Radclyffe - Word of Honor

“I’m on it, Commander,” Felicia said. “If he so much as took money out of an ATM, I’ll find out when and where.”

Cam swept her hand toward the screen. “All of these guys. We need to know everything there is to know about them. Yesterday.”

A knock on the door caught everyone’s attention, and Cam walked over to open it. Stark stood in the hallway.

“Sorry to interrupt, Commander, but I just got a call from Egret. She informed us she’s going to DC.”

Cam frowned. “First I’ve heard of it.”

“Lucinda Washburn was mentioned.”

“Ah, that explains it,” Cam said with a sigh. Lucinda Washburn was Andrew Powell’s chief of staff and also a close, longtime friend of Blair’s family. When Lucinda called, everyone jumped. “When?”

“We have a flight scheduled in two hours, so I thought you’d want to know. I assume you’ll be accompanying her, and we’re leaving for the airport in forty-five minutes.”

“Thanks, Chief. Let me finish up here, and I’ll be with you.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Cam closed the door, thinking the dog-and-pony show was about to begin. She would have minded the public exposure a lot more if she wasn’t looking forward to getting married. Love had a funny way of changing one’s outlook on things. She turned back to her team. “So, let’s go over it again. What do we know, and what do we need to know. And how are we going to find it out.”

Cam found Blair in the studio section of the loft where Blair painted. The 4x5 foot canvas on the easel in front of her was a riot of bright red, glaring purples, and garish yellows. Blair had applied the paint thickly, in wide swirling swaths, and Cam felt almost dizzy from the motion as her gaze tracked over the surface. Blair didn’t usually paint abstracts, but she had been for the last few weeks. As Cam took this one in, she realized it wasn’t as abstract as she’d first thought. She recognized what she was looking at. A fireball. She’d seen something like it time and time again in the replays of the jetliners crashing into the North and South Towers. She wondered if Blair had consciously depicted the inferno that had resulted, and didn’t know if she should ask. After growing up with a mother who was a world-renowned painter and being surrounded by her mother’s friends, Cam had learned that artists drew from deeply personal, often painful emotions to infuse their art with power and passion. Perhaps this was Blair’s way of exorcising the horror, and Cam wouldn’t take a chance of hurting her by asking.

In her usual work attire of paint-streaked jeans and T-shirt, with her hair tied back by a red bandanna, Blair looked young and vulnerable. Cam’s heart swelled and she wished with everything she was that

Blair’s life could be as simple as other people’s seemed to be—that her days could be filled with friendship, and with the work she craved, and with the love they shared. Jazz played on the stereo in the corner, and Blair didn’t turn as Cam approached.

“Baby,” Cam called softly.

Blair looked back, a question formed in her eyes. “What is it?”

Cam smiled. “Nothing.”

“No. You sighed. What’s bothering you?”

“You’re scary, you know that?” Gently, Cam kissed Blair and put her arms around her waist.

“Cam, I’m covered with paint,” Blair said, trying to pull away. “Your suit.”

“Forget my suit,” Cam murmured. “I love you.”

Blair stilled and her eyes softened. She looped her arms around Cam’s neck and kissed her back. “I’m all right.”

“I know.” Cam held her, running her hands lightly up and down her back. “Stark told me Lucinda requested our presence.”

“She called after you left for the briefing. I told her we were both too busy, but she insisted we talk face-to-face.” Blair rolled her eyes. “At least this time she didn’t play the national security card.”

Cam grinned. “She’s probably holding that in reserve.”

“Lucinda never holds anything in reserve. She doesn’t need to. She’s always got plenty of ammunition.”

“True.” Cam released Blair and checked her watch. “Do I need to pack? Are we staying overnight?”

“I think it’s an in-and-out thing. Besides, I’m not staying in DC. We just got home.”

Cam glanced around the loft. It was home. At least one of them, she thought with satisfaction. They had just completed the purchase of the house on Whitley Point where they’d been staying intermittently for the last two months. That house above the windswept dunes was their refuge, and at least a dozen times a day, she wished she could just send Blair there with a security detail until some kind of sanity was restored to the world. Except that wasn’t likely to happen soon, if ever, and Blair would never submit to being sequestered. Even for her own safety.

“Let me get some work together for the flight, then,” Cam said.

“I need to shower and change.” Blair brushed her fingers over

Cam’s cheek. “I expect this will be about the wedding, and I know how much you have on your mind right now. Thank you for doing this.”

Cam caught Blair’s wrist and brushed her lips over Blair’s fingertips. “I’m doing this for me too. I’m fine.”

“Say that in a week.” Blair kissed Cam’s cheek and walked away.

Cam watched her go, thinking that a lot could happen in a week.

The West Wing of the White House was never quiet, but since 9/11, the activity level had escalated to the point that there was very little difference between noon and midnight. Aides worked eighteen hours straight and staffers slept on couches. Even the White House chief of staff catnapped on her sofa, which was where Blair and Cam discovered Lucinda Washburn when her assistant Emilio bade them to enter her hallowed quarters.

“Sorry,” Blair said as Lucinda lifted the arm that had been covering her eyes and glanced toward the door.

“Good, you’re here.” Instantly alert and looking completely fresh, Lucinda shifted her stocking-clad feet to the floor and slid into her pumps without looking. She walked to the credenza and poured coffee. Looking over her shoulder, she asked, “Some for you?”

“No, thanks,” Blair said. She and Cam took their usual seats side by side on the sofa. “How are things?”

Lucinda lifted her brows as she settled into the wingback chair across from them and sipped her coffee. “We’re making progress. Being able to identify the hijackers has helped things tremendously.” She shifted her gaze to Cam. “How are we doing on identifying the domestic cell?”

“We have a lot of threads, but no connecting factors yet.”

“It’s frustrating that we can identify a terrorist leader thousands of miles away but we can’t use our surveillance to find a traitor in our own backyard.”

“I think we call that preserving civil rights,” Cam said dryly.

“Of course,” Lucinda agreed. “But it’s damned inconvenient when we’re under attack from our own people.”

“We’ll get them,” Cam said.

“No doubt.” Lucinda set her cup aside. “You’re here for another reason.”

“I can’t imagine what,” Blair said.

Lucinda half smiled. “We tried to quietly slide an announcement of your upcoming nuptials into the press briefing this morning.”

Blair snorted.

“Yes. Suddenly, global terrorism is no longer everyone’s top priority.” She fixed Blair with a piercing stare. “You are.”

Blair stiffened, and Cam took her hand.

“So far, we’ve had calls from the Christian Morality Coalition, Family First, the chairman of the reelection campaign, several of our largest donors, and the National Organization for Gay Rights.” Lucinda shook her head. “Congratulations, Blair. You’re a celebrity.”