by Radclyffe
"Thank you. Scramble it, please."
"Yes, ma'am."
Within seconds, Lucinda Washburn answered, her voice brisk and sharp. Cam had no doubt she'd been awake.
"Problem, Commander?"
"Call it precaution, ma'am. I'm in Manhattan. I suggest you give Stark a few extra people for this afternoon." Despite the fact that their transmission was scrambled and therefore presumably secure, Cam left nothing to chance where Blair was concerned. She expected that Lucinda would get her meaning without further explanation.
"Any particular reason?"
"Just a feeling."
"That's good enough." Lucinda sighed. "And the Eagle?"
"I imagine Tom will already have that covered." Cam knew that Tom Turner, the president's security chief, would have pulled out all the stops for the president's first public appearance since the attacks. No doubt every FBI agent, Secret Service agent, and NYPD security officer available would be detailed for Andrew Powell's visit to Ground Zero. "But Egret tends to fly far from the nest."
"God, that she does," Lucinda said with a fondness that was apparent even over the line. "You don't have anything specific?"
"I've only been here a few hours, but things are loose at the Aerie. I don't like it."
"Damn. Neither do I. You'll stay close this afternoon?"
Cam smiled, a cold, hard smile. "Count on it"
"I'll see that she leaves here with extra people."
"Thank you. Oh, and one other thing."
"I knew yesterday that you wanted something in particular," Lucinda said. "What is it?"
"Not what, who."
"Let's hear it."
"I want Felicia Davis detailed to me as of today."
"That's going to be difficult. The security clearance will take time, and there's only so much I can do to go around the Justice Department's special investigative committee."
"If we're going to find these people," Cam said with certainty, "it's going to be through some connection to Foster. I need a computer expert for that."
"I can get you someone.. .There is at least one Justice agent who is supposed to be the best they ever had. A bit of a renegade, apparently, but—"
"Won't work," Cam interrupted. "Felicia is one of mine already. She was vulnerable during the assault, just like Stark. She's lucky to be alive. There's no way she's involved."
"I'll see what I can do, but these things don't come free."
"Oh, I know that. If there's some price attached, I'll pay it. Now, as to the other team members—"
Lucinda laughed. "You've been busy since we talked yesterday."
"Things are bad up here," Cam said quietly.
"Yes. Whom do you need?"
Cam told her and waited.
"That shouldn't be a problem. Consider it done unless you hear from me by midday."
"I'll have them working by then."
"Yes," Lucinda said, "I imagine you will. Good hunting, Commander."
*
Cam was thinking about the hunt as she poured her first cup of coffee at a little after seven a.m.
"I see you still remember where the essentials are," Diane said from behind her.
Turning toward the kitchen door, Cam smiled. "Hope you don't mind."
"Mmm, not at all. I like a resourceful woman, especially in the morning." Diane, dressed now in a pale green silk blouse, tan slacks, and low heels, glided across the burnished-steel-and-granite Architectural Digest kitchen to the counter. She reached past Cam for the coffeepot, and in an unusual move, was careful not to touch her.
Despite Diane's casual tone, Cam thought she detected signs of tears beneath her hostess's flawless makeup. "Rough night?"
Diane laughed and shook her head. "Don't you know that's something you should never say to a woman? It suggests either that my age is showing or that I simply look like hell."
"Neither is ever the case," Cam said seriously. "But it has been a hell of a week."
"Oh God, hasn't it?" Diane's hand trembled slightly as she raised the coffee cup to her lips. She sipped and leaned one hip against the counter edge, facing Cam. "Did you sleep at all?"
"Not much." Actually, not at all. After she and Valerie had talked, she'd tossed and turned on the sofa for several hours before retreating to the balcony again in defeat. She'd almost napped on the lounge chair, but the litany of things yet to do kept repeating in the back of her mind and prevented her from slipping completely into sleep. Finally, she'd given up and called Lucinda. Now, showered and dressed in black trousers and a dark polo shirt, she'd exchanged her fatigue for the exigency of the day to come. "Blair is coming up this afternoon with her father."
