Love And Honor

by Radclyffe

  She stripped off her jeans and T-shirt and crossed to be adjoining bath. Quickly, mechanically, she showered and washed her hair. She left her hair loose, as she usually did when she was going out and didn’t want to be recognized. Over the years, she had learned that subtle alterations in her physical appearance and dress made it almost impossible for a member of the general public to recognize her as the Presidents daughter. Associating her with the image they saw on television and in magazines, the average citizen expected to see a sophisticated, elegant woman in tasteful but expensive clothes, wearing just the right amount of makeup, and with her curling, shoulder length blond hair gathered at the base of her neck with a gold clasp. In leather pants, a body hugging sleeveless top, and her hair down and free, Blair bore almost no resemblance to the First Daughter.

  When she finished dressing, she slipped a slim leather wallet with nothing other than her ID and cash into her back pocket and opened the door to her room. This time, the hallway was empty and she crossed quickly to the back stairs that led to the kitchen and the rear exit. To her surprise, the kitchen was empty, too. She knew that Davis was off duty that evening and Ed Hernandez was somewhere in the front of the house, probably in the living room. She didn’t see Stark and was surprised, but grateful. She wasn’t anxious to elude her and draw yet more negative attention to the agent.

  Carefully sliding open the glass door, she stepped out onto the cedar-planked deck that was cantilevered over the slope of Russian Hill below. Moving quietly, she started down the first of many wooden staircases that cut back and forth across the lower portion of Marcea’s property toward the street below. Halfway down, she stopped at the sound of a voice just below her.

  “Another walk?”

  Blair leaned over the railing and looked down into the shadows. Paula Stark looked back. “I’m going out for awhile.”

  “Then I guess I am, too.”

  “Why don’t you continue your perimeter check and pretend you didn’t see me?” Blair started down the stairs again.

  Stark met her at the bottom and said, “We both know I can’t. I don’t even want to. It’s my job to be with you tonight, especially if you’re outside this building.”

  Blair regarded her steadily, surprised by the somber tone in her voice. She’d always known Stark was incredibly responsible and almost obsessively dedicated to her job, but tonight, there was something else in her voice. Maturity perhaps. For a moment there, she’d sounded like Cam. “Any room for negotiation?”

  “No. I need to inform Mac that we’re leaving home base. I’d like to be able to tell him where we’re going.”

  “I don’t know yet. I just want to get a drink and…”

  “Please. You don’t need to explain to me, Ms. Powell. It’s only our destination I have any interest in. Would you object to taking the cars?”

  “I’d rather walk.” As they spoke, Blair moved off down the path that cut through the dense shrubbery toward the street and the sidewalk.

  Stark fell in beside her and pulled her cell from her belt. She spoke softly as they walked, informing Mac that Egret was moving, destination undetermined. Mac, she knew, would detail Hernandez to the car and eventually, wherever she and Blair stopped, the other agent would eventually show up. In all likelihood, Mac would order one other agent to join Hernandez in the car for backup. It was somewhat unorthodox to have only one agent on foot, but typical of the way they were forced to deploy with the First Daughter. Egret didn’t welcome their presence and rarely made it easy for them. However, the Commander had made it clear that despite Egret’s objections, security would be provided. Stark had no intention of leaving her unguarded, no matter what she had to do.

  “Let’s take a streetcar,” Blair said impulsively, heading to the corner just as a car trundled up the steep hill.

  Hastening to follow, Stark grabbed onto the rail as Blair jumped up onto the step that ran on the outside of the car.

  “Grab on,” Blair called, extending her hand and laughing as Stark ran a few steps alongside and finally caught her hand.

  “Thanks,” Stark puffed as she pulled herself up. Wouldn’t that have been just terrific if I’d lost her because I was too slow. I’ve got to start running. Pumping iron is just not enough.

  Their hands touched as they both grasped the vertical pole for support. The streetcar lurched off and the two of them rocked back and forth, shoulder to shoulder, facing one another. It was the kind of thing that tourists always did, but Stark had never been a tourist in San Francisco before. It was the kind of thing that lovers did as well.

