Cost of Honor

by Radclyffe

  “Hey,” Trish said, slurring a bit already. She’d worn a scoop-neck cami top, and one thin strap hung down her arm like a fragile noose. Her hair and makeup looked a bit worn out too.

  “I didn’t think I was going to be able to get here,” Sandy said. “All the roads coming into this area are blocked. What a pain. I had to walk like six blocks, and it’s freakin’ hot tonight.”

  “Yeah, the big deal convention,” Trish scoffed. “It’s all about that, all the time now. Like all the rest of us don’t really matter, so it’s cool to fuck up our lives.”

  “Yeah. ’Course it’s not like we’re really on anybody’s radar, right?” Sandy said.

  “Well, maybe that’s about to change.” Trish took a big gulp of her mixed drink. “Maybe they’ll get the message this time.”

  Sandy’s pulse sped up. “That would be good, you know, to get the message out. To, I dunno, make people pay attention.”

  “That’s the thing, you know? Messages. No one ever really listens. Not about being fucked over by everything and everybody.” Trish pointed her swizzle stick at Sandy. “But they’ll pay attention if it’s more than talk, right?”

  “All true.” Sandy approached the subject as if she was holding out her hand to a wild animal, one that would run at the first sign of a threat. “Matt knows how to make people listen, though. Right?”

  “Matt.” Trish shook her head as if she’d changed her mind about what she wanted to say and drained her drink. “I need another drink.”

  “Hey, I’ll get it.”

  Sandy took her time getting to the bar, hoping a little break would distract Trish from her obvious goal of getting blind drunk. She needed her to be talking, not passed out.

  “Go easy on the gin,” she said the bartender. “My friend might be driving later.”

  He frowned. Even in a place like this, the bartenders were careful not to let drunk customers out on the street who might get into accidents that would come back on them. Their motives weren’t altruistic—they were just personally motivated. “Don’t let her do that, hear?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got her covered. But she’ll notice if there’s nothing in it.”

  Her handed her a watered-down version of Trish’s usual, and Sandy carried it back to the table. As she sat down, she said, “So, is Matt coming? I haven’t seen him for a while, except, you know, last week at your place. But he didn’t have much to say.”

  “Not to you and me,” Trish said. “We’re not the important ones.”

  Sandy laughed. “I kinda noticed no one really talks to anybody except their own little groups. That’s weird for a bunch of friends.”

  “That’s because they’re not friends. They probably never even met each other until a few weeks ago. That’s the whole point, you know? So that nobody really knows anything, so nobody could involve anyone.”

  “Um, uh-huh,” Sandy said, feigning confusion. “I get it, I guess. They’re all there because of Matt—he’s the…what do you call it, the organizer.”

  “Not exactly. He’s up there, but he doesn’t make the plans.” Trish narrowed her eyes. “He doesn’t even tell me very much. Like I haven’t been around for the last six months, listening to his freaking super-private phone calls with the burn phones you can’t use more than once.” She fished a phone out of her pocket. “Like I would really throw these things away. That’s just stupid.”

  “Shit. You stole his phone?” Sandy nodded approvingly. “That’s savage.”

  “Well, he replaces them every couple of days, and there’s about a million minutes left on them. Besides, I think he only ever talks to one person, so what’s the big deal?”

  “I guess he’s just private,” Sandy said.

  “Paranoid is more like it.” Trish leaned forward, her expression halfway between intense and unfocused. “Matt’s thing is, he doesn’t just want to send a message, he wants to be famous. He wants his face on television.”

  “Well, if he’s so secretive, I don’t get that.” Sandy held off probing as much as she dared, feeling the thrill of a nibble on the end of her line but afraid her quarry would slip the hook if she tried to set it too quickly.

  “He needs to keep everything quiet until the very last minute. Because, you know, the wrong people might hear about it.”

  “Whoa.” Sandy feigned excitement. “You mean, police or something?”

