Radclyffe - Honor Guards

As Cam expected she would, Blair broke their contact and walked to the windows on the far side of the enormous room. She leaned a shoulder against, the centuries-old woodwork and gazed out.

"Trouble?" Cam kept her voice even but she was furious. Furious that her lover should have to answer to anyone regarding something so very private; because Blair was such a private woman, the intrusion was an even greater violation. That Blair should also need to answer to the White House chief of staff—the woman who had guided Blair's father's campaign and who was critical to his reelection—was more pressure than anyone should have to bear. Cam crossed the room, stopped just behind Blair, and placed her hands very gently on her shoulders. "Baby?"

"Trouble? No. Not really." Blair crossed her arms beneath her breasts and settled back against Cam's solid presence. "For Lucinda, she was exceptionally calm."

Slowly, Cam massaged Blair's tight shoulders, working her thumbs into the firm muscles on either side of her spine. As Blair always did when making a public appearance, she had caught back her thick wavy blond hair with the gold clasp that Cam had placed in her pocket just hours before. Brushing the beautiful hair aside with a fingertip, Cam dipped her head and kissed the back of Blair's neck.

"Mmm," Blair moaned softly. "That could almost make me forget everything."

With her lips still skimming Blair's skin, Cam murmured, "It's supposed to." Feeling Blair relax. Cam slipped her hands around Blair's waist, embracing her fully but still allowing her the freedom to escape. Blair was still vibrating with tension, and when she hurt, she was very much a wounded animal. "What did she say?"

"Lucinda made all the politically correct remarks. You know... it doesn't matter who you love, as long as you love. It's no one's business but mine. She even reiterated that the White House and the party supported freedom of choice and gay and lesbian issues."

"But?"

"She suggested that we curtail public displays of affection."

Cam forced herself not to react, either physically or verbally. She could do that, because she was trained to do it. She could stand in a room and listen to the president of the United States make plans for war without blinking or just as easily ignore an illicit tryst being consummated within earshot, or even right in front of her eyes. She was not only paid to mm a blind eye, she was indoctrinated with the ability to observe without reaction. But this was her lover, and pretending she didn't want to curse was a struggle. "I suppose I'll have to stop fucking you in the Suburban, then."

Laughing, Blair felt some of the tension melt from her bones. She let her head fall back against Cam's shoulder. "And you can't feel me up at state dinners anymore."

"Damn." Cam kissed Blair's ear, "Does that mean you won't be slipping your hand down my pants at the president's dinner dance tomorrow night?"

Blair turned and wrapped her arms around Cam's neck. Her eyes sparkled and this time her mouth lifted in a genuine smile. "Guess not, Commander. Want to rethink this whole affair?"

Cam kissed her lightly. "That depends."

"Really?" Blair tilted her head and narrowed her eyes dangerously. "On what?"

"On how good you are when I get you alone."

Bfair leaned in and nipped Cam's chin. "Better than you can possibly imagine."

Cam groaned, the sudden heat in her belly making her legs weak. "Okay. That's it—no more teasing. I need all of my blood going to my brain for the next few hours."

Pleased, Blair brushed her fingers through Cam's hair and stepped away. "I know. But thanks."

"For what?"

"Making me laugh when I wanted to—ah, God."

"What?" Cam asked gently.

"I don't know. Throw something? Cry maybe. It doesn't seem to make much difference." Blair shrugged off the melancholy. "I have to keep reminding myself that Lucinda has only one goal in mind, and that's keeping my father in the White House. That's not a bad agenda. I like her. I always have. It's not her fault that she's so single-minded."

"No! Nor is it yours how you choose to live your life, or whom you choose to love."

Blair leaned once again against the magnificent window casing. "I didn't choose to love you, Cameron. I just couldn't help myself."

"Same here." Cam tucked her hands into her front pockets and edged a shoulder against the opposite side of the leaded-glass windows. She regarded her lover contemplatively. "Are you ready for this afternoon?"

"Which part?" Blair laughed humorlessly as she thought about the media attention to come.

"The hospital."

Blair gave a small start. "God, it scares me to realize how well you know me already."

Cam lifted a shoulder. "Not nearly as well as I want to. Not nearly as well as I intend to."

"Hospitals." Without being aware of it, Blair shivered. "It doesn't matter what they look like or how hard everyone tries to make them feel welcoming. There's something about the air...or maybe it's the light. Or maybe it's just the way everyone walks around with that horrible mixture of hope and despair warring hi their eyes." Blair lifted a hand and let it fall helplessly. "All of a sudden I'm twelve again. It all happened so fast, and then she was gone."

Cam nodded, understanding all too well how life could change in the blink of an eye. Her father had been killed in a car bombing, and in the space of time it had taken for her to run back to the house for her book bag and return to the sidewalk to find his car engulfed in flames, her world had been altered forever. Blair had never talked to her about this before, and Cam chose her words carefully. "How fast?"

"Less than a year. The tumor was aggressive, and despite everything she did...and she did everything right...it didn't make any difference." Blair turned her head to look out the window, seeing nothing as she waited for the brimming tears to subside. "Everyone did everything they could have or should have. It just didn't help. They even did a bone marrow transplant, which was experimental back then for breast cancer. Some women do go into remission after that, but not as many as with leukemia or the other blood malignancies. She didn't."

Cam made a small noise of comfort. Blair was lost in memory, and Cam just let her talk.

"The last few months she was more often in the hospital than out. My father was a newly seated governor and tremendously busy. Still, he was there as much as he could be." She glanced back at Cam. "But a lot of the time I was there by myself."

Wanting nothing more in the world than to take Blair into her arms and make every hurt she had ever suffered disappear, Cam railed inwardly at her impotence. She yearned to reach into the past and rewrite history, so that the child Blair had been would never have felt frightened or lonely or in pain. The inability to do that was one of the most frustrating things Cam had ever experienced. Never before bad she realized just how terribly helpless love could make one feel. Throat tight, she asked gently, "Was it hard?"

Blair smiled wistfully. "Sometimes, But it was wonderful, too. We talked so much. Probably more than we ever would have if things had turned out differently." She laughed quietly, more freely this time. "Girls do tend to spend decades at odds with their mothers."

"I'm sure Marcea would agree," Cam remarked, referring to her own mother.

Blair closed the distance between them and put her arms around Cam's waist. "Marcea adores you, and you know it." She rested her head lightly on her lover's shoulder. "I'll be fine."

Cam kissed her temple and stroked her back. "Of course you will."

"You'll be nearby, won't you?"

"Every single minute."

CHAPTER EIGHT

1505 16Aug01

S lowly, the thin man raised his head and squinted infinitesimally against the bright August sun. The boulevard below had suddenly come alive with activity. Within the span of five minutes, six teleyision news vans and at least as many cars, most bearing the logos of news agencies, crowded into the street directly in front of the Institut Gustave-Roussy. For a relatively low-profile humanitarian visit of little international import, this degree of coverage seemed unusual. He had anticipated and considered media presence in planning his position, the deployment of the ambulance, and the exit strategies, but the current situation could prove to be problematic. Even as he observed the beehive of commotion below, two more vans, the printing on the side panels indicating German and Italian networks, jockeyed for position with the others. The boulevard was rapidly becoming congested. Vehicles were angled into no-parking zones and fire lanes, some were left double- or triple-parked on the shoulder, and swelling crowds of reporters, photographers, and television crews jostled in an ever-increasing shifting mass on the sidewalks.