  The experience was both exhilarating and slightly confusing. Blair Powell was a beautiful woman, and Stark remembered all too clearly what it felt like when the hand that was lightly brushing hers now had done more than that for the few hours they had spent together in a remote hotel room in the Rockies. Those hands had been accomplished and unexpectedly tender, and the memory echoed forcibly through her. Their faces were only inches apart, and in the flickering intermittent glow of the street lights, she could see Blair’s slightly parted lips and her sensuous smile, and for a moment, desire twisted within her.

  Quickly, Stark averted her gaze.

  “You okay?” Blair asked, leaning back to let the wind course through her hair.

  “Yeah, sure.” Damn, when will I learn not to telegraph my every thought and feeling. Cripes, some Secret Service agent.

  “Come on,” Blair said a few moments later, leaping down before the car had even pulled to a stop. “This is Market Street, the end of the line. Let’s walk for a while.”

  Stark glanced around and her stomach lurched. There were more street people than she had anticipated—a motley gathering of homeless and transients, many of whom were aggressively panhandling or standing around in groups of two or more. Definitely a security nightmare. She could only hope that no one recognized Blair.

  “This is a bad idea, Ms. Powell. Let’s wait for Hernandez and the Suburban. It’ll only be a minute or two.”

  “Come on, Stark where’s your sense of adventure?” Blair asked as she turned to her right and started walking southwest down Market toward the Tenderloin and away from the relative safety of the more populated downtown area.

  “I don’t think I have a sense of adventure,” Stark mumbled, hurrying to catch up. She lifted her wrist and radioed their location, grateful that Blair did not complain about that, at least. The Suburban, outfitted with everything they could possibly need, including automatic weapons, body armor and extensive medical equipment, would be in the vicinity in a minute or two. If they were going to walk, at least they’d have someone at their backs.

  Chapter Seven

  They trekked the length of Market Street to the corner of Castro. At nearly 11:00 p.m. on a Friday night, the heart of the Castro District was alive with activity. The sidewalks were wall-to-wall people—tourists and locals alike. Whereas once the area had been the exclusive domain of gay men, and somewhat clandestine, it was now much more upscale and civilized. Nevertheless, interspersed with the trendy restaurants and boutiques, the gay bars and sex clubs still flourished. For the next hour, Blair browsed the bookstores and bars with Stark shadowing her at a respectable distance. They didn’t speak.

  The first few bars they stopped in were relatively bright, airy places that catered to an upscale clientele. They stayed awhile in each, while Blair sipped a glass of wine or seltzer and pensively watched the couples or soon-to-be lovers dancing.

  It seemed pretty uneventful and Stark began to relax. Big mistake.

  Around midnight, Blair halted in front of a nondescript establishment that bore a simple hand-lettered, board sign—”Skins”. From the look of the men and occasional woman entering, it was a leather bar.

  Blair glanced at Stark. “You want to wait outside?”

  “I’ll come in, thanks,” Stark replied, as if she had any particular choice in the matter.

  As soon as they entered, Blair said, “See you in a bit.” And
promptly disappeared.

  One look around the dark smoky club and Stark’s stomach dropped. Visibility was zero, the music was loud, and sex was in the air. At the far end of the single square room, a small dance floor was crowded with bodies in various stages of undress writhing to a heavy metal beat. The unadorned bar along one wall was three-deep in people jostling to get their drinks. Stark judged that unless she stayed physically attached to Egret, she wouldn’t be of much use as security. And staying attached to her was neither advisable nor possible. Deciding she had no good alternatives, Stark moved deeper into the room to look for a vantage point along the wall opposite the bar from where she could watch the entrance and still have some view into the darker recesses of the rear. It was the best she could manage. When she finally staked out a two foot square spot that would do, she radioed her location to Mac and the agents in the car. Macs blistering response did not help her nerves.

