"You certainly seemed available last night," Blair said sarcastically.
"That was just biology," Cam said gently.
"Biology!" Blair snorted. "Is that what we're calling it now? You were hot, and you were ready. Deny it if it makes you feel any better, but I know what I felt."
"I'm not denying anything. What I am saying is that nothing can happen between us."
Blair eased herself out of the chair and approached the sofa. She leaned down, placing an arm on either side of Cam's body. Their faces were only inches apart. "Relax, Commander. I'm not asking for a lifetime commitment. Why pretend you don't want me to touch you?"
Cam remained motionless. The air around her was charged with sexuality. Heat radiated from Blair's body, and the faint scent of excitement caused her own blood to surge. She was quite sure that Blair knew she was aroused. She couldn't alter the pounding of her heart or the quickening of her breath.
/> "Ms. Powell, I do not want you to touch me."
"I can assure you," Blair whispered as she leaned yet closer, "I am just as accomplished as any professional you might procure to take care of your needs."
"All I need from you is your cooperation for a few days," Cam said in an even voice. She was surprised at the rapidity and accuracy of Blair's information gathering. She was far from embarrassed however. There was very little difference between the casual sex that Blair enjoyed and what she herself sought in anonymity and privacy.
Blair heard the finality in her voice. She had been rejected before, but never by anyone she wanted quite this much. What angered her the most was that she sensed Cam's desire. Cameron Roberts represented everything she could not have in her own life - independence, self-determination, and freedom. Knowing this fueled her urge to strip the self-contained agent of her will. For just those fleeting moments at the pinnacle of release, she wanted to hold Cam's self-restraint in her hands. Slowly she straightened.
"If you keep me cooped up in this place for very long, I won't be responsible for my actions."
Cam recognized the concession in her voice. She laughed softly. "I promise to make this as short and painless as possible. I'm sure you can be trusted, no matter how long it takes."
Don't be so sure,Blair thought to herself.If I have to be this close to you 24 hours a day, I'm not sure I can trust myself.
Chapter Eleven
Blair winced as Paula Stark led yet another 10 in a suit where the aces hadn't yet been played. If she had to watch her "partner" make one more stupid play, she might have to take Mac's gun and shoot her. She had not left the apartment in three days. They had just finished a dinner of Chinese takeout, and Cameron had left Blair with Stark, Mac, and Taylor while she went to Blair's apartment building for a briefing with the other agents. Blair was keenly aware of her absence. The air seemed electric when Cam was around. She looked toward the door with relief when she heard the knock.
"How is your pinochle, Agent Roberts?" she asked as Cameron crossed the room to join them.
Cam raised an inquiring eyebrow. "Are you playing for money?"
Blair laughed. "If we were I'm afraid I'd be in big trouble."
"In that case, I'll play. Partners?"
Paula Stark pushed back from the table. "Please, take my place. I never was any good at cards, and I'm due back at the command center now any ways."
Cam sat down across from Blair. They played as if they had been playing together for years. Each time Cam bid, she had a sense that Blair knew exactly what she intended. It was both unsettling, and exhilarating. Before long, Mac and Taylor were complaining that the two women had some kind of secret signal going. The score became so uneven that eventually they called it quits.
"You are a great partner, Commander," Blair said softly. "I might have known. I'm sure you are equally good at everything."
Her tone was intimate, and the suggestiveness did not escape Mac's notice. His boss seemed unaffected as she stood and stretched. She had shed her jacket, and the straps of her shoulder holster stretched her shirt tight over her torso. Mac didn't miss the way Blair's eyes flickered over Cam's form.
If Cam had heard Blair's remark, or felt her appraising glance, she did not show it. She made no reply as she turned to her to agents. "Why don't you two take a break for a few hours. Have one of the night crew come by around midnight. I'll be fine until then."
After the two men left, Cameron took a chair in the suite's large sitting area with the day's reports. Blair sat opposite her on the couch with a sketchpad. The room lights were low, and Cam's face was partially in shadow.
"Do you mind?" Blair asked as she began to draw.
