Radclyffe - Word of Honor

This was the moment Blair loved, when her strong, brave lover was completely, totally hers. When Cam fell onto her side, her limbs twitching helplessly, Blair stretched out beside her and kissed her. “I love you.”

“Same,” Cam croaked.

“Catch your breath, and I’ll be ready for round—” Blair stiffened as the phone rang. She ignored it and it stopped ringing. “I’m going to have that disconnected.”

“Good idea.”

Blair cradled Cam’s head against her breasts and stroked her hair. “You’re going to need another shower.”

Cam opened her eyes. They were hazy and satisfied. “Take one with me?”

“What time are you leaving?”

“Nine.”

Blair tried to keep her voice even. “We don’t have much time.”

“Sure we do.” Cam eased Blair onto her back and caressed between her legs.

Blair caught her breath. “Okay. We’ve got enough time.”

Grinning, Cam sucked a nipple into her mouth and massaged Blair’s clitoris with her thumb.

“Time’s up,” Blair cried, letting the inevitable claim her. When she couldn’t take another second of pleasure, she clamped her hand over Cam’s. “Stop.”

“Not a chance.” Cam laughed.

“Okay. Revise that. Desist momentarily.”

Cam dropped onto her back and pulled Blair into her arms. She kissed her and sighed. “On second thought, maybe you working out with Stark or Hara isn’t such a good idea.”

“You’re not serious.”

“They’re going to be frustrated enough when you beat the hell out of them. Adding sexual torment on top—”

Blair slapped Cam’s stomach. “Not everyone finds me irresistible.”

Cam tilted Blair’s head up with a finger beneath her chin. “You’re wrong about that.”

“You’re not worried, are you?” Blair asked, frown lines forming between her brows.

“No.” Cam kissed her gently. “Don’t you think you should check who called?”

“No. I don’t care who called.”

“Okay.”

“Just like that?” Blair murmured. When Cam didn’t answer, Blair heaved a sigh and reached across her for the phone. She checked Caller ID, then pushed Call. “It was Stark.”

“Mmm.”

“Paula? It’s Blair. Who?” Blair sat up, continuing to stroke Cam, who regarded her intently. She covered the mouthpiece. “Barnett.”

“I want to speak to her before I leave today,” Cam said.

Blair rolled her eyes. “All right. Half an hour.” She tossed the phone aside and glared at Cam. “This is all your fault, you know.”

“I know.”

“It’s a good thing you’re so good in bed.”

“Ah, is there any safe answer to that?” Cam asked.

Blair shook her head, her gaze dropping to Cam’s mouth. “But there is a very good reply of another sort.”

“How much time do we have?” Cam moved down the bed.

Blair spread her fingers through Cam’s hair. “Enough.”

Chapter Eight

“Sir?"

“Good morning, Colonel.” Matheson held the phone in one hand and balanced his coffee mug on the knee of his crisply creased trousers with the other as he sat in a comfortable chair in front of a huge stone fireplace. He’d played on that hearth with his best friend as a child. Charlie was dead now, a martyr in the battle to secure the American way of life. But his memory remained, and his son, unlike Matheson’s, also lived on to fight for the cause.

“I received some intelligence that I thought I should bring to your attention.”

“Go ahead, Colonel.”

“A reporter has been assigned to cover the target’s upcoming… uh…event. Full access.”

“Anyone we can use?” Matheson watched the logs shift, sending showers of sparks onto the stones.

“Doubtful, sir, but we’re running background checks now.”

“How reliable is your source?”

“Very, sir. She’s an assistant in the office of the White House Deputy Press—”

“That will do.” Matheson didn’t trust even the most secure of lines. He smiled at the thought of a patriot in the West Wing. A woman, whom no one would suspect. It wasn’t true that only men could serve, it was simply a matter of recognizing a woman’s unique skills. While not having the mental fortitude or physical constitution for combat, women were a natural for communications work. “I like the press angle. Get me a list of names. We’ll want someone out there right away to establish connections before the target arrives.”

“Yes sir. Are you comfortable, sir? Everything you need there?”

“Perfectly, Colonel. Thank you and carry on.”

“Sir.”

Matheson disconnected and settled back in the chair, crossing his long legs at the ankle. Information was easy to come by. Until recently, access to potential targets—people and places—had been relatively simple as well. Getting close to Blair Powell might be more difficult now, but it was far from impossible. He smiled. A challenge merely made the hunt more satisfying.

The outcome was not in question. After all, he had God on his side.

Dana stepped off the elevator into a foyer that could have been in any luxury apartment building in the city. The eight by ten foot space was dimly lit by wall sconces, the marble floor nearly hidden beneath a thick oriental carpet, and the walls papered in some muted classic pattern above dark wood wainscoting. The surroundings spoke of money and taste and elegance. Even the cameras discreetly tucked into several corners weren’t that unusual in a security-conscious city, nor was the fact that the elevator required a special key, which Agent Stark had produced when they were ready to ride up. The man standing with his back to the wall next to the only door in the foyer was different, though. A blond-haired, blue-eyed clone of the one who had greeted her in the lobby downstairs scrutinized her and Stark with unapologetic intensity. Agent Stark handed him Dana’s ID, which Dana had surrendered upon request when Stark had informed her that the first daughter would see her.

“This is Dana Barnett,” Agent Stark said, handing the ID to the agent guarding the door.

The man studied Dana’s face, then the ID, then Dana once more. He held out her ID and she took it.

“Why the ID check? Doesn’t he believe you?” Dana asked Agent Stark. She didn’t get an answer, and she wasn’t entirely surprised. Thus far she’d been told three times in slightly different fashions that the Secret Service does not discuss protocol. “If I don’t know, I may have to make things up.”

“Perhaps you just shouldn’t report on topics that haven’t been cleared,” Stark replied mildly.

“Is anything ever going to be cleared?”

“I’m sure Ms. Powell’s wardrobe…no, actually, I’m not certain of that either.”

Dana grinned ruefully. She had a feeling that Agent Stark wasn’t making a joke. “All right, tell me if I’m hot or cold. He won’t take your word for it because I could have coerced you into bringing me up here. However, since I wouldn’t know to give you my ID to give to him, that’s a signal that you brought me here intentionally. It’s a code.”

“I doubt that Ms. Powell has much time allotted for you,” Stark said. “We probably shouldn’t waste any.”

“You’re right.” Dana waited while Stark knocked on the door. “But I was hot, wasn’t I?”

As she spoke, the door swung open and Blair Powell regarded them with interest. “Something new and exciting I should know about?”

Stark blushed. “No, ma’am. Dana Barnett to see you.”

Blair looked Barnett over. She appeared slightly more rested than the day before, but obviously wasn’t concerned about the image she projected. Her chinos and white button-down collar shirt were clean but not pressed, the black leather belt cinched above narrow hips was dull with age, and her boots similarly worn. Her casual disregard for her appearance and her lack of desire to make a good impression were refreshing.