Radclyffe - Honor Guards

Across the room, Mac systematically swept the huge space, pausing briefly at each exit to take note of who stood there— someone lingering near a doorway could easily be a lookout or a triggerman. He saw only the gently milling mass of suave men and beautifully adorned women. He also saw his colleagues—the six who were in the room. There were four additional agents on perimeter duty outside. His gaze halted on his chief as he followed her line of sight to Egret. From fifty feet away, he could see her dark eyes smoldering. Someone who didn't know her wouldn't notice her tension or her fury, but he had grown used to deciphering her state of mind by reading her body language and the message in her eyes. He had learned that she never voluntarily gave any indication of her feelings. Not for the first time, he was glad not to be in her shoes. He didn't shrink from the responsibility, and, in fact, was proud that he was usually the commander's first choice for team leader when she was off duty or otherwise unavailable. He did not, however, envy her, knowing that she was often forced to behave as if she had no personal relationship whatsoever with Egret. While never doubting that she could carry out her responsibilities in terms of Egret's security, he couldn't even guess at how much that restraint cost her emotionally.

"You're monopolizing Ms. Powell, Claude," a rich contralto voice complained playfully. A dark-haired, dark-eyed woman wearing a deep burgundy dress took Blair's arm and with a sly smile drew her away from the obviously displeased man. "How are you, darling?"

"I'm eternally grateful for the rescue," Blair murmured as she smiled and nodded to several individuals who greeted her as she walked slowly to the edge of the dance floor with her companion. "I was running out of polite conversation."

The woman, twenty years Blair's senior but still sensuously beautiful, tilted her head and laughed. "I'm surprised you lasted as long as you did. In the past, you would have sent him running with his tail between his legs in a matter of minutes."

"I was practicing diplomacy."

"You never saw the need for that before, as I recall." She drew Blair closer, brushing her breast against Blair's arm as she did so. When she felt no response from Blair, she laughed again. "You've changed."

Blair looked over to where she had last seen Cam and smiled softly as her eyes met her lover's, "Yes. I have."

"Ah..." Her companion followed Blair's gaze. In a voice verging on a purr, she said, "There's something about a long, tight body in a tuxedo that always makes me wet."

"Then I see you haven't changed, at least."

"She's the one all the fuss is about, I take it."

They stopped by a large marble pillar out of the stream of activity. Blair had a headache from making polite conversation with too many people for too many hours. All she wanted to do was shed her clothes, put her feet up, and enjoy a few quiet minutes with Cam. She sighed, seeing no point in denying what everyone was aware of.

"Yes."

The press had been waiting once again when she'd arrived at the presidential palace. They'd shouted variations on the same questions that they had bombarded her with the day before, and she once again made no comment. Although none of the guests mentioned the news articles, she had been aware of a few pointed stares during the evening.

"Is she anywhere near as good as she looks?" the woman asked.

Unoffended, Blair nevertheless ignored the question. "I'm going to make my way over to the president and his wife and pay my respects. I have an early-morning flight back to the States tomorrow, and I'm tired."

The dark-haired woman slid her arm around Blair's waist and leaned against her, her thigh pressing into Blair's hip. "We could slip away to my apartment for an hour or two. Remember how much fun that used to be?"

Blair couldn't. All she could remember was the empty pleasure of stealing a few hours of freedom that never truly felt free, and the moments of physical satisfaction that were even less gratifying. "I don't think so. Thanks."

"You can't mean to tell me that you're serious about this woman? An affair is one thing, but—really, Blair. Even if you don't care about the politics, it's social suicide."

"You know that's never mattered to me," Blair said quietly.

"I know that you always pretended that it didn't," her companion countered. "That's one of the many things I found so exciting about you. But you're young yet, and something like this could haunt you forever."

"You're absolutely right." A smile flickered across Blair's face. "Which is why I have absolutely no intention of letting her go."

The beautiful woman leaned close and kissed Blair lightly on the lips. "I'll miss those special moments with you, darling."

"Take care," Blair whispered before she slipped away.

Blair had crossed only a small part of the room when Cam appeared at her side. She slowed and smiled at her lover. "Hello."

"Ms. Powell," Cam replied quietly. She was close enough to touch her, but she did not.

"I'm ready to go home."

With a casual gesture that might have been interpreted as merely a brush of her hand through her hair, Cam murmured into the minuscule communicator on the undersurface of her left wrist, "Stark, bring the vehicle to the west entrance."

"I want to really go home," Blair said with a sigh.

"Yes," Cam admitted, allowing a rare break in her professional facade. "So do I."

"Come with me while I make my goodbyes."

"Of course. I'll be nearby."

"No," Blair murmured softly, curling her fingers around Cam's forearm and drawing her a step closer. "Accompany me."

Surprised, Cam stiffened. "Blair, I don—"

"Please."

The word was uttered softly, one lover to another, and Cam could not refuse. "It would be my pleasure."

As they approached the French president and his wife at the center of a small gathering of dignitaries, Cam scanned the crowd and took note of Mac on the left side of the room and Rogers on the right keeping pace with them. Assured that the appropriate surveillance was in place while her attention was diverted, she relaxed enough to appreciate how at ease Blair appeared in the midst of such exalted company. At the moment, Blair was thanking the French president and his wife for their gracious hospitality and commenting on how much she had enjoyed the evening. A few more polite words were exchanged, and then Blair smiled up at Cam. "May I introduce my escort, Cameron Roberts."

In French, Cam replied that it was an honor to meet them and a pleasure to be in Paris again. When the president's wife suggested that they return when Blair was not obligated by official duties, "to truly appreciate the beauty of Paris," Cam smiled warmly and said that she definitely hoped they would have that opportunity soon.

After the usual pleasantries, Blair and Cam turned to leave.

"I think she was flirting with you," Blair said under her breath.

Cam barely managed to stifle a laugh. "She most certainly was not."

"You're so damn charming, you're dangerous."

"As long as you think so, Ms. Powell."

Before Blair could reply, Cam eased away several steps. The few minutes between leaving the building and securing Blair in the vehicle were critical, and she needed to focus. Stark appeared with Blair's wrap and handed it to her.

"Here you are, Ms. Powell. The car is waiting at the curb."

"Thank you." Blair sensed several other people move close to her and knew that Mac and Rogers had just completed the circle behind her. With Cam slightly ahead and to her left, going through the door first as she always did, Blair stepped outside. Instantly, a bright light flashed in her eyes. As she blinked furiously to clear her vision, she was aware of a dark shape looming to her right. She cried out, more in surprise then fear, as Stark grasped her around the waist and pushed her back several steps while shielding her from the intruder with her body. At the same time, Blair saw Cam hurtling toward the shape, which she now recognized as a heavyset man in a dark cap and shapeless jacket. He held something in his hand.