  Blair insinuated her way through the bodies and eventually reached the bar. A few minutes later, beer in hand, she made her way to a rear corner where she could get her back against the wall and have a view of the dance floor. The crowd was almost all male, most of the men shirtless in threadbare jeans or tight leather pants that displayed what they had come there to offer. Here and there she saw a woman, dressed in denim or leather, too, and usually wearing a tight tank top like her own that displayed toned muscles and untethered breasts. It was a bar like dozens of other bars that she had been in, heavy with the scent of booze and sex and something dangerous. It was no different than it had ever been, and yet it was completely different.

  The first woman to approach her was a heavily muscled dark-skinned woman with close-cut hair and a row of silver studs in her left ear. Her sleeveless black T-shirt fit her so seamlessly that she might have been naked. Sweat glistened on the expanse of chest left bare by the deep V in the neck, and her skin-tight leather pants outlined every sinew in her powerful thighs.

  “Dance?”

  Blair smiled and shook her head. “No, thanks.”

  Clearly surprised, the other woman cocked her head and ran her eyes slowly up and down Blair’s body, lingering on her breasts before meeting her eyes again. “That’s not the message you’re sending.”

  “Sorry, not tonight.”

  “You just here to tease?”

  Again Blair shook her head, still smiling. “No.” She shrugged. “I’m just here to pass the time.”

  “Suit yourself, but you don’t know what you’re missing.”

  As the woman turned to walk away, Blair flashed on Cam’s face. Oh yes, I do.

  Over the next hour as she finished her beer and had another, she refused several more invitations to dance and, in one case, a less subtle offer to share a few moments of bodily contact in the alley behind the bar. She was watching a particularly handsome male couple dancing when she felt a hand close over her shoulder from behind. She didn’t stiffen or react in any way, but she shifted her balance until she was centered and slowly set her bottle down on the ledge near her elbow. Turning her head only slightly, she said, “You need to move your hand or lose it. Right now.”

  A body pressed close against her in the crowd, a crotch moved against her ass, and fingers stroked down along her bare arm. Lips brushed her ear.

  Just as she was preparing to grasp the intruding wrist and twist away, a voice murmured in her ear.

  “I’d give anything I have to be—”

  Blair spun around, her arms coming up and around Cam’s shoulders as she pushed her lover against the wall and kissed her, all in one swift motion.

  It didn’t matter to her a bit that she’d been vacillating between worry and anger all night, wondering where Cam was, wondering why she hadn’t called, wondering how she was ever going to be able to control the terrible ache she felt when they were apart. What mattered was that at the sound of Cam’s voice and the touch of her hand, every single thing in her life made sense. Every cell came alive, every breath felt sharper, every thought clearer. Urgently, hungrily, she molded her body to Cam’s, her blood running hot and fast just from the feel of her skin.

  Finally, breathing heavily, Blair leaned back, her thighs and pelvis still glued to Cam’s. The hard press of the agents inside-pants holster registered against her leg and suddenly she was reminded of where they were and what she had just done. Breathlessly, she whispered, “Jesus, Cam—Stark is in here somewhere.”

  “No, she isn’t. I sent her out when I came in. I assured her I’d be able to provide close protection.”

  Even in the hazy light, Blair saw Cam’s electric grin. She saw something else as well. Cam looked gaunt, circles under her eyes marred her handsome face and the tightness in her jaw belied the strain that she couldn’t hide.

  “Cam, you look beat. Did you get any sleep at all?”

  “I slept on the plane.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Rough,” Can admitted, because she knew she wouldn’t be able to hide it for long. She had slept on the flight, and that had helped. The headache persisted. The neurologist who’d seen her in the Emergency Room, the one who’d wanted to admit her after the explosion four nights before, had warned her that it might be with her for a while. It seemed a little better, though, and her stomach was more settled. “Nothing a few days away from DC won’t cure.”

  “Why didn’t you call me—tell me you were coming?”

