Radclyffe - Price of Honor

Blair pulled up the latest schedule from Lucinda to make sure nothing had changed for the morning. Once they reached Chicago, she was to join her father for their first public appearance, a breakfast with select donors and political fund-raisers.

Cam took her hand. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” This trip felt a lot different than the first time she’d taken to the campaign trail with him. She’d been younger, for one thing, and something of an unknown. She wasn’t any longer. She’d been secretly a little resentful that first time too, having to take the place of her mother and help her father create an image that the public could relate to. She understood the need, but as much as she believed in him, as much as she loved him, she’d resented being forced into a role that required her to hide who she was.

Maybe that was why she’d had the affair with the French ambassador’s wife. Foolish and immature, looking back at it now, although Margot had been beautiful and surprisingly inventive in bed. Blair wasn’t hiding now. And she probably hadn’t even had to hide then. Her father had never asked her to. His campaign manager certainly had, and others had been less than subtle in suggesting that she keep her private life private. Well, that bird had flown. She took Cam’s hand, kissed her knuckles. “I’m ready.”

Chapter Ten

Dusty arrived before anyone else on her team at the hangar where the C-17 cargo planes were fueled, loaded, and ready to go. The transport agents were responsible for securing the presidential limo within the belly of the huge cargo plane along with a second limo—an exact replica of the first that would be used were there any problem with the primary car—the hazmat van, and the SUVs for the Secret Service protection details, presidential staff, press, medical, K9, EOD, counterassault, and communications teams. She liked to inspect the kennels where Atlas and the other dogs would ride before they were loaded, just to be sure everything was secure.

“Okay to check it out?” she asked when Larry Murtaugh, the transport supervisor, appeared in the doorway of the cargo hold. Murtaugh, a burly fifty-year-old with flinty blue eyes and close-cropped red hair peppered with gray, was a stickler for details and always insisted on doing the final checks whenever the presidential vehicles were loaded for long-distance travel.

He waved her up and grunted at her as she climbed aboard with Atlas. “Still don’t trust us?”

She grinned and shrugged. “Atlas is a nervous flyer.”

“Bullshit.”

He was right. Atlas didn’t mind flying. It was almost as if he knew a big job was coming when they landed. He had been through this hundreds of times and wasn’t bothered by the sounds of the big machines, the air guns driving bolts into metal, the steady background roar of the engines. The smell of gasoline and oil didn’t faze him either. She wasn’t nervous, but she didn’t like securing him in a crate that could break free and go careening around the cavernous space in midflight either. He trusted her to keep him safe, just like she trusted him to alert her to danger before they or anyone else could get blown up. She followed Murtaugh as he walked up and down both sides of the long double rows of vehicles, checking off items on his clipboard. The kennels for the dogs were secured to the floor with clamps and separated by solid barriers, so the dogs could only see out the front. Atlas sat by her side as she looked over the moorings of the crate with his name on it.

“Not just yet, buddy,” she murmured at his expectant expression. When she was satisfied all the kennels were securely fixed and there’d be no in-air problems, she dumped her duffel in the back of one of the K9 vehicles and walked him back out into the hangar. Other agents were beginning to arrive, suitcases and travels bags in hand. No one looked particularly happy.

Riding in a C-17 was a miserable way to travel. The massive cargo bay was cold and noisy. The unpadded metal benches along either side were uncomfortable, but better than the jump seats fore and aft that rocked with every dip and roll of the big plane. The roar and rattle of engines and draft made conversation impossible, not that she really went in for small talk most of the time, but a long overseas trip could be deadly boring without a little casual chatter. She always sat where Atlas could see her. And where she could see him. They traveled better that way. She nodded to a couple of guys on her team as they went past with their dogs. She’d wait until the last minute to board. It wasn’t as if she had to worry about getting a seat.

She sat on a crate out of the flow of traffic with Atlas at her feet. She was already in uniform—black BDUs, black lace-up boots, and a black cap with USSS above the bill. The back of her nylon jacket read K9 Division . Atlas would wear a light vest with similar designations when they disembarked. As soon as they touched down, she and six of the other K9 agents would load into the SUVs, drive directly to the convention center where the president would give his breakfast speech, and do the final sweep on the path he would take inside and in the rooms he would occupy. Once he and his entourage were safely inside, she and Atlas would patrol the inner perimeter and sweep the vehicles before he left to travel to the train.

Until they arrived in Chicago, she had nothing else to do, which was just as well. She was having a little trouble concentrating. Okay, a lot of trouble. Her mind was elsewhere, which probably explained why she’d slept so fitfully, after she’d finally managed to fall asleep. She couldn’t stop replaying every minute of the past twenty hours, recalling the conversations she’d had with Viv, dissecting the things she’d said or failed to say, the way Viv had looked at her, laughed with her, touched her. None of it had been expected. All of it was special.

She’d never been able to talk to anyone so easily. She’d never been with anyone who touched so naturally. She’d never gone home wishing she could have had one more minute, one more hour with someone.

She was making too much of it, she knew that. But she couldn’t stop herself. Every time she thought of Viv, her stomach tightened and a surge of pleasure rippled down her spine. The sensation was addictive. One she’d never experienced and hoped would never end.

She reached down, scratched between Atlas’s ears, stroked his back. Him she knew. Him she trusted, loved, relied on. Uncomplicated feelings he returned a thousandfold. She was totally out of her depth with Viv. Inexperienced didn’t begin to cover it.

One of the two phones clipped to her belt vibrated. She glanced down and saw the symbol for a text message on her personal phone. The only texts she ever got on that phone were airline updates or weather alerts. The sky was clear and she wasn’t flying commercial. Pulse racing, she thumbed the icon to bring up the message. It was from Viv’s number. She already knew it by heart. She’d almost dialed it in the middle of the night just to hear her voice again. Thankfully, sanity had prevailed.

Have you left yet?

Dusty stared. Viv was really texting her. She hadn’t expected to hear anything from her until later in the day. Maybe not even then. She tried to type an answer and had to delete the gibberish and press the letters deliberately one at a time. No, still loading plane.

Busy?

No. Dusty held her breath, waiting for more.

I woke up thinking about you.

Dusty’s heart did a funny thing in her chest, as if it had come loose and dropped a couple of inches. She wet her lips. Her hands were shaking. Carefully, she formed the words. Didn’t sleep much. Yesterday was great.