Code of Honor

Chapter Eighteen

Russo reached across Nora for the tumbler of scotch on the bedside table. He sat up against the pillows and sipped the smoky liquid. The burn left a spike of exhilaration in his stomach that tingled all the way down to his balls. Fine whiskey and fine sex. Not much more a man needed to feel satisfied, other than power over other men. And soon he’d have that too.

“The polls yesterday looked good,” Nora murmured, her voice barely tinged with postcoital satisfaction. She turned on her side and wrapped an arm around his waist.

Russo congratulated himself on his choice of lover as well as campaign manager. Nora was considering his goals too. No pointless sentimentality for her, no demands for meaningless platitudes about love and devotion. He liked that about her—she was unrestrained in bed, shamelessly unbridled, demanding what she wanted with unabashed directness. And after they’d both gotten what they sought, she was back to her controlled, analytical self.

“I think the community meetings have won us some followers, don’t you?” Russo asked. He counted on her to judge the tenor of the populace and adjust his message to keep out in front of those in both parties who cared more about ideology than actually winning. In the end, only winning mattered. He’d learned early in life to give people what they thought they wanted while maneuvering them into supporting his own goals.

With Nora’s help, he planned on using the same strategy to win the upcoming election. People thought they wanted the right to govern themselves, the right to dictate law and order, the right to determine morality—especially other people’s—and the right to ignore the rest of the world as if what happened outside the national borders had no impact on them. And his message was to tell them they were right. That their view of justice, morality, God, and the national conscience was correct, despite the fact their outlook was naïve and ultimately self-defeating. But until he controlled the reins of corporate financial power, religious influence, and military force, his first priority was to convince those who would carry him to Washington that he believed as they did.

Idly, he stroked Nora’s breast. Her body was young and tight and as coolly efficient as she was. “Powell still has the heart of the nation. Until his ability to govern is called into question, we’ll be playing catch-up.”

“Hearts can be broken.”

He laughed. “Yes. Powell needs to betray their faith, or at least be perceived that way. Right now, the people still believe he can keep them safe, free, and prosperous.”

“I thought you had plans to change that,” Nora said cautiously.

He hadn’t kept her completely in the loop as far as his dealings with Hooker and his connections with the militia. Not that he didn’t trust her…exactly. He never trusted anyone with anything that could ultimately be used against him. At least, not unless he was also willing to eliminate those who knew too much, and he rather wanted Nora by his side when he headed to Washington. Nora was ruthless when it came to manipulating people, but deep down he sensed she had a streak of moral conscience that would be at odds with some of his plans. So he didn’t discuss all of them.

“I do have people working on putting some tarnish on Powell’s shining armor, but it’s a long-range kind of thing.” He finished the scotch and set the glass aside.

“The recession has hurt him. A little more negative press, a few more instances of government ineffectiveness, and his popularity will take a nosedive.” Nora casually stroked his abdomen. “The people only love a winner when he’s winning. And you’re going to win and keep on winning.”

Russo watched her hand trail lower. Common lore suggested men of a certain age had difficulty in the bedroom. Some of his contemporaries had actually admitted it. He laughed to himself. If he was having trouble in that department, he certainly wouldn’t make it public. A man who couldn’t dominate in every area was hardly fit to lead. But he wasn’t a common man, and he wasn’t having any difficulty. He pushed Nora onto her back and rose over her, already primed. “You just keep refining my message and watching those numbers. I’ll worry about Powell’s popularity.”

She reached down and guided him inside her, locking her legs behind him. Her body tensed like a bow, her pupils widening. “You’re going to be absolutely invincible in the White House.”

He settled himself deeper. “And you’re going to look even better as my chief of staff.”

Nora smiled and closed her eyes.

*

The cab let Cam out at the corner of East Twenty-first a little after nine. The gates surrounding Gramercy Park were locked and foot traffic was sparse. She glanced up at the loft on the top floor of the brownstone that sat midblock. A faint glow illuminated several windows, and she welcomed a rush of relief. Blair was home. She’d had to wait for a flight out of Georgia, and while she’d waited, she’d contemplated calling Blair to tell her she was coming. Finally, she’d decided not to interrupt Blair’s plans and to just come ahead unannounced. If Blair hadn’t been home, she would have let herself in and waited. Blair waited for her often enough, and she’d be asking her to wait again soon, and under circumstances Blair wasn’t going to like. This detour to NYC was more for her than Blair, even though Blair had ordered her not to go anywhere without seeing her first.

Cam smiled as she looked up at the windows. Blair could be quite persuasive when she issued orders, and Cam had discovered she liked being the one to follow them, when she could. Unfortunately, often she couldn’t.

When she’d left for Georgia, she’d expected to head directly out west to make contact with the undercover operatives tracking the militia. The viral theft and plot to attack the president had all the earmarks of domestic terrorism, and the only leads they had traced Jennifer Pattee to Idaho. She suspected Angela Jones’s trail would also lead them back there. Ferrell hadn’t contacted her about a meet with the undercover agents working the militia angle, but she’d told him she’d wait thirty-six hours before digging into the covert ops for a contact herself. He still had twelve hours before she started pressing him. Unfortunately, that timetable pushed her right into the New Year’s weekend, and she doubted she’d be able to arrange a meet until after that, assuming Ferrell came through with some names. She was anxious to chase any lead, no matter how thin, but she was glad she had this small window of time to join Blair. She missed her.