  “Sorry. I drove right to the airport from Treasury. I always have an emergency bag in my trunk, and I just grabbed that and caught the first plane out.”

  Blair knew that kind of behavior was unusual for Cam. “Was it that bad back there?”

  “About like I expected.”

  Blair nodded, knowing there was more, but for the moment, all she really wanted to do was hold her. “Look, let’s get out of here. We can…”

  Suddenly she remembered the car somewhere outside filled with Secret Service agents. In the past if she’d wanted to be alone with a woman she’d met in a bar, she’d use the back door and disappear for a few hours. But this was different; this wasn’t just any woman—this was the superior of the agents waiting outside. “Fuck, what can we do? I need to be alone with you. Just for a little while.”

  “Let’s go to the beach.”

  “What?”

  Cam took her hand. “Trust me.”

  Chapter Eight

  They caught a cab on the corner of Castro and Market, and while Blair directed the driver, Cam radioed instructions for the agents in the surveillance vehicle to follow them. When the cab pulled to the curb at the end of Polk across from the bay, they paid and climbed out.

  “I’ll just be a second,” Cam said as she and Blair walked back toward the Suburban that sat idling behind their cab. When she leaned down to the open driver’s side window of the Suburban, Hernandez looked up. “Two of you stay with the car—whoever’s on swing shift is relieved.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Keep your eye on foot traffic on the beach.”

  “Roger.”

  As she turned away, the rear door opened and John Fielding climbed out. She nodded to him. “Fielding.”

  “Commander,” he rejoined before heading off to find his way back to the hotel.

  Guided by starlight, she and Blair crossed the sidewalk and climbed down to the beach, then walked a hundred yards over the sandy soil toward the bay. As they drew close to the water’s edge, Cam pointed toward a projecting outcropping of stone.

  “This looks good.”

  Taking Blair’s hand, she led her around the far side of the rocks and settled onto the hard-packed earth, pulling Blair down beside her. The surf was only a few yards away, tossing ghostly fingers of froth up onto the moonlit sand. The salt spray rapidly misted their skin, and in the middle of the night, the air was chilly, even in August.

  “You cold?” Cam asked, her back against the stone. Their location was isolated from view of the car, and no one could approach them without being seen by the agents
stationed on the road above. It was at once private and secure.

  “No, not with you here.” Blair settled against Cam’s right side, her arm circling Cam’s waist, her head nestled on Cam’s shoulder. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had practice at this kind of thing.”

  “Oh? What kind of thing would that be?”

  “Eluding the Secret Service.”

  “Ah. I have been giving it some thought,” Cam murmured, pressing her lips to Blair’s temple. “I didn’t sleep all the way here the rest of the time I thought about you.”

  “They’ve got to be wondering,” Blair said quietly, tugging Cam’s shirttail free from the waistband of her trousers and slipping her hand beneath, resting her palm on the warm skin of her abdomen.

  “I’m sure they are but you needn’t worry about it.” As she followed wisps of clouds streaking across the face of the moon, she thought how much better it was to be watching the sky with Blair beside her. DC seemed a world away. Slowly, she stroked the length of Blair’s bare arm, fingertips lightly tracing the firm muscles. “Blair, you’re the President’s daughter. That works for us as much as it works against us. The Secret Service has a long legacy of silence when it comes to protecting the privacy of the President and that extends to his family. My agents will not betray you.”

  “It’s not me I care about.” She traced a rib, smoothing her fingertips over the scar. It’s you. It’s my father.

  “I know that. But I care about you.” Cam tightened her hold on her, shifting on the sand until her chest and thighs were pressed to Blair’s. “If and when you want to share your personal life with the world, it should be your choice. And it shouldn’t be the fodder for anyone else’s political agenda.”

  “My personal life has a lot to do with you,” Blair whispered, just before her lips found Cam’s and she lost her words in the warm welcome of Cam’s mouth.

  “Yeah,” Cam agreed a lifetime later when she finally thought to breathe again. “But no one will care about me”