Radclyffe - Price of Honor

The throng of reporters and onlookers waiting outside had grown. Blair noticed a contingent of men and women and a few children waving placards protesting the president’s policies on immigration, environmental issues, and the escalating war overseas. And added to the usual mix was a cluster of vocal antigay protesters. Their signs held biblical quotes and clever admonishments such as God made Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve .

She kept her eyes forward, her hand through the curve of Cam’s arm, and her teeth tightly clamped. They did not need to start off this campaign tour with a pithy comment from her flooding the airwaves. She climbed into the Beast with a swell of gratitude for its soundproofing and tinted windows.

“Thank God,” she muttered. “One down and ten zillion to go.”

“Tom told me what happened inside,” her father said when he and Lucinda settled into the limo across from Cam and Blair.

“Just a nuisance,” Blair said. “A little overeager antigay zealot got a little too close.”

“It didn’t take them long to home in on you.” Her father grimaced, his penetrating gaze studying her and Cam. “It was a little more than a little too close, though. Are you both all right?”

“I’m fine,” Blair said. Her father didn’t need to be worried about her. Or feeling guilty about his position thrusting her into an unwanted spotlight. Anything or anyone slightly controversial associated with him was fair game for media scrutiny and bigoted attacks—she wasn’t alone in that.

“I heard Cam took a few bumps,” Andrew persisted.

“It’s nothing, sir,” Cam said. “Stark’s people had everything under control, and Blair was never in danger.”

“I don’t doubt Stark was on top of it,” the president said, “but it shouldn’t have happened. I want someone to tell me how it did.”

“Dad—”

“I want to know the same thing.” Cam saw no point in pretending the near assault didn’t bring up the possibility of a breach in security. People rarely became physically confrontational out of the blue. There was almost always a history of violence or radical associations stretching back decades. Somewhere, some background check might have been missed with this guy. If he was actually a member of the press, he should’ve been vetted and any antigay sentiment or previous history of radicalism uncovered. If something had been missed, the after-action debriefing and Stark’s investigation would discover it.

“What matters,” Blair said, “is that everyone is fine, and you were fabulous.”

Andrew loosened his tie and relaxed against the plush leather seat. He glanced at Luce. “What do you think? My daughter’s biased. Did I do all right?”

Luce pursed her lips, looking as if she might be searching for the right words to chastise the most powerful man in the world, and then she smiled. “Excellent. Even the improvised bits.”

Looking relieved, Andrew chuckled, his voice deep and mellow. He was pleased, and he should be. The crowd had been receptive, even though they were mostly his staunchest supporters. Still, at this point in a campaign, it was important for him to maintain those connections and reward their belief in him. The donors weren’t called the faithful for nothing. Their support grew from a deep belief that this man would truly represent them and make a difference.

“And you’ve got four hours to rest on your laurels before the first stop,” Lucinda added.

“Breakfast first,” Andrew said, “then we’ll go over the script.”

They rode in silence as the motorcade turned off the highway onto the arterial circling the rail yard. The train yard, the presidential train, and the rail line along which it would pass were all contained within the secure perimeter. K9 agents with their dogs walked the tracks on either side of the train, counterattack teams with long-range rifles looked down over the route from rooftops, and agents stood post at each of the dozens of train cars. The Beast pulled up alongside the president’s private train car, and agents poured out of the SUVs behind them to form a cordon to escort the president into his car.

Blair and Cam, surrounded by Blair’s detail, headed for their car. The coach was divided into two parts with a central lounge. Lucinda’s quarters occupied the section closest to the president’s car and Cam and Blair’s sleeping quarters, bathroom, and small private sitting area were at the opposite end. Ellen Marks, a senior agent on Blair’s detail, was already stationed in the lounge.

Blair nodded to her and went straight through to their private compartment, found her suitcase, and pulled out a change of clothes. Cam came in and closed the door behind her.

“Would you rather I met you in the dining car?”

Blair pulled on a comfortable red cable-knit sweater, then stepped out of her trousers and into a pair of jeans. She slid into UGG boots and slipped her phone into her pocket. The space wasn’t cramped, but when she turned she was only a few feet from Cam. And why did Cam have to look so damn good and sound so damn sensitive when she still wanted to snap and spit and punch that SOB from the convention center?

“It’s going to be a long trip,” Blair said. “We’re not going to have much privacy, but this is what we’ve got. If I want some alone time, I’ll find someplace.”

Cam hung her blazer carefully on a hanger in the sliver-sized closet and traded it for a charcoal zip-up sweater over her pale blue shirt. “I can’t change my instincts.”

“I know that.”

“I wouldn’t if I could.”

Blair blew out an exasperated breath. “I know that too.”

“And you can’t help feeling the way you feel.”

Blair raised a brow. “How do I feel?”

“Angry that you have to accept a situation that makes you feel powerless. Guilty that people you care about could be hurt because of you. And furious that you don’t have any say in any of that and never have.”

Blair’s eyes narrowed. “You do know it tends to piss me off even more when you understand why I’m angry?”

Cam figured smiling was not a good idea at that point. Instead, she slid her arms around Blair’s waist, slowly pulled her close, and kissed her. “I know. I apologize.”

“Nice try. Very nice, in fact.” Blair put her hands flat against Cam’s chest, not pushing her away, but signaling she wasn’t quite ready to give up her anger. “Have you ever felt so helpless, so terrified for someone—” She stopped. “Sorry. God, that was stupid.”

“I was twelve,” Cam said quietly. “I didn’t understand what was happening at first, when the bomb went off, when the car exploded. Part of me knew it was already too late, but I still had to try to save him. I ran closer, but the bodyguards rushed out of the villa and dragged me back. He was already dead. Had been from the instant the bomb exploded, and when I got old enough to understand that, it helped a little bit. But the guilt never goes away.”

Blair pressed her forehead to Cam’s chest. “I’m so sorry. I’m such an idiot.”

“No, you’re not.” Cam kissed the top of her head. “If my father had had a choice, I think he would have felt like you do a lot of the time. I’m sure he would have preferred to die and have everyone else live, including the driver and the security guard who died with him. I know he wouldn’t have wanted me to be injured.”

“I shouldn’t have reminded you of it.”

“You don’t. It’s not the same thing. My father was assassinated in front of me. It wasn’t my job to protect him, and I couldn’t have if I’d wanted to. I know that.” Cam cupped Blair’s face and kissed her. “You are my wife. You are the woman I love with all my heart. If I weren’t trained to protect you, I would anyway. Just like you would protect me if you could.”