Radclyffe - Honor Guards

But she was the daughter of the president of the United States, and in the midst of a national crisis, her place was with him. With one last look at her old friends, she turned, walked down the stairs, and was quickly surrounded by her guards.

Once they were in the air, Cam signaled to the marine captain beside her for a secure communication line. Blair sat on her other side with Stark and Davis across the aisle in facing seats. The noise of the rotors made conversation almost impossible. With the headphones pressed to her ears, Cam requested a patch-through to the command center in Manhattan. She wasn't particularly surprised when John Fielding answered, knowing that in the absence of specific orders, her team would assemble there.

"This is Roberts. What's the word on Mac?" she shouted. Hunched forward, she listened intently. "Okay...right...you're in charge of the local field investigation. Have the FBI been on scene?...say again?" Unable to make out his response, she shook her head in frustration and checked her watch. "Stand by for another call at 1130. Full briefing then."

As soon as she terminated the call, Blair grasped Cam's forearm and leaned close. "What about Mac?"

"Last update he's in the ICU, but stable."

One of many fears lifted from Blair's heart. At least one of her absent friends was going to be all right. Now, if only they'd hear from Renee. As Cam leaned forward to relay the news to Stark and Felicia, Blair closed her eyes, her right hand resting on Cam's knee. Once they landed, they would both be immersed in official duties, and she wanted these final few moments of connection.

Lucinda Washburn met them just inside the West Wing. The first thing she did was kiss Blair's cheek. "Your father's going to be very happy to see you. He's in a security meeting right now, but he asked that you wait for him at the residence."

"All right." Blair glanced at Cam. "Can you come with me?"

"I need to report in. Stewart needs to be briefed about the events of yesterday." She touched Blair's hand fleetingly. "I'll make it as fast as I can. You should try to get some sleep."

Blair tilted her head, smiling faintly. "And you, Commander, should take your own advice."

"Point taken, Ms. Powell." Cam leaned close enough for a kiss, but merely whispered, "Please don't leave the residence without me."

"No," Blair murmured, her eyes on Cam's. "I won't go anywhere without you. Don't worry."

Lucinda cleared her throat. "We should go, Blair. Everyone's schedule is very tight."

Blair moved back from Cam and regarded the chief of staff with a cool, calm expression. "Yes, of course." She nodded once to Cam. "I'll see you later, Commander."

"Ms. Powell," Cam said quietly as she watched her lover walk away. Then she turned to Stark and Davis. "You're both relieved...temporarily. Until I know Egret's plans, I need you both to remain available. Get rooms at the usual hotel so I can reach you on short notice." She hesitated, then added, "I'm sorry. I realize that both of you might prefer to return to Manhattan. As soon as I can reassemble a secure team, I'll give you some downtime."

"Is it all right if we disclose our location now?" Stark asked. She felt like she'd been clinging to the side of a cliff in high winds and rain for over twenty-four hours. Her hands were numb, her grip was slipping, and she was about to plummet. She needed so desperately to hear Renee's voice.

"Yes, go ahead." Cam regarded Felicia. "Fielding is running the command center. He should have an update on Mac's situation,"

"Thank you. I'll speak to him, then, with your permission."

"Fine. Then both of you, get some sleep. You're first team until further notice."

Both women nodded wearily and then left together for the crosstown cab ride. Cam walked out of the West Wing and started toward the Treasury Building. She needed to advise her superiors that the president's daughter's security team was seriously compromised, and that she couldn't be sure that all of her remaining agents were trustworthy. She had lost one agent, she had another who was critically injured, and the president's daughter had barely escaped a kidnapping or assassination attempt. At the moment she wasn't certain which. Given the degree of penetration by the perpetrators, it was entirely likely that by the end of the day, she would no longer be the president's daughter's security chief.

In some respects, that would make her life much easier— her personal and professional lives would no longer be in direct conflict. It would probably make Blair happier, and that was no small consideration in Cam's mind. But her duty was not done, and would not be done, until she had brought to justice the men and womenbehind the attack on Blair. Whether she retained her position with Blair's team or not, officially or unofficially, she intended to find them. Someone had tried to murder the president's daughter; someone had tried to murder her lover. She wanted retribution, and she wanted to make it very clear to whoever might be planning the next assault that Blair Powell was not a target for terrorism.

Stark called Renee's number for the seventh time. She got the same recorded message. Out of service. All the news reports said the cellular carriers are either overloaded or down. It doesn 't mean anything.

She checked her personal voice mail. There was nothing from Renee. She hung up, then redialed her home number.

"Honey? Renee, if you check the answering machine and get this message, call me on my cell or at the usual place in DC. Okay? I love you, honey."

She ended the call and sat motionless on the side of the bed, staring at her hands. They were shaking. She was shaking. Everything inside of her felt like it was coming apart. She didn't know what to do, so she lay down on the bed fully clothed and curled on her side. She closed her eyes, knowing she wouldn't sleep, and waited for the phone to ring.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

S tewart Carlisle, a deputy director of the Secret Service and Cam's immediate supervisor, shot up from behind his desk the instant Cam walked into his office. "Christ Almighty, there are bodies lying all over Egret's apartment building. There was a dead agent right outside her goddamned door! Tell me that someone didn't almost shoot her."

Cam had a ferocious headache that wasn't helped by the lack of sleep or the need for a decent meal or the immediate interrogation. However, considering what had happened to the nation the day before, she understood that no one in law enforcement was going to be getting regular sleep or food or much in the way of a break for months to come. So, steadfastly ignoring the throbbing pain behind her eyes, she took her customary chair across from Carlisle's desk and waited for him to sit back down.

"The dead agent is David Foster, and—"

"I know who he is," Carlisle snapped. "What I don't know is what happened to him."

"He's also one of the people who tried to assassinate Blair Powell."

"Oh fuck. Jesus. Are you sure?"

The muscles on either side of Cam's neck tightened, but her voice was steady. "Positive."

"And he ended up dead—-how?"

"I shot him myself."

Carlisle pushed back in his chair and expelled a long breath. "Well, we have a very big problem."

Grimly, Cam smiled. "That would be my assessment as well."

The first thing Blair did when Lucinda left her in her father's private study was to call Diane. "Hey. It's me."

"Oh thank God! I've been calling you nonstop for twenty-four hours." Diane's voice was tight with strain and sharp with accusation. "When I didn't get an answer, I walked down to your place. There was an FBI agent—"

"Renee? Was it Renee Savard? You remember her, the really nice—"