"I know, she told me." Diane narrowed her eyes, regarding Cam pensively. "You don't like that, do you?"
Cam grinned. "What was your first clue?"
Diane laughed. "How do you handle it? Your worry for her?"
At any other time, Diane might not have asked such a personal question, even given her long-standing curiosity. She respected her best friend's privacy, despite how envious she was at times of the obvious passion she witnessed between Blair and Cam. And she knew that Cam was, if anything, even more private than Blair. But in a world where annihilation could be delivered to one's doorstep on a bright sunny morning, there seemed little point to standing on convention. And for those who lived within the shadow of the tragedy, life had taken on an even greater sense of urgency, where caution and prudence had far less meaning.
"I'm paid to worry about her," Cam replied mildly. It was the simple answer, and the truth. Then, because she sensed the caring beneath Diane's question, and because Diane loved Blair, she told the rest of it. "I do my best not to let her know when I'm worried, because she needs to feel that she has a normal life. And when she's doing something like today that just about makes me crazy, I do everything I can to make sure she's safe."
"I imagine if she knew exactly how hard it was for you, she'd try to change."
"She might," Cam agreed. "And that would kill something in her." Cam rinsed her cup in the sink and turned it upside down on the grooves carved into the granite counter for drainage. "So I don't tell her."
"Of course not. And neither will I." Diane deposited her cup with Cam's. "You wanted to talk to me about something?"
"Do you mind sitting out on the balcony?" Cam asked as they started to leave the kitchen.
Diane stopped abruptly on her way into the living room, regarding Cam in surprise. "You don't trust Valerie?"
Cam remained silent as they walked toward the balcony. The living room was empty, and she couldn't hear any noise from the bedrooms down the hall. Diane said nothing until they were outside with the sliding glass door closed behind them.
"I can't think of any way to say this that won't be awkward," Diane said as she settled into one of the chaise lounge chairs. "I happened to be in the living room last evening when you and Valerie were out here, and afterward, we talked."
"And she told you about us." Cam leaned with her back to the railing, the sun behind her and her face in shadow. The interrogation technique was so automatic she didn't even think about it.
Diane shielded her eyes with one hand against the morning sun and nodded. "Some of it." She laughed. "No details, I'm afraid. I can't seem to find a woman who's willing to share you. Even in afterthought."
"Did she also tell you that Blair knows?"
"She did. I'd like to tell Blair that I know. Keeping secrets from friends is the fastest way I know to destroy a friendship."
Cam picked up on the pain in Diane's voice. "Blair didn't tell you because she was protecting me."
"And now you're protecting her." Diane smiled. "She has quite a champion in you."
"No." Cam took two steps and then sat on the end of the lounge chair facing Diane. She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. "I just wanted you to know that she did it for me, and not because she didn't want you to know. In fact," she said with a sigh, "I think not being able to tell yo
u has been tough on her."
"Are you sure you don't mind if I speak to her about it?"
"Not at all."
"You didn't answer my question. Don't you trust Valerie?"
"It's not a question of who I trust and who I don't," Cam said. "It's a question of protecting Blair's privacy and maintaining her security."
"You can't think Valerie is a threat," Diane said defensively.
"I don't discuss Blair in front of anyone." Again the truth, even if evasive.
"No. None of us who love her do. I understand." Diane appeared satisfied. "Tell me what you want to know."
"I want to know the name of every person who's asked you about Blair in the last year. I want to know about every new person who's come into your life in that same time period, business or personal. I want to know if there's anyone who stands out in your mind as being off somehow."
Diane laughed. "You're not serious?"
Cam merely nodded.
"My God, I run an art gallery. Sheila Blake is one of my clients, and everyone in the art world, at least, knows that Blake is Blair Powell. People ask me about her all the time with regard to her work."
"Anyone seem more interested than others? Persistent questions, repeat questions, returning to the gallery over and over for no good reason?"
