Honor Bound

When the well-built brunette in the tee shirt, jeans and Nikes walked in the door at a little before one a.m., more than a few heads turned in appreciation. She looked like an ex-soccer player, which, among other things, she was. It had taken Ellen Grant a little over an hour from the time Ed Fielding tracked her down at her mother-in-law's in West Chester to make it to the party at Diane Bleeker's Upper East Side apartment. She had considered changing her clothes and then decided not to, figuring she'd probably fit in with at least some part of the gathering.

Cam sighed with uncharacteristic relief at the sight of her backup. It wasn't so much her bone-deep tiredness that was wearing at her, but the necessity of watching Blair dance with the same woman for the last half hour while trying to ignore the fact that the woman's hand rested very subtly on Blair's left breast.

"Sorry, Commander," Ellen Grant said quietly when they managed to work their way over to one another. "I was at my husband's birthday party."

"No apologies required, Grant. I regret the need to call you away from your family." Cam passed her hand across her eyes, rubbing them briefly, then smiled thinly. "I'm afraid I got caught short tonight. You're bailing me out."

Grant glanced at her in concern, catching the strain in her voice and wondering if she was all right. Cameron Roberts was a legend to every agent in the field because of what she had done that day in front of Blair Powell's apartment, but to her own team, she was a flesh-and-blood hero. "Not a problem. I can take over now, Commander."

"Yes," Cam said. "Thank you."

Instead of leaving, Cam walked through the room and out onto a small iron-railed balcony with a view of Central Park. She took a deep breath of the crisp night air and rested both hands on the railing, aware of the ache in her left side along the ten-inch scar between her fourth and fifth ribs. It didn't usually bother her, or at least most of the time she could ignore it.

"Off duty now, Commander?" Blair asked quietly from beside her. "You look like you could use some sleep."

Cam, still leaning forward, turned her head and glimpsed the quick flicker of moonlight playing over Blair's face. The sight caught at her heart. Surrendering for just an instant to the soft undercurrent of warmth in Blair's voice and the real concern in her gaze, Cam let herself relax.

"Yes," Cam answered eventually, "airplane seats are always a little short for me to sleep in very well. Grant's taking over now."

They both knew that wasn't strictly true. She was never off duty, through choice as well as convention.

Blair stood next to her at the rail, close enough to touch her, but being careful not to. She didn't trust herself enough to do that. She wasn't even sure why she had followed her outside. But the night was disappearing and they were here, almost alone. Tomorrow people would surround them again, and she had no idea when they would have even a few moments of privacy. She couldn't bear to see her go, not yet. "What's going to happen now?"

Cam watched the headlights far below trace patterns of lights through the treetops and considered the future. It never even occurred to her not to inform Blair of her plans, although some might consider that inappropriate. It was Blair's life that was affected, and she deserved to know. "We'll need to go to high alert status. I'll talk to Mac and Stark about that tomorrow. You'll need agents physically with you whenever possible, extra security at public functions, and less information about your travel plans made available to the press."

"Everything will be closing down around me, won't it?" Blair asked, sounding nearly as done-in as Cam appeared.

"These are the things that will impact you most directly, yes," Cam allowed. There was much more that needed to be done, and she hoped she could accomplish them without making Blair even unhappier. "I'm sorry."

Blair believed her. It had taken more than raw physical attraction to capture her heart. Cam, as no one before her, understood. Cam understood how she felt to be never alone, to be never free, to be never capable of spontaneous action. Cam understood even though she couldn't change it.

Blair did touch her then, a brief brush of her fingers over Cam's hand. "I know."

She caught her breath as Cam captured her fingers and caressed them gently. The light pressure of their palms sliding together was more achingly sweet than another woman's naked body pressing against her in the heat of lust. She stood there, buffeted by the chill night air, her head light with wanting her, and dared not move. Dared not break the fragile bond.

Finally Cam sighed and released her. She was so very tired and she couldn't trust herself with Blair so near. