Radclyffe - Honor Guards

A second passed, and then a blueprint of the building that housed the Bieeker Gallery appeared. Front, rear, and side entrances were denoted by red semicircles with the distance in feet to the nearest street or alleyway marked in bright yellow numerals. On the interior of the structure, the rooms and hallways, as well as the heating ducts and gas, water, and electrical conduits, were all marked in distinguishing colors. "Put two people each here, here, and here," Cam instructed, again pinpointing the areas with the tiny bright red laser dot.

"That will leave us thin on Egret herself," Mac noted neutrally.

"Thinner than I'd like," Cam agreed. "Put Stark inside the gallery with me. You take the main entrance. That should be fine."

"Commander? Is there a problem I should be aware of regarding tonight's itinerary?"

"No, Mac. No problem." At least I hope not—and nothing that I can tell you about now.

Mac nodded, keeping his questions to himself. He trusted her implicitly, and even if he hadn't, he would have followed orders. Still, at times like this, it helped immeasurably that she had the total confidence of every one of her agents. "I'll see to it."

"Thank you." Cam breathed in slowly and let the air out on a sigh. Then she walked back to the head of the table. "There's one more thing."

Her second in command regarded her steadily.

"One of the art dealers," Cam said as she reached for the file Cynthia Parker had prepared, "Valerie Ross. I need everything there is on her, and I need it this morning."

"The background check is in there, Commander." Mac regarded Cam quizzically. "It's extensive."

Familiar with the standard checks, Cam nodded. "I want a deep-level check."

"Finances, database scans, photo runs?"

"Yes," Cam said quietly, opening the file and sliding it across the table to Mac. "Everything."

Mac looked down at the file. "Jesus," he said with uncharacteristic lack of restraint. "What's going on?"

"I don't know." Cam stared at the photo. "But we have to find out."

"Hi," Blair said, smiling, as she opened the door to her lover.

Cam smiled back, but her eyes were solemn, "You're all ready," she remarked, taking in the gym bag by the door and Blair's outfit, which consisted of a T-shirt, sweatpants, and gym shoes.

"And you're not. Aren't you coming?" Blair kept her tone light, but inwardly she was already preparing herself for disappointment. Cam was her lover, but this weekend, she was much more her security chief. After more than a decade of living with close security, Blair knew how much planning needed to be done in preparation for a public event like the gathering that evening. And she knew that Cam would oversee every detail personally.

"I'm definitely coming," Cam said reassuringly. "I left my gear downstairs in the locker room. But something's come up that I need to talk to you about first."

"All right." Blair took Cam's hand and led her to the breakfast bar. She eased a hip up onto one of the tall stools and waited for Cam to take a seat facing her. "What's going on, darling?"

"I'm not even sure I should be bringing this up now—hell, or at all." Cam shook her head, disgusted at her own indecisiveness. "I've just spent the last forty minutes trying to make up my mind. Then it finally occurred to me that if I didn't discuss it with you, you might be pissed."

"Cameron," Blair said firmly. "Just tell me."

"One of the art dealers who Diane invited to the pre-opening show tonight is Claire."

"Claire. "Blair's brows furrowed, the name meaning nothing to her. But she couldn't ever remember seeing Cam so uncomfortable. Angry, worried—even, on rare occasions, frightened. But never quite like this. Suddenly Blair stiffened, knowing with the sixth sense of a lioness whose territory was about to be invaded precisely to whom her lover referred. In a dangerously calm tone, Blair repeated, "Claire. Your Claire—of the beautiful face and the elegant body and the oh-so-sophisticated demeanor. That Claire."

"She's not my Claire," Cam pointed out. "And—"

"I notice that you didn't disagree with the rest of my assessment," Blair interjected conversationally, but her eyes glinted like shards of glass in the sunlight.

For a moment, Cam couldn't follow the direction of the discussion, and then she laughed. Not the wisest thing to do, but she couldn't help herself. "You're kidding! You can't actually think I'd look at any other woman in the world when I have you."

"You've done a hell of a lot more than look at her." Blair couldn't even think about Cam being with another woman, let alone acknowledge that she'd been with someone so obviously beautiful and undoubtedly accomplished. In everything. It made her want to hurl breakable objects.

"That was before you," Cam said gently. "Now, there's only you, and there will only ever be you."

Blair blinked. "I hate it when you do that."

"What?"

"Make me forget why I'm mad at you."

Cam stood and stepped between Blair's legs, resting both hands on her lover's waist. She kissed her lightly on the mouth and grinned. "I love you."

Blair bumped her head against Cam's chest. "You'd better, because I swear to God, I won't be accountable for my actions otherwise."

Laughing quietly, Cam eased an arm around Blair's shoulder and leaned against the counter with Blair resting along the curve of her body. "Believe me, you have nothing to worry about."

"So what's going on?" Blair regarded Cam curiously. "With Claire?"

"Apparently, she's not Claire. Well, she is, or at least was, but she's also Valerie Ross."

"An alias?"

"Nope." Cam gently massaged the muscles in Blair's shoulders. "According to our records check, she really is Valerie Ross."

"And is she really an art dealer?"

Cam nodded. "Apparently so."

"Well. She is quite the mystery woman." Blair hooked her fingers over Cam's belt and beneath the waistband of her trousers, rubbing the back of her hand over Cam's stomach. "High-class Washington call girl, high-rolling art dealer, and drop-dead gorgeous femme fatale, I'm going to have to hurt her."

"We can't find anything to suggest she's a threat," Cam replied quietly, "but I can have Diane try to reach her and rescind the invitation. Or I can have Mac stop her at the door."

"Why?" Blair's tone was curious. Unconsciously, she pulled the tail of Cam's shirt loose so she could touch her palm to skin.

"Because this is a special night for you, and I don't want anything to spoil it."

Blair leaned away far enough so that she could meet her lover's eyes. "You'd do that?"

A look of confusion crossed Cam's face. "Of course."

"I don't mind if she comes." Blair thought of the few brief moments late one night standing beneath a streetlight with Cam's lover, if that's what Claire—Valerie—truly had been. She remembered a beautiful woman with deep sadness in her eyes. She'd recognized the sadness born of loneliness because she'd felt it so often herself. "She probably doesn't even realize we'll be there. Often, when the gallery has a private showing for a few select dealers before the opening, the artist isn't present. Besides, if she's got a client who's interested, she couldn't turn down the invitation. It's bad for business."

Surprised, Cam shrugged. "I'm not interested in her reasons. I'm only interested in what's best for you."

"It's fine, darling." Blair stood and put her free arm around Cam's neck while smoothing her palm up and down Cam's abdomen. She leaned hard into Cam with her thighs and pelvis, rolling her hips subtly. "Now, are you coming to the gym with me to spar?"

"Blair," Cam whispered, her voice husky. "It will hardly be a fair match if I'm too swollen to walk."