  “I guess. They’re planning more than just carrying signs and stuff. That’s what he’s been doing, telling them where and when.”

  “Oh,” Sandy said, the tug of the hook digging in making her blood race. “It’s gonna be at the Convention Center…gotta be. That’s where all the TV people will be.”

  Trish shrugged and reached for her glass. She fumbled it and almost knocked it over, but Sandy caught it upright. “Who knows? He doesn’t tell me the details.”

  “You’re not going?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m not part of that in crowd.”

  “That blows.”

  And that’s where Matt had made his mistake. He’d made Trish feel like an outsider. He’d kept her in the dark, as if he didn’t trust her, and by doing so, he’d made her untrustworthy.

  “Just tell him he’s being a dick in front of everyone else, and he’ll have to take you along. They all know you—he’ll cave.”

  “Not happening.” Trish drained her drink. “That’s not the way it’s going to go down. It’s not a group thing, and he’s not going with them anyhow. He’s got something else planned.”

  An icy shiver ran down Sandy’s spine. “He does?”

  Trish sagged back in her chair, the alcohol making her features slack, almost as if she was melting. “I told you, he wants his face on television. You gotta do something big to get that.”

  Trish was too out of it to provide any more details, so Sandy got her outside and into a cab. Trish might remember what she’d told her, but she was pretty confident that no matter how much Trish remembered, she wouldn’t tell Matt anything about it.

  As soon as Sandy saw the cab disappear around the corner, she punched in Rebecca’s number.

  “Sorry to wake you, Loo,” Sandy said, “but I didn’t think this ought to wait until morning.”

  “You all right?”

  “Fine. I’m at the Oasis and Trish just left. I think they’re planning some kind of action at the Convention Center, maybe in several places at once.”

  “Details?”

  Sandy waved at a cab, and miraculously, it pulled over. “I don’t have much, but I figured the brain trust could fit some pieces together.” She patted the faint weight in her teensy, mostly useless back pocket. The phone Trish had lifted from Matt nestled against her butt, safe and sound. “And I’ve got a little something for them to play with.”

  “I’ll call the team in.”

  “Right. See you.” Sandy slid into the cab and gave him Sloan’s address. The excitement of closing in on her quarry made her pulse race, but the nagging feeling that the stakes were a lot higher than any of them realized seethed in the pit of her stomach. Not close enough yet—and not much time left.

  University Hospital

  Philadelphia

  Game Day minus 27 hours

  “Morning, Dr. Torveau,” Oakes said to Ali Torveau, the Chief of Emergency Services at University Hospital. Some might carelessly call the brunette with short tousled hair, matching dark eyes, and delicately etched features pretty, but her high-bridged nose and dark, dramatic brows emboldened her profile and pushed her into the striking category. Even more important to Oakes, Torveau’s emergency medical team had a rep for being the best in the Northeast, which was why Oakes was there at five a.m.

  Ali shook her hand with an easy smile. “Agent Weaver. Good to see you again.”

  “Thanks for making time in your schedule, Doctor,” Oakes said as they walked through the emergency room towards the trauma admitting area. “You’re number one for medevac.”

  Torveau never broke stride, as i
f she was on call to treat the President of the United States in a life-threatening situation every day. “We’ve planned for that since we knew we were on the list, and run emergency scenarios with that in mind. We’re ready.”

  “If you don’t mind walking me through it,” Oakes said, “I can get out of your way and let you get back to work.”

  They stopped at the trauma admitting entrance. “For the duration of the president’s stay,” Ali said, “we’ve cleared a direct cordon from the street to this entrance. Other emergency vehicles will be circling around to the main ER entrance on the north side of the lot.”

  “You have three designated bays down here, correct? All capable of full surgical procedures if needed?”

  “That’s correct. We plan to hold two open and reroute everything we can for the duration of his time in the city.”

  “Wheels down to wheels up,” Oakes said, “will be five days.”