"Not that I can think of, but I can go back through the gallery sales records and see if that jogs my memory."
"Good. Excellent. Ask your employees if they remember anyone inquiring about her schedule or personal information—address, phone, e-mail address." Cam leaned even closer, her dark eyes simmering. "Anything. It won't be obvious. These guys are pros. Tell them that."
"I will. I'll talk to them this morning." Diane frowned. "You said personally. You don't think someone I've been.. .intimate with.. .could possibly be involved?"
"I don't know. Have you met anyone under unusual circumstances, or anyone who seems almost too perfect in terms of the kind of woman who appeals to you?"
There was a moment of absolute silence as they stared at one another, the name hanging in the air between them. As if bidden, the doors behind them opened, and Valerie stepped out. Her ice blue blouse was an exact match for her eyes, which moved questioningly from Diane to Cam. Whatever she saw in their faces made her lift her hands in apology.
"I'm sorry. I'm interrupting, it seems." She brushed her hair back, holding it for a moment against the wind, her eyes on Diane. "I wanted to tell you that I'm leaving. I've called a cab."
"Right now?" Diane rose quickly. "Why?"
"It's a business thing. It came up just a few minutes ago—I just got a call from my employer." Valerie smiled and shrugged. "You know how these things are. When a client gets something into their head, you just can't put them off. I hate to run when you've been so kind."
Cam stood and headed inside to give them privacy. "I have some calls to make too." As she passed Valerie, she said, "Take care of yourself."
"I will. And you, Cameron." Valerie kept her eyes on Diane during the exchange. Once Cam was inside and the door closed once more, she said, "I'm so sorry about all of this."
"I thought we put that to rest last night," Diane said, moving to join Valerie. They stood facing one another, their expressions equally troubled and watchful. "We both have pasts. I won't apologize for mine, and I don't expect you to, either."
"You're very kind."
"To hell with kind," Diane said sharply. "You know damn well I'm attracted to you. More than attracted to you. Why are you leaving?"
"I told you.. .business."
Diane regarded her steadily. "I won't ask you this time what's really going on, because it's obvious you feel you can't tell me. But I will ask you this, and I want an honest answer. Am I going to see you again?"
Valerie hesitated, and then, instead of replying, slid her hand to the back of Diane's neck and guided her forward into a kiss. She kissed her softly at first—just a brush of lips—savoring her tantalizing taste, until suddenly she wanted more. More than just a whispered goodbye. She needed something to take away with her. Without breaking contact, she caressed Diane's mouth more firmly, a long slow slide with the tip of her tongue glancing between Diane's lips.
Diane caught her breath, first in surprise, then at the sudden tightening, in the pit of her stomach. "Oh," she murmured, "don't do that and then leave me."
"I was hoping perhaps you would remember this," Valerie said against all good judgment, "until I return."
"Will you? Return?"
"If I can."
The regret in her voice was too genuine for Diane not to believe her. She settled her arms loosely around Valerie's waist, gratified when the other woman did not move away. "When you come back, will you tell me what it is you think I won't be able to handle?"
"If I can." Valerie couldn't help herself. She kissed her one last time, hoping desperately to satisfy the ache inside with something as simple as a kiss. Something she could explain away, if pressed, as a moment's indiscretion in the midst of a world gone mad. She knew she'd failed hopelessly when she found herself wanting nothing more than to keep on kissing her until there was nothing in her mind or her heart or her soul except Diane.
"Goodbye," Valerie murmured as she drew away. She reached behind her to open the door, her eyes still on Diane's.
Diane let her go. For reasons she did not understand, as she watched her leave, she whispered, "Be careful."
Chapter Eleven
I appreciate you appearing with me at the press briefing this morning," Andrew Powell said as he passed Blair a plate of freshly baked muffins.
"You don't have to thank me, Dad." Absently, Blair broke off a corner of one of the White House chef's specialties. "I feel like there's so little I can do as it is. If it sends a message to whoever's out there that we won't be manipulated by terrorists, I'll go on television with you every single day."
