Radclyffe - Word of Honor

He drew in a deep breath of sharp mountain air. It was a great day for a hunt.

“Morning,” Dana said to Paula Stark as she climbed the steps to Blair’s cabin. She indicated the door. “I’m expected.”

“Morning.” Stark knew the day’s schedule, including the media circus that was planned for noon. Nightmare was more like it. Controlling traffic up and down the mountainside was going to be a challenge, and despite ID checks and required press passes, limiting Blair’s exposure to the press and the curious was essentially impossible. Short of keeping Blair inside, absolute security was unattainable. Nevertheless, it was Stark’s job to provide just that. “She’s waiting.”

“Thanks.” Dana knocked and Blair answered immediately. “I hope I’m not too early.”

Blair smiled. “You’re right on time. Come on in. I just put fresh coffee on.”

Dana stepped through the door and removed her jacket. She’d barely had time to grab a shower, pull on fresh jeans, a T-shirt, and pullover before rushing back to Blair’s. When she had passed Emory’s cabin, it took all her willpower not to detour for just a minute. She’d resisted because she knew that a minute was not going to be enough, and she could hardly keep the president’s daughter waiting. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help wondering if Emory had gone back to sleep, curled around the memory of their night together. Pushing away the images that threatened to stir her up and wreak havoc on her concentration, she indicated the coat tree. “May I?”

“Of course.” Blair headed back toward the kitchen. “Hungry? I’ve got bagels to go with that coffee.”

“Sold.”

As Dana followed, she heard a thump on the back porch. Snow sliding off the roof, most likely. A new storm had blown in sometime before dawn, and already several new inches had accumulated on the path.

The guard on the rear deck jerked to attention when a figure appeared around the corner of the cabin. Without hesitating, he stepped forward, his hand sliding inside his jacket. “That’s far enou…”

Matheson raised the pistol and fired. Blood blossomed on the agent’s forehead, and he fell. Before the body landed, Matheson reared back, kicked the back door open, and vaulted into the kitchen.

“Good morning,” he said pleasantly as he leveled his gun on the first daughter. “Is that coffee I smell?”

“Who are you?” Blair quickly backed up into the doorway, hoping to shield Dana from the intruder’s line of sight. If he didn’t see her, Dana might have a chance to get out. She judged the distance to his gun hand. Not enough room for a roundhouse kick, but with luck a well-placed snap kick might work.

Before Blair could try, Matheson rushed her, spun her around toward the living room, and shoved her with a fist to the middle of her back. “Move.”

Blair shouted a warning to Dana before crashing into an end table. Matheson clubbed Dana in the temple. As she fell, the front door burst open. Stark raced inside, shouting into her transmitter, her gun sweeping the room.

Matheson opened fire.

As the red-alert signal came over her receiver, Patrice Hara jumped up from the small dining room table, knocking her coffee cup to the floor. “Greg!”

Wozinski crashed through the double doors from the kitchen. “I heard it!”

“Someone advise Commander Roberts!” Patrice raced for the door.

Seconds later, she and Wozinski sprinted down the snow-covered path toward Blair’s cabin. Vaughn ran up the trail toward them from the far side of Blair’s cabin. Patrice shouted into her radio. “Stark? Julio? Status?”

“Jesus,” Wozinski panted when his receiver remained silent. “Where are they?”

Patrice caught movement out of the corner of her eye and pivoted, her gun extended. Cameron Roberts ran toward them over the hard-packed snow in her shirtsleeves, her weapon out, her face a study of eerie calm.

“Report?” Cam barked, never slowing her pace.

“Don’t know.” Patrice stepped aside as the commander barreled past, then rushed to catch up. “I got an interrupted transmission from… oh Jesus.”

Everyone except Cam skidded to a halt. Blair stood framed in the doorway of the cabin. A man in winter BDUs stood behind her, watching them approach. He held an automatic pistol to Blair’s temple.

“Hara, Wozinski, stay back,” Cam shouted, halting at the foot of the path that led to Blair’s cabin. Then she leveled her weapon on the man in the doorway. Matheson. At last. “Let her go.”

Matheson smiled. “I don’t think so.”

Cam’s head felt like it might explode. She was going to kill him for touching Blair. Not now. Later. She would kill him later. She forced back the terror at the sight of the gun against Blair’s head. Not like Janet—Blair, not Janet. Blair. He would not take Blair. Cam eased slowly forward in the unblemished snow, one step at a time, her weapon steady in a two-handed grip. “What do you want?”

“That’s far enough.” Matheson pushed the gun barrel into Blair’s temple, and Blair winced, coming up on her toes to relieve the pressure.

Cam was close enough to see the expression in Blair’s eyes. Fear, yes, but above all, fury. Good, Blair would need that anger to keep her head clear. Cam halted. Dead man. You’re a dead man.

“What do you want?” Cam repeated calmly. If he’d wanted Blair dead, he would have shot her and been long gone.

“Tell the president to expect a call.”

“I can help you get what you want.” Cam took another cautious step forward. Twenty yards. She was good at twenty yards, but not good enough. Always trade for something. She would have to break a few rules, but this was Blair. “Let’s work together here.”

“Why should I do that? I hold all the power.” He looped an arm around Blair’s neck and jerked her against his chest, shielding his body further. “I have her.”

“You know how it works,” Cam said, playing to his ego. “Show of good faith. You give me something, I make a call to the right person.”

“And what would you want?”

“I need to come inside. Then I’ll make some calls.”

“No,” Blair cried, her voice muffled from the pressure of Matheson’s arm on her throat.

Matheson laughed. “We’ve got enough people inside already.”

“Then I’ll trade places with her. I’ll be a lot more useful to you than her. I know who holds the power in Washington. Do you really think it’s her father?” Cam laughed and took another step. Almost close enough. If she could just draw his fire. She was counting on her team to have gotten someone into position with a sniper rifle. “Me for her.”

Blair struggled in Matheson’s grip and cried out when he fisted his hand in her hair, yanking her head back. His expression hardened. “Maybe everyone will feel more inclined to be helpful if I put a bullet in her.”

“All right, all right,” Cam shouted. “If you hurt her, you’ll have nothing to bargain with.”

“I’ve got a lot to bargain with. One of your agents is bleeding out on the floor just inside,” Matheson said conversationally. “And I’ve got another one who’s going to have quite a headache if she ever comes to.” He smiled. “I’ve got plenty of currency.”

“You know what I’m talking about,” Cam said, standing rigid, her gun still trained on him. She didn’t raise her voice, but it carried through the clear cold air like steel slicing flesh. “Hurt her, and God Almighty could be in that room and it won’t save you.”

“What makes you think God isn’t in this room?” Matheson dragged Blair backward into the cabin. At the last instant, he turned his gun on Cam.

Blair’s scream was lost in the sound of gunfire.