  Torveau nodded. “We’re also holding two rooms open in the main OR as well. The chiefs of trauma and surgery, as well as the neuro, ortho, and cardiothoracic chiefs, will all be in-house seven to seven and within fifteen minutes’ arrival time during their off times. Senior staff members will be on-site around the clock.”

  “No additions or changes to the list of personnel we were provided previously?” Oakes asked.

  “No, all the same. I plan to stay on-site twenty-four seven.”

  “Appreciate that, Doctor. I think that covers it.”

  Ali stopped in the trauma triage area and held out her hand. “I’m confident my staff can handle anything, but I hope not to see you again after this morning.”

  Oakes shook her hand. “That’s exactly my thought. You’ll be advised when POTUS is on the ground.”

  “You have my direct number.”

  Oakes left through the main trauma admitting doors and jogged the route their vehicles would take from the street in the event the president needed medical assistance. She noted sight lines to other buildings in the hospital complex, locations that needed to be cleared of vehicles that might impede their progress, and a dumpster that had not yet been removed per protocol. Agents would be posted to all those areas before the morning was out. All that remained now was for the president to arrive at eight the next day.

  These last few hours before kickoff were always the worst. The shifts were all set for the next twenty-four, and as shift leader, she was at loose ends—left to checking and rechecking and generally trying not to get in the way of everyone doing their jobs. What she needed was a diversion.

  As she reached Thirty-Third Street and signaled to her ride, she reconsidered. What she needed was to see Ari. She’d been on-site in Philadelphia for a week, and the few days before that had been so hectic, they’d barely had a moment together. She missed Ari in a way she hadn’t expected, in a way she’d never experienced before. The longer they were apart, the more she was plagued with the feeling of something needing to be done, of something needing to be completed, until she finally realized it was her. She felt incomplete, like a hollow place inside her had been filled with heat and life and joy, and without Ari, that place echoed with the absence.

  Evyn pulled the Suburban to the curb and Oakes jumped into the front passenger seat.

  “All clear?”

  “Yes,” Oakes said, watching the crowds of pedestrians, mostly hospital workers from the way they were dressed, stream across the intersection. She glanced at Evyn. “Do you miss Wes?”

  Evyn shot her a curious look. “Sure. I try not to think about it, because I can’t do anything to change things. You’ll get used to it.”

  “Uh…”

  Evyn snorted. “Come on, I know you and Ari are a thing.” She paused. “A serious thing?”

  “Yeah, pretty serious.”

  “Good. I like her. She knows what she’s about. She’s no pushover. A pain in the ass, sometimes, but she’s doing her job.”

  “Yeah,” Oakes said with a laugh. “I noticed that.”

  “But you’re working that out?”

  “I think we understand each other. Our goals aren’t exactly the same, but we respect the jobs we have to do.”

  “You know Warren has still got a spur in her butt about Nikolai Rostof,” Evyn said. “Once you and Ari go public—officially—she’s going to be all over you.”

  “She can poke all she wants to.” Oakes stretched her legs out as much as she could under the dash. “If there’d been anything there to find, someone would have by now. But no matter what her father’s interests or involvements might be, Ari is not part of it.”

  “So when do you plan to make your move?”

  Oakes frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Evyn sighed and turned in to the entrance to the Hyatt parking garage. They had cleared the entire lower level for their vehicles. “Have you told her yet?”

  “Oh. No.”

  “Is it because you’re not sure?” Evyn shut off the engine and turned in the seat to face her.

  “I’m sure,” Oakes said. “I guess I’ve been holding back because that’s just a big first step, right? And then there will be a lot of changes.”

  “That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?” Evyn said softly. “Life is change.”

  “I know, but look at how lousy most of us are at relationships.”

  “You can break pattern.”

  “That’s the plan. Hold on—” Oakes’s phone vibrated, and she checked the readout.

  just landed Philadelphia airport can I see you?