"I have a feeling you'd get tired of that pretty fast, but I'll remember the offer."
"I'm glad there was no mention of what happened to me." She shivered and quickly forced a smile. "I already have my face on the front page of too many tabloids."
"It was a judgment call," Powell admitted. "The press will want to pillory me if it comes out that we held that kind of news back."
"Dad, you don't have to—"
"It was my call, honey. I'm happy with it."
"Why did you decide to keep it quiet?" Blair put down her muffin and watched her father intently.
"A number of reasons. Most importantly, your privacy. You've had the press fixated on your private life for months, and this kind of news would make you morning television news program material." Her father's voice held an edge of anger. "And I don't want whoever's out there—or here—focusing on you as a target."
"Thank you," Blair said softly.
"No need to." The president leaned back in his chair and regarded Blair with a small frown. "It's probably going to be pretty rough this afternoon."
"I know. I'll be okay."
"I never doubted it."
"I'm not coming back with you tonight." Blair pushed her half-eaten breakfast aside. "I want to go home. I can't hide here, and besides, it's already making me crazy."
"I'd like you to wait until my security advisers tell me they think it's safe," Powell suggested mildly.
"You know it's never going to be safe" Blair said with asperity. "If I have Stark and Cam looking out for me, I'll be fine."
"How about if I ask Cam's opinion as to the timing?"
Blair's eyes flashed with temper, and then she laughed. "Jeez, Dad, I can see you're going to need a crash course in the dynamics of lesbian couples. That's kind of like asking the husband if it's okay for the wife to do something."
"Ouch." Powell laughed, coloring slightly. "Okay, I've got that in focus now. So, is it all right if I ask your new security chief and your ex-chief about the situation, just so I feel better?"
"Much better. And you're going to anyhow, with or without my o
kay, aren't you?"
"You've been around this game too long, I can see." Powell suddenly looked serious. "Yes, I'll want to be briefed on the potential risk to you before you leave here."
"Will you tell me what they say?"
"Yes."
"Then I'll try to follow their recommendations."
"Thank you." He hesitated, then added, "I wouldn't say this to anyone else except Lucy, but we're playing catch-up here, Blair, all of us. The Department of Defense, the CIA, the FBI—all of us were caught flat-footed on Tuesday. It's going to be a scramble for months until we get a system in place to anticipate and counter another event of this kind. I'm worried about you."
Blair reached across the table and took her father's hand. "And I'm worried about you. I've always been worried about you. But that's the life we have, and we have to trust the people whose job it is to take care of us, right?"
"You sound as if things aren't quite as hard for you as they used to be. Is that true?"
She shrugged. "If you mean is it any easier for me to have Secret Service agents trailing around after me twenty-four hours a day, no." She laughed. "Even when one of them is my lover. But I'm happier because I have Cam. She makes everything easier for me."
"Then I'm happy for you." He squeezed her hand and let go. "In case I haven't mentioned it, I like her a lot. It's hard for a parent to imagine their child with an entire life that doesn't involve them. You and I have never had enough time together, and now you're building your own life. I'm glad it's with her."
"I don't think you've ever said anything like that to me before," Blair said thickly.
"I'm sorry that I haven't, because you've always been the most important person in my life."
Blair brushed impatiently at her tears. "Okay. Enough of this." She took a breath and smiled tremulously. "I'll talk to Cam later about me going home or somewhere. If she's totally opposed, then we'll figure something else out. But I'm not staying here much longer. This place is a museum. I don't how you stand it."
"I don't—" Powell stopped as the phone gave the distinctive ring that indicated an urgent call. He grimaced. "Sorry. I have to take that."
"No problem, Dad." Blair rose. "I'll see you later." She expected no answer and got none as her father turned his attention to the newest problem at hand. Still, for perhaps the first time in her life, she felt that her father truly understood what was important to her, and that was enough.
