Radclyffe - Honor Reclaimed

Blair stopped and turned back with a soft smile. She extended her hand. "Cameron. Let's sit down with my father."

Cam glanced at the president.

"There's plenty of coffee," Andrew Powell said, gesturing to the silver carafe. "You two could probably use some." He glanced at his watch. "I have thirty minutes before I'm due in the operations room, and we have some things to talk about."

Cam and Blair took seats on the opposite side of the table and helped themselves to coffee. Then they waited.

"Blair," he said, "everything all right?"

Blair lifted a shoulder. What could she say? I've been assaulted and nearly killed. My lover's been shot. Some lunatics have massacred thousands of people blocks from where I live. The world has gone crazy and I just want to be left alone. "I'm okay, Dad."

The president studied her a moment longer, then nodded slightly and looked at Cam. "I've been briefed by the directors of both the Secret Service and the FBI about what happened at Blair's on Tuesday morning. I'd like your report."

"I apologize, sir. I haven't had a chance to prepare that yet."

Powell shook his head. "I'm not interested in paperwork. I want your opinion. I want to know what you think happened—and I want to know how and why it's possible that someone nearly assassinated my daughter in her own apartment."

"Dad," Blair said quietly. "Cam isn't respons—"

Both Cam and the president spoke at once.

"I am—"

"She is—"

The president held up a hand. "There's a difference between being responsible and being at fault." He smiled at Blair. "I have no doubt that Cam guarded you better than anyone else could have. What I need to know now is whether it's going to happen again." He swung his gaze back to Cam. "And how to prevent it."

Cam nodded gravely. "I agree. I don't have enough information yet to give you a complete report, Mr. President, but I can tell you that four heavily armed men with a knowledge of both the layout of Blair's apartment building and the placement of our agents carried out a well-timed and well-conceived assault." Her eyes never wavered from his. "I can also tell you that at least one of the Secret Service agents on Blair's personal security team was involved."

"Just one?"

"I don't know that, sir. But I intend to find out."

"Gut feeling?"

"He acted alone. The probability of two rogue agents assigned simultaneously to Blair's team is not impossible, but extremely unlikely. My feeling is that Foster is the key, and that's where our investigation needs to start."

"Our investigation?" The president's tone was mild but his gaze was intensely focused on Cam's face.

"I'm not leaving this to anyone else, sir. I spent twelve years in the investigative division of the Secret Service. I know how to uncover and infiltrate clandestine organizations."

Blair turned in her seat and stared at Cam. "And just when did you decide this?"

Cam shifted her attention to her lover. "It wasn't something that needed to be decided. The minute they came through that door, it was done."

For a millisecond, Blair closed her eyes, then snapped them open; her blue eyes were on fire. "You're not doing this. We have the entire FBI, the CIA, the National Security Agency, and I don't know what all else to do this kind of thing. It's not going to be you."

"Sir. You tell her."

"What?" Blair snapped. She looked at her father, her body rigid. "What?"

"Honey," Powell said gently. "As your father, you are my number one priority. But the number one priority of the country right now, and therefore my number one priority as president, is to find out what happened in Manhattan on September 11, to bring those responsible to justice, and to ensure that it never happens again. Yes, a team will be appointed to investigate the assault on you. Good people. Dedicated people." He sighed. "But there's going to be pressure from all fronts to deal with the terrorist threat, and that's going to overshadow every other agenda. 1 need someone leading the investigative team who won't be sidetracked by politics—or anything else."

"Not my lover." Blair's voice was as hard and cold as ice. Her hands trembled and she kept them out of sight beneath the table. "Because I know Cameron. She'll find out who's behind it, and she'll go after them, and this might be the time that she doesn't win." She turned to Cam. "I don't want you to do this."

Cam's eyes were tender, her voice gentle. "Blair. It's the only way to be sure you're safe."

"It's the right decision," Andrew Powell added.

"I don't care about what's right," Blair shouted. "I am sick to death of hearing about what's right, about duty, and responsibility, and fucking justice. I'm tired of giving up everything that matters to me because of someone else's—" Her voice broke and she looked away, covering her eyes with a trembling hand.

"Hey." Cam slid her chair closer to Blair and wrapped an arm around her shaking shoulders. She brought her mouth close to Blair's ear. "It's all right. The last two days have been hell. We all need a chance to get our bearings again." She kissed Blair's temple, "It's all right."

Blair pressed her face to Cam's neck, her arm going around Cam's waist underneath her blazer. "I'm sorry. When they were shooting at us, when you and Paula were in front of me and all the bullets—I kept seeing you that morning on the sidewalk in front of my apartment building. I kept seeing the blood and then.. .then you stopped breathing. Oh God, Cam. You stopped breathing."

"Sweetheart, it's all right. It's all right." Even as she held Blair protectively, her expression grew fierce at the memory of the sick terror she'd felt not knowing if the bullets that passed her by had found their target in her lover's body. She cut her gaze to the president's and said with her eyes what she did not want to say aloud. Not now. Not when Blair was still so raw and the terrifying events of September 11 still so painfully vivid. No one is going to hurt her. I'm going to be sure of that.

He nodded, knowing that she did not blame him for sparing no one, not even her, to secure Blair's well-being. Knowing instinctively, too, that she would not allow anyone else that sacred charge. She would die for his daughter, not out of duty, but out of love. "Blair, honey. Let's all take a little while to think about it."

Blair shifted her head on Cam's shoulder and met her father's gaze across the table. "It's already decided. The two of you—you didn't even need to have this discussion because somehow you both already knew what you were going to do. Sometimes I really hate how alike the two of you are." She sighed and straightened. "And I love both of you for it too. So.. .how exactly is this going to work? Because I'm part of this too."

Chapter Three

C am crossed her arms and leaned against the door inside Blair's bedroom. She watched in silence as Blair methodically stripped off the T-shirt and jeans she had hastily donned for the meeting with the president.

"I'm going to take a shower," Blair said quietly.

"Want company?"

A beat passed before Blair nodded. "Yes."

Cam shed her clothes, tossed them on the foot of the bed, and followed into the bathroom. Blair was already in the shower, and the glass enclosure was misted with steam. Visible through the haze, the outline of Blair's nude form swayed hypnotically beneath the spray. Cam stood still, holding her breath, watching. There were moments like this when she was overcome with the wonder of having Blair in her life. When she felt the longing and desire so acutely, it was like a pain deep in her chest. If asked, she couldn't have explained what it was about this one woman that settled in th& very heart of her like none other. Blair was beautiful, intelligent, strong and willful and tender, and so many other things that Cam admired. But it was more than that. This thing, love, that she couldn't define or explain, was what shaped so much of what truly mattered in her life.