Cam looked over and smiled faintly. "No."
"Most people do," Blair said without looking up.
She was sketching the fine straight nose, the deep-set dark eyes, and the sculpted cheek bones and jaw from memory. It was a face that had caught her attention the first time she saw her, and it never failed to entice her. It was a face meant to be drawn. Unfortunately, the more she saw her, the more exciting she found her. Cam was everything Blair found attractive in a woman, and the effect she had on her was unsettling. Blair found herself listening for Cam's voice when she awoke in the morning, and looking for her figure when she entered a room. She found Cam's presence both disturbing and strangely reassuring. She tried to discount her feelings by reminding herself that it was only natural to find a good-looking woman appealing. She simply chose to ignore her racing pulse and unmistakable arousal whenever Cam was near.
"I'm actually used to it."
Blair looked up. "Really?"
"My mother is an artist."
Blair regarded her seriously. "Would I know her?"
"You might," Cam said softly. "Her name is Marcea Casalls."
Blair caught her breath. "You wouldn't be joking, would you?"
Cam shook her head.
"Well." Blair was momentarily at a loss. "I suppose I should be embarrassed to even let you see my work. She is quite wonderful."
"Yes, she is. From the little I have seen of your work, so are you. Of course, I only know what I have seen of my mother' s work, and that of her friends."
"Then you have been exposed to the best," Blair said lightly. "Did you grow up in Italy?"
A shadow flickered across Cam's face, then was gone. "Yes, until I was twelve. After that, I was schooled in the United States."
Blair spoke aloud without thinking. "I remember hearing something about her husband-"
"My father was the American ambassador to Italy," Cam responded. "He was killed in a terrorist car bombing attack went I was eleven."
"Oh god, I'm sorry. I had forgotten." Blair looked at Cam with true anguish in her face. As a child she had often been frightened that something would happen to her father. Growing up surrounded by armed guards had done that to her. She never gave any thought to her own safety. To do so would have forced her to accept that the constraining security measures taken to protect her were actually necessary. "It must have been horrible for you."
Cam looked into the distance, remembering. "It was much harder for my mother. They were completely devoted, and his death nearly destroyed her. If it hadn't been for her work, I don't think she would have survived."
"And she never remarried?" Blair questioned softly.
"No. I don't think anyone else would have compared. Fortunately, her art is her life. She travels a great deal, and has many friends."
"Are you like her?" Blair asked boldly. She couldn't help wondering about the rumors concerning the death of Cameron's lover. For an instant she was jealous, and then berated herself for her foolishness.
Again, that fleeting smile. "No, my mother is an artist."
"Meaning?"
"She is a mysterious combination of deep passion, volatile sensitivities, and uncommon vision."
"Is that how you see artists?"
Cameron focused on Blair's face. "Yes. I find them to be persons of rare fragility and unsurpassed emotional depths. Hell to live with, but worth every moment of the knowing."
Her words were delivered with a deep intensity, and Blair felt them to her core. Those words threatened to rock the foundation of her world. She had never wanted anything more than she wanted Cameron Roberts to feel that way about her. It was impossible, and the last thing she wanted to feel. This need would make her weak, and endanger what little independence she still had. She was torn between the urge to flee, and the physically painful attraction that was so much more than sexual. She wrenched her eyes away from Cameron's expressive face.
"I can't draw you when you're talking," she said thickly as she focused on her charcoal and paper.
Cam watched Blair's delicate hand stroke the textured surface, thinking how like her mother Blair was. She was beautiful, gifted, and an emotional minefield. One moment she was heat and anger, the next an ember radiating sultry sensuality, and then, just as suddenly, like now, withdrawn in
to herself. Blair's legs were curled under her, and she bent her upper body over her work protectively. Her blond hair fell free in riotous curls around her face. Cam's mind repelled from the image of anyone harming her. But then it was her responsibility to see that nothing did.
She returned to her reading absolutely certain that her sudden urge to run her hands through those curls was simply in response to their conversation, and had nothing to do with the compelling beauty of the woman herself.
