Radclyffe - Honor Reclaimed

"Yes. So do I."

*

Blair was still awake when Cam came in shortly after four a.m., lying in bed in the dark with only the light from the vanity in the adjacent bathroom for illumination. "What's happening?"

Cam undressed quickly and slid into bed, reaching for Blair's hand. She threaded her fingers lightly through Blair's. "Valerie, Savard, and I need to go to Washington."

Blair rugged her hand free. "When?"

"Today. Later this morning."

"Why?"

"We're meeting with Lucinda and your father. Probably a few other people as well."

"About what?"

"We've located a compound in the Tennessee mountains. We've got satellite images of a number of buildings and vehicles. We suspect that's where the men who made the attempt on your life came from."

"It's just a briefing, right?"

"I should be back tonight."

"I want to come with you."

"That's not a good idea," Cam said quietly. "We've established excellent security here. We have no way of knowing how deep this may go—who in DC may be a part of it. Foster was on the inside. Maybe there are others. Unless you want to stay in the White House for another few weeks..."

"You know I don't."

"Then this is the safest place for you. The three of us will drive to Boston and get a flight from there."

"And just why do you need to go in person?" Blair sat up and snapped on the bedside light. She pulled the sheet to her waist, drew her knees up, and folded her arms around them, drawing in on herself. "What are you going to do in DC? Plan the big operation? Strategize about how you're going to apprehend these guys?" When Cam said nothing, Blair went on, her voice harsh, "You're not a commando, Cameron. That's why we have Special Forces. You're not getting involved in this."

"I'm just consulting."

"Oh," Blair said derisively, "don't you dare give me that line. I know you. Consulting, my ass. Tell me you're not going with the strike team. Tell me that's not your plan."

"The only thing that's going to happen today is that I'm going to brief the president, Lucinda, and the security chief. That's all." Cam sat up and leaned her shoulder against Blair's.

Despite her anger, Blair found Cam's hand and held it. "What if they don't want to wait? What if they want to go today? Tell me you won't go with them."

Cam was silent.

"Damn you, Cameron."

"I won't be in the first wave. I won't be knocking down any doors."

"I want you to promise me you won't go with them." Blair saw Cam's jaw set. Very gently, she turned Cam's face toward hers. "Make me that promise."

Cam looked into her eyes. "I want to see him in chains. I'd prefer to see him dead, but I won't do it myself. I promise I'll stay far behind the line. I prorrnse you that."

"Why? Why is it so important?"

"Men like him killed my father. And then he almost killed you..." Cam's throat tightened around the words and she turned her face forcefully away, breaking Blair's hold. "I need faces for the monsters too, Blair."

"Oh, Jesus," Blair sighed, wrapping her arm tightly around Cam's shoulders. "I can't stand it when you hurt." She leaned her forehead against the side of Cam's head. "I love you even more than I need you, and that's so much I can't stand it. Please be careful."

Cam turned back, pulling Blair into her arms. She kissed her roughly, urgently, needing to drive the images of flaming cars and automatic gunfire from her mind. She pushed her back onto the bed and followed, covering Blair's body with her own. She let herself drown in her, losing her pain amidst their passion.

*

Valerie held Diane as she slept. She caressed her hair, her back, the curve of her side, remembering the sound of her pleasure. Fixing it in her mind. She could taste her still, sweetly exotic. She'd made love to her until Diane had begged her to stop, laughing and crying as she'd come the last time.

"Let me make love to you," Diane had murmured drowsily, barely able to move.

"Next time," she had whispered, gathering her close against her body.

Diane, sighing with contentment, had curled trustingly into her arms.

Valerie waited fifteen minutes, thirty, forty-—listening to the soft sounds of Diane's breathing, feeling the warm currents of her exhalations drifting over her breasts, counting her heartbeats under her fingertips. When she couldn't wait any longer, she gently kissed Diane's forehead and eased slowly away. She'd had years of practice leaving the arms of women she'd satisfied without waking them. Carefully, she gathered her clothing and the single small valise she'd brought with her.

Two minutes later she stood naked on the rear deck and dressed efficiently in the predawn light. Five minutes later, she was at the ocean's edge and walking briskly away from the house. In fifteen minutes she was three-quarters of a mile away, and the reverberations of the engine on the outboard motor sounded no different than a wave rushing to shore. She climbed into the small craft, and as it pointed away from land and the safe house and the people inside, she did not look back.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Saturday, September 29

P erhaps it was the bed growing cold that woke her, or something in her unconscious that warned her of impending pain. But when Diane rolled onto her side and opened her eyes, she was not surprised to find herself alone. She listened intently for any sound in the quiet house. The baseboard heater hummed quietly. Somewhere far out on the water, a foghorn sounded its mournful call. The house was still—Felicia asleep and Savard in Stark's bed at the main house. Valerie always placed her watch and the gold signet ring she wore on the little finger of her right hand on the bedside table when they made love. There was nothing there now.

Diane strained to hear the shower running in the adjacent bathroom, but she knew that Valerie was gone. The very air had lost its warmth, and loneliness tugged at her heart with new resolve. She lay quietly for a long time, replaying their last moments together. Her body still ached with the memory of desire. She felt Valerie's hands on her, inside her, and remembered the silent promises that had passed between them as they had taken their pleasure in one another. There had been other women who had touched her life, fleetingly, and then had left. She had learned to recognize goodbye in a kiss. That was not what Valerie had said to her as she had claimed her just hours ago.

She had to believe that, or her heart would surely break.

*

"Damn it, Cam," Blair exploded, slamming her phone down on the kitchen counter. "That was Diane. Valerie's gone."

Cam automatically looked at the clock. 5:10 a.m. Almost an hour until sunup. They had gotten out of bed at five because she, Savard, and Valerie were leaving at five thirty to rendezvous with a helicopter that would pick them up at a small private airport on the mainland and take them to DC. They'd finalized the plan before they'd turned in the night before. She, Savard, and Valerie.

God damn it.

Cam looked out the side window and counted the cars underneath the portico. None were missing. Wozinski had been on night shift, and he would have called her if there'd been any activity on the road in front of the house. Tanner's people were patrolling the entire sector of the island and definitely would have noticed a pickup anywhere in the vicinity, even if Valerie had walked from the house under cover of darkness to the road several miles away. She walked through the adjacent mudroom to the back door, opened it, and said to Hara, "Any activity out here?"

Agent Hara, who had been leaning against the deck post facing the guesthouse and the beach beyond, turned. She wore black slacks and running shoes, a navy windbreaker over a dark polo shirt, and an alert but unconcerned expression. "Good morning, Commander. Nothing out of the ordinary. Agent Lawrence walked down to the beach about"— she glanced at her watch—"thirty-five minutes ago."