Radclyffe - Honor Bound

"Yes ma'am."

"Then you can contact the secretary at the Protocol department in Paris to review the scheduled functions. Charity dinners, museum outings - whatever they have planned." The French were notorious for changing itineraries at the last minute, and Paris was an international city where terrorism was a very real threat. "Keep after them. Make sure we're current by the time we're in the air. I don't want to be surprised."

Riley nodded and made notes while Cam signaled Mac to continue. He shuffled some printouts and said, "Domestically, there's the opening of the Rodman gallery in San Francisco in two weeks."

"Where's she staying?" Cam asked absently, her mind still on the Paris details.

"We don't know yet," Mac answered uncomfortably.

Cam looked up, her eyes narrowing. "You don'tknow ? She must have reservations by now. Who's handling her itinerary?"

Mac blushed but kept his eyes on hers. He had forgotten how unforgiving she could be about any breach in protocol. He prepared to be dressed down. "She is."

"She is," Cam repeated in disgust, struggling with her temper. She knew damn well it wasn't Mac's fault. She stood, closing her electronic notebook. "Is there anything pressing that the team needs to discuss this morning, Mac?"

"No ma'am," he said briskly.

"Who's heading the day shift?" she asked.

"I am, ma'am," a petite, dark-haired woman in her late twenties answered.

Cam nodded. After one nearly career-ending lapse in judgment, Paula Stark had proven herself to be cool and levelheaded, an invaluable asset for a member of the shift that spent the most time in direct contact with Blair Powell, the First Daughter.

"Fine. Then go get your detail organized. Mac, if I might speak with you please."

Chairs scraped as agents hastened to get out of the conference room. They'd all seen Roberts take people apart if she felt they had been lax in guarding the President's daughter. No matter how difficult Blair Powell might make that job.

When they were alone, Cameron looked at Mac and raised an eyebrow. "Okay, Mac. You want to tell me what the hell is going on? First I get called back with no explanation and no notice. Then you suggest that Egret is bypassing normal security protocols. What else is going on that I don't know about? I can't work in the dark here."

He blew out air and shrugged. "I'd tell you if I could, Commander. I don'tknow why you've been recalled. No one reported any problems to me, either about my command, or anything else." He looked across the table into Cam's remote, dark eyes and chose his words carefully. He liked her, he respected her, he was happy to serve under her. But they weren't friends. They didn't share personal confidences. He didn't know, for sure, what her past with the First Daughter had been. "Ms. Powell is -" He shrugged again, looking exasperated, and continued, "Ms. Powell is difficult."

Cam almost smiled at that enormous understatement. She remained silent, watching him, waiting for the rest.

"She remains very reluctant to reveal her plans or destinations. She refuses to discuss personal - uh, relationships, so we have no intelligence regarding potential threats from that area. She slips our surveillance -" He halted at the soft curse from Cam, and then added quickly, "not very often, but it happens."

"You reported that?" Cam said wearily, rubbing her face briefly.God, Blair is stubborn, she thought. But she couldn't blame her, not really. Living under the constant scrutiny of strangers was wearing, even under ordinary circumstances. And Blair Powell's circumstances were far from ordinary.

Mac straightened. "No ma'am, I did not."

She stared at him hard. "Reasons?"

That kind of breakdown in security usually demanded a change of personnel and reassignment of the agents involved, often with demotions. But she knew Mac Phillips, and she knew he wouldn't circumvent regulations just to save his own skin.

He met her gaze directly, and his voice was steady and sure. "Because she works with us most of the time, and I made the command decision that she was safer with us than with replacements she might not trust. Even if there were some problems."

Cam nodded agreement. She had made similar choices where Blair was concerned herself. Had she been asked, she wouldn't have been able to defend herself, not according to regulations. But then you couldn't deal with Blair Powell by the book.

"I guess I'd better inform Egret that I'm here," Cam said, rising. She studied Mac briefly, wondering just how much he knew. "I'll review the plans for the remainder of the week with you later."

He stood. "Yes ma'am."

As he watched her walk out, he understood that the subject of his breach in protocol was closed. Whoever had made the call to bring Cameron Roberts back as commander of the First Daughter's security detail knew what they were doing. She understood what it took to guard Blair Powell. He wondered fleetingly what would happen upstairs when Egret learned of the change in command, and then decided there was some information he would rather not have. What you didn't know you couldn't testify about.

Blair Powell, in paint-spattered jeans and a tee-shirt with the sleeves and lower half carelessly ripped off, stared at a five foot square canvas, a paint brush in one hand. She walked slowly back and forth in front of the unfinished work, her mind as empty as she could make it. She let the color and the movement and the depth of the images take form without her conscious direction. Just as she reached to add a bit of red to one corner, her doorbell rang.

"Damn," she muttered, glancing at the clock at the far end of her loft. Just a little after 8AM. Much too early for Mac to be arriving for a briefing, but it couldn't be anyone else. She didn't get unexpected visitors. She set the brush aside and wiped her hands on a soft cloth. Pushing an errant strand of blond hair behind one ear, she crossed to the door. When she glanced through the peephole out of habit, she blinked in surprise and stopped with her hand on the doorknob. She looked again, and her heart raced with surprise. She pulled the door open, crying, "Cam!"

Blair was unable to hide her pleasure, an uncommon lapse in her usual reserve. She had learned not to allow her emotions to show, because her feelings were the only private things still left to her. Since she was twelve years old her father had been a public figure, and as a result, she had been as well. Strangers had photographed her, or written about her, or sought to be close to her, all because of who her father was. She had never been sure if someone cared for her, or for her reputation. Cameron had been different, and Blair had let her get close.

Cameron Roberts looked at Blair and felt her pulse quicken. She was every bit as beautiful as the last time Cam had seen her. Blond hair verging on gold, thick and wild with a hint of curl, fell around her face in an untamed mane. A deceptively lithe body hid well-toned muscles. Blazing blue eyes and a smile that could melt the polar ice caps made an already attractive face stunning. And underneath all that, seething sensuality coupled with an unbendable will. Astonishing.

Cam wanted to touch her, but couldn't. She didn't want to hurt her, and knew she was about to. Her face revealed little of her desire or her regret as she smiled softly and answered, "Hello, Blair."

Blair was too intent on how good it was to see her to notice the slight reservation in Cam's tone. She reached out, grabbed Cam's hand, and pulled her into the loft, slamming the door behind them. In the next instant she had her hands in Cam's hair, her lips on Cam's mouth, and her body pressed hard against Cam's, pinning her to the wall. When she'd temporarily satisfied her need to taste her, she pulled away a fraction and gasped, "God, I've missed you."