Radclyffe - Word of Honor

“Renee is an excellent agent.”

“I know that. I just thought two would be better—”

“I can’t take Valerie where we’re going.” Cam brushed the backs of her fingers over Blair’s cheek. “There’s no danger. I swear.”

“Call me, okay? Whenever.”

“I will.” Cam kissed her, then let her go. “Are you ready for Dana Barnett?”

Blair sighed. “Why not.”

Cam laughed. “I love you. See you soon.”

“See you soon,” Blair whispered, watching Cam gather her topcoat and briefcase. She might have been any executive on her way to a midday meeting, except for the .357 pistol holstered against her left side. “Hey, Cam?”

Cam turned with the door half open.

“I love you.”

Cam smiled and stepped aside to let Dana Barnett enter. Then the door closed and she was gone. Blair remained where she was, waiting

for the familiar surge of anxiety to pass. Cam would be fine, and she would be back soon. No one would come to the door with the message there had been a bomb on a plane, or an escaped fugitive with a gun, or a biological warfare attack. Cam would come home. Blair felt Dana watching her from across the room and shrugged off the melancholy. “Coffee?”

“Yes, thanks,” Dana replied.

“Make yourself comfortable, I’ll just be a second.” Blair filled mugs from the pot in the kitchen and sliced a couple of bagels while she was at it. She put everything on a tray along with cream and butter, and carried them into the living area. “Help yourself.”

“Thanks.” Dana leaned forward and grabbed a bagel and poured cream into a mug of coffee. “Where’s the deputy director going?”

“I don’t know.”

Dana looked up. “Is that normal?”

Blair grimaced. “Is anything?”

“You’ve got a point.” Dana tried the coffee. It was good. “Does it bother you? The secrecy between you?”

Blair set her coffee aside. “I guess it’s time for ground rules.”

“Why not. Everyone else has given them to me.”

“Mine are pretty simple, really. You can ask me anything you want, but there are certain things I won’t answer. I won’t talk about my relationship with Cam. I love her and we’re going to be married. That’s all you really need to know about that.”

“I’m not very good at pretending.”

“What do you mean?” Blair asked.

“Maybe you believe your own press—that other than the fact that you happen to be two women, your relationship with Cameron Roberts is just like any other relationship—but I’m sure not buying it.” Dana leaned back and rested one ankle on her knee. “You know that’s complete and total bullshit.”

“You really don’t want this assignment, do you?”

“No, I decided that I do.”

“And you think antagonizing me is a good idea?”

“Maybe,” Dana offered, “if it gets you to talk to me.”

“I don’t talk to people about my personal life.”

“How about the deputy director? Do you talk to her about how much her job scares you?”

Blair stood up. “Okay. We’re done.”

Dana stood. “I’m sorry. I don’t have any talent for interviewing. I’m usually trying to get information in the middle of a gun battle or a typhoon, and social niceties are just too damn inconvenient. Thank you for your time.”

When Dana started toward the door, Blair called after her. “Why did you ask me that?”

Dana stopped, but didn’t turn around. “I saw it in your face a few minutes ago.”

“Assuming it’s true, why would I want anyone around who’s that intuitive?”

“The story here isn’t two women getting married, Ms. Powell.” Dana pivoted to face Blair. “It’s who the two women are, and every reporter worth her column space in this country—hell, in the world— knows it. They’ll be on you like piranhas.”

Blair’s temper flared. “And how do you think I feel about that?”

“I imagine you hate it. But if I don’t write the story, someone else will—whether they actually know anything or not.” Dana slid her hands into her pockets and shrugged her shoulders. “I’ll tell the truth. I’ll respect the special nature of her job, and yours.”

“Better the devil you know?”

Dana grinned. “That’s about it.”

“I’ll have Stark get you the keys to one of the apartments in the building. It will be more convenient.”

“I appreciate that.”

“I’m going shopping this afternoon. Around two.”

“That sounds like fun,” Dana said, sounding as if each word were painful.

Blair smiled. “Oh, it will be.”

Chapter Nine

“Who do we have?” Cam settled onto the rear seat of the SUV across from Savard. The regional office in Virginia had sent two FBI field agents to transport them to the Federal Bureau of Prisons Detention Center where detainees from Matheson’s mountain camp were being held.

“Martin Early,” Savard replied, passing a folder across the space between them. “Arrested at Matheson’s compound. In addition to firing on federal officers, he had recruitment documents in a cardboard box behind the seat of his truck. It looks like he was trying to clear out some of Matheson’s paperwork before we showed up.”

Cam checked to be sure the mics to the front compartment were off. She didn’t know the agents who had met them at the airfield, but that wasn’t unusual. The fledgling OHS had yet to recruit a full complement of agents and for the time being was forced to commandeer bodies from other security divisions. She suspected the rumors that the OHS would soon become a cabinet department were true, and once that happened, they’d have more funds and more permanent agents. But for now, the occasional inconvenience of being shorthanded was far preferable to the bureaucratic entanglements that were sure to result as the politicians and directors of various agencies struggled for supremacy in the new security structure. “Early is what—Matheson’s third or fourth in command?”

“From what we’ve been able to put together from duty rosters and memos confiscated during the raid, we can at least put him in the upper echelons. He’s a graduate of Matheson’s military academy, although he wasn’t much of a scholar.” Savard spoke quietly, but her tone suggested she was frustrated. Or angry. “We haven’t exactly had free access to information. We’ve been looking for this guy for a month, and finally tracked him down at the BOP in Virginia. Somehow, no one was quite sure where they’d put him.”

“That seems to be happening with persons of interest a lot these days,” Cam said grimly. She suspected that the DOD or the CIA, or both, were sequestering potential terrorists away from the other security agencies. The failure to predict 9/11 had not yet been laid at anyone’s door, and it was doubtful there was any single agency to blame. Nevertheless, no one wanted detainees giving up information that would point to their own agency as culpable. It was politics, and politics always derailed justice. “Does the prison director know why we’re coming?”

Savard gave a predatory smile. “No. We just informed him to expect the deputy director late this afternoon.”

“No reason for us to share if no one else does.” Cam studied the 4x4 color photograph reproduced on the first page of the file. The man was younger than she had anticipated, perhaps mid twenties, and she wasn’t certain why she was surprised. Most of her team members weren’t a lot older. He looked like a typical all-American boy grown up—blond, blue-eyed, fair complexion. But his mouth was thin and hard and his eyes held nothing but fury and contempt. “What does he do when he’s not playing soldier?”

“He’s a trucker.”