Cam nodded slightly to the agents in the SUV parked across the street from Blair’s as she angled up the block to the brownstone. Inside, she waved to Nunez, who had apparently drawn the night shift again, and keyed the elevator car that went only to Blair’s residence floor. The Secret Service had the whole floor below as a command center. That used to be her base.

As the elevator car climbed, she remembered arriving here the first day and how much she hadn’t wanted to be in charge of Blair Powell’s protection detail. She’d only had Blair’s reputation as a spoiled, irresponsible playgirl to go on and assumed she’d be babysitting a self-indulgent society brat. She’d quickly learned Blair had never been what the press made her out to be. Blair had been angry, and sometimes the anger erupted in ways that put her at risk, but she was also brave and intensely loyal to her father and her country. Blair’s anger was still there, along with the frustration of not being in control of her own life at times, but Blair was also one of the bravest, most responsible people Cam knew. That bravery and sense of responsibility had put her life in danger more than once, and Cam wasn’t going to let it happen again.

Cam let herself into the loft, set her suitcase by the door, and draped her topcoat over the back of the sofa. The living room was dark. She made her way past the open kitchen toward the bedroom in the rear, one of the only private spaces set off by half walls from the other areas in the open-plan loft. Blair was propped up in the king-sized bed, reading.

Blair put the book aside when Cam walked in, and smiled. “I heard the door open, and I was hoping it was you.”

“Oh yes?” Cam removed her suit jacket and tossed it into the closet to go to the cleaners. She sat down on an easy chair in the corner to remove her shoes and socks and stood to pull off her belt, shirt, and trousers. She slid her badge and holstered weapon into the top drawer of the double oak dresser and walked to the side of the bed in her silk T-shirt and briefs. Leaning down, she kissed Blair. “Who else would it have been, coming in while you’re in bed?”

“Oh, well…” Blair threaded her fingers through Cam’s hair and kissed her back, taking her time. “An infinite number of choices. Paula…”

Cam laughed and climbed onto the bed.

“Mac.” Blair nipped at Cam’s lip.

Cam raised a brow and pushed the sheets aside. Blair wore only an oversized Giants football jersey that came down to her upper thighs. Cam leaned on an elbow and stroked Blair’s bare thigh. Her skin was soft and warm, and the warmth settled into Cam’s stomach like the heat from a welcoming hearth on a frigid winter night.

“Renée.” Another swift kiss—just a tease of silky lips.

Cam skimmed her hand beneath the jersey and pushed it up. When she kissed Blair’s abdomen, Blair made a humming noise, a deep reverberating sound of pleasure.

“Brock.” Blair arched against Cam’s mouth.

Cam laughed again and kissed a spot along the curve of Blair’s hipbone. “Good thing I got here when I did, then.”

Blair caught her breath. Her fingers came into Cam’s hair, tugging impatiently. “You should have called. What if I’d gone out?”

Cam raised her head and pushed up until she was above Blair, supporting herself on her bent arms. “I would’ve found you.”

“Would you?” Blair asked softly.

“Always. You can’t get away from me.”

“Promise?”

Cam kissed her softly on the mouth, then on her throat, lingering in the hollow between her collarbones. She settled her hips between Blair’s thighs. Still poised above Blair’s body, she read the uncertainty in Blair’s eyes. She hadn’t seen those questions there for a long time and knew Blair’s doubts were more about the future than about her. Those fears were something she couldn’t erase, but she could promise Blair she would never be alone. “I love you. No matter where you are, no matter where I am, I will always find you.”

Blair wrapped her arms around Cam’s shoulders and pulled her down until their bodies touched everywhere. Her mouth was against Cam’s ear. “I need you so much.”

“I’m here,” Cam answered.

“And you’re mine,” Blair whispered, skating her hands down Cam’s back to her ass, pulling her even tighter between her legs. The heat of Cam’s body, the hard unyielding strength of her, was as exciting to her as the desire she’d seen in Cam’s eyes. In a world where nothing was certain, this was. This, she counted on. She could never get close enough to Cam, never get her deep enough inside. The need for her, the desire for her, never lessened, and tonight—after they’d been apart—the need was a living thing clawing at her insides. Her breasts ached, her belly trembled. She was wet and so ready. She skimmed her mouth over Cam’s ear. “I want you inside me. Don’t make me wait tonight.”

“Anything. Always.” Cam shifted and slid her hand between them, cupping Blair, squeezing lightly.

Blair’s breath caught in her chest and electric heat streaked through her. “Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not.” Cam’s voice was rough and tight. “I’m teasing myself. I’ve been thinking about this for hours.”

Blair arched, dug her nails into Cam’s ass. “Then stop thinking and just fuck me.”

“I plan to.”

Cam filled her then, knowingly, exactly where she needed her. Blair cried out and closed down around her, the pressure as sharp as a blade, achingly exquisite. As much as she wanted to come, she wanted Cam to stay exactly where she was forever. She wrapped her legs around her, trapping Cam’s hand between their bodies, inside her. “Don’t move. Just…if you move, I’ll come.”

“I want you to. I need you to.” Cam angled her body and withdrew just enough to make Blair cry out. Then she slid deeper again, then out, and deeper still.

All thought fled. No fears, no anger, no aching sense of distance and loss. All that remained was the connection, the perfect union that made Blair know beyond any doubt that she belonged. With Cam, to Cam. This moment, every moment. She clung to her, her face pressed to Cam’s heart, and rose to meet each thrust, giving as much as she received. Everything.