Radclyffe: Price of Honor

“Thanks. That feels better.”

Blair straightened, kissed Cam, and turned to put the medical supplies back into the narrow closet in the corner of the bathroom. “Are you going right to the White House?”

“No, I’m going to stop at the detention center first.”

“Maybe I’ll see you for dinner, then.”

Cam cradled Blair’s shoulders and pulled Blair against her. Wrapping her arms around Blair’s waist from behind, she kissed the side of her neck. “The countdown will probably run long. I don’t think we’ve gotten the final itinerary yet.”

Blair laughed shortly and covered Cam’s hands with hers. “Why aren’t I surprised? You know Adam is always adding last-minute stops for Dad.”

“I know. Eisley’s a real pain in the ass.”

Blair rested her head back against Cam’s shoulder. “He is. But he’s really good at his job.”

“I suppose. If you end up staying later, I’ll see you when you get home.”

Blair turned and let her robe fall open, pressing naked against Cam. Her skin was warm, her body strong and supple.

Cam groaned softly. “Come on.”

Blair’s eyes flashed and she smiled a satisfied smile. “I want you to be thinking about me this afternoon.”

“Like I wouldn’t be?”

“Just making sure.”

Cam clasped the back of Blair’s neck and kissed her, a long, serious kiss. “Mission accomplished.”

Blair breathed heavily, her lips faintly parted. “Yeah. Me too.”

Cam grinned and brushed a thumb over her chin. “See you later, baby.”

“See you later, Commander.”

*

The building where Jennifer Pattee was being detained looked nothing like a prison. It was a square glass-and-steel structure like most of the federal buildings surrounding the Capitol. The upper floors were all administrative offices of midlevel attorneys, aides, and other justice employees. But the second basement level, accessible only by a key card that a select few people carried, was a different matter.

The elevators opened on a ten-foot-square, tile-floored lobby directly across from a guard station. There were no chairs, no signs, no water coolers. The two uniformed officers sat in a well-lit glass cubicle scanning banks of monitors that displayed relays from the exterior and interior of the building as well as the four detention cells behind the adjacent steel doors.

Cam presented her credentials and one of the officers keyed in the code to the doors. They swung open and Cam walked through. Only one of the cells, their interiors dim behind plain metal doors with rectangular windows, was occupied. She settled at the bare, brown laminate table in the small visitor’s room and waited for the guard to bring Jennifer Pattee in. Cam hadn’t seen her for almost a week. Her appearance was much the same as the last time. Her shoulder-length dark hair was clean, her heart-shaped face pale and faintly shadowed. Her eyes were still clear and angry and sharply intelligent. She sat across from Cam in her gray jumpsuit, her shoulders upright, her hands still cuffed in her lap.

“Are you being taken care of adequately?” Cam asked.

The former White House Medical Unit nurse smiled wryly. “I’m being fed and allowed to shower and given clean clothes. I wouldn’t mind a computer.”

“Who would you contact?”

“I like to surf the shopping sites and read the news.”

“What about a phone call?”

“Who would I call?” Jennifer echoed.

“How about Augustus Graves?”

For a fraction of a second, Jennifer tensed, and if Cam hadn’t been looking for it and hadn’t spent a large part of her career in investigations doing interrogations, she would’ve missed it.

“Who would that be?” Jennifer asked.

Her question implied she cared about the answer. She was usually too smart to engage in any conversation. “He was the leader of a militia group out in Idaho. I thought since you grew up there, you might’ve heard of him.”

“I don’t know anything about Idaho,” Jennifer said.

She was lying, of course. Cam was nearly 100 percent certain that Jennifer was related to the woman who’d taken Cam prisoner and undoubtedly would have killed her had she the opportunity. The two of them looked alike. She didn’t know how Augustus Graves fit into the picture, but she was certain they all knew each other.

“In that case, you won’t be disturbed to learn that he’s dead.”

This time Jennifer Pattee didn’t move. She’d probably already been mentally preparing herself for some kind of news once the name had been mentioned. She was very well trained, but the autonomic nervous system was something few people could control completely, if at all. Her pupils flickered rapidly. The news had triggered an adrenaline surge.

“Let me tell you about him. It might ring a few bells.” Cam relaxed back in her seat. “Graves was an Idaho businessman who owned a large tract of land up in the Bitterroot Mountains. He built a compound on that land. A big one, big enough to house a few hundred people. A militia. Before it got blown up a couple nights ago, it appeared to have been pretty self-sufficient, with an infirmary and an armory and barracks. Pretty sophisticated stuff.”

“I don’t know him,” Jennifer said flatly.

“Interesting place,” Cam went on. “I ran into one of his senior…officers, I guess you could say. A woman. She reminded me of you. Looked a little like you too. I didn’t get her name, but maybe you know it?”

The fingers of Jennifer’s right hand closed slowly, a small tell. “I don’t know any of these people. I don’t know anything about Idaho.”

“You know,” Cam said slowly, “I said I didn’t know her name. That’s not exactly true. I know the name she used when she worked at Eugen Corp. Angela Jones. The one who stole the virus that you were carrying when you were apprehended. Help your memory at all?”

“I already told you. That was a mistake. I have no idea what the virus was for or why I was given it.”

“Lots of coincidences. Are you interested in knowing what happened to her?”

“No,” Jennifer said, no inflection in her voice. “As I said, I don’t know her.”

Cam leaned forward, forcing Jennifer to look into her face. “You know her. She’s a cousin…no, closer than that. A sister. Don’t you want to know if she’s alive or dead?”

Jennifer’s pupils were pinpoint. “No.”

“She wanted you to be released. She wanted to trade me for you. She made a mistake when she did that. She brought the hammer down on that compound, because we don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

“Terrorists,” Jennifer exclaimed.

“What would you call them?”

“Patriots,” Jennifer snapped.

“Yes, I suppose you would. Tell me, Jennifer, how patriotic is it to attempt to kill the president of the United States?”

Jennifer’s lips pressed together. She’d made a mistake, speaking out.

“She’s your sister,” Cam said with certainty. “And before too long, I’ll know exactly who both of you are. If you don’t want her killed, then help me find her before she does something else.”

“I can’t help you.”

“All right. Not yet.” Cam stood. “But don’t wait too long.”

Cam signaled to the guard to return her to her cell. Jennifer Pattee and Angela Jones hadn’t been alone in devising the thwarted attack on Andrew Powell. It’d taken a lot of money and significant inside help to pull it off. She didn’t know how close the other conspirators were to the president, but she couldn’t rule anyone out except those she trusted absolutely, and those numbers were few.

Anytime the president was exposed, he was vulnerable. Now he insisted on kicking off his reelection campaign with a grassroots appeal to the heartland via a train ride, despite that being a security nightmare. But the Secret Service and Homeland Security were the best protective organizations in the world. Everyone would be ready when game day arrived.