  Oakes’s breath rushed out. “I guess I’m about to get my chance. Ari’s here.”

  Laughing, Evyn clapped her on the shoulder. “At least you’ll have something to do for the rest of the day besides bug the rest of us.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Gramercy Park

  New York City

  6:20 a.m.

  Cam tapped lightly on the open door to Blair’s studio. “Can I interest you in coffee?”

  Blair turned, a slightly befuddled look on her face. “Hi. Um, what time is it?”

  “Time for some fuel. You’ve been in here since one o’clock in the morning.”

  “Oh. I woke up, and I just had this image…” Blair raised her hands, the paintbrush in her right hand flaming with deep red paint.

  “Can I see?” Cam asked. Sometimes Blair was ready for a work in progress to be viewed. Other times she kept a canvas sequestered until she was happy with it.

  “Sure.” Blair reached out for the coffee cup. “You had a really good idea, us sneaking back here for a few days before Philadelphia. I didn’t realize how much I missed being able to work.”

  “I did.” Cam kissed her. “You get fidgety.”

  “Do I?” Laughing, Blair reached for Cam and abruptly pulled back. “You’re dressed for work. Why is that?”

  “Let me see what you’re working on first,” Cam said.

  Blair sipped her coffee, leaving a smudge of crimson on the side of the white porcelain. “Are you going back to DC early?”

  “No, Philadelphia.” Cam edged around her and studied the brilliant washes of color slashing across the canvas. She recognized the general location of the abstract landscape. Central Park, at dawn. A wash of morning sunlight, flush with the promise of a new day, rode above the myriad greens of lawn and trees.

  “I like it,” Cam said. “I feel…energized…just looking at it.”

  Blair’s expression softened. “You always have gotten it. You and Diane are among the few who see what I see. Thank you.”

  “I’m glad, but I think you have to thank my mother for that,” Cam said. “I grew up watching her paint, trying to make sense of things in a logical way until she told me to stop thinking and just feel.”

  “Your mother is a very wise woman.”

  “She is. I was lucky she raised me, and I’m lucky to have you to fill my life with beauty like this.”

  Blair kissed her. “If you plan on staying in those very dapper clothes much lo
nger, you should stop with the compliments.”

  Cam cupped her chin to look into her eyes. “Will you promise to get some sleep today?”

  “I have to be back in DC this evening so I can get up tomorrow and fly to Philadelphia with my father. I’ve got a few hours left here, and then I’ll head back. I promise I’ll get a good night’s sleep.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Why are you changing plans and heading up there today?” Blair asked. “Problems?”

  Cam raised a shoulder. “I’m not sure. I got a call from Rebecca Frye a bit ago, and her team is putting together a picture that’s a little worrisome. I want to look at things myself.”

  “The advance detail is there, right?” Blair said. “You won’t be on your own.”

  “I’ll have plenty of backup, but I’m just reviewing their investigation, not apprehending anyone. I don’t expect any problems.”

  She meant every word, but Blair knew as well as she did investigations had a way of morphing into something different.

  “All right. Call me?” Blair said.

  “I will. I’ll see you in the morning.” Cam pulled her close and kissed her, ignoring Blair’s muffled protest. A smear of paint here or there was a small price to pay for the sensation of Blair’s body fitting to hers. She ended the kiss and stroked a finger down the edge of Blair’s jaw. “Take care of yourself until I see you again.”

  “And you do the same, Commander,” Blair murmured, squeezing her ass as Cam backed away.

  Cam smiled and flicked at the fleck of red on the sleeve of her charcoal suit. Totally worth it.

  Oakes paced in front of the revolving doors in the Hyatt lobby, realized she was pacing, and forced herself to stop. Considering she spent literally days of her life standing in one spot, her behavior was distinctly unusual. So was the agitation that roiled her insides like a swarm of bees. She rubbed her stomach, but it didn’t quiet things down in there. She was as jittery as if she’d had two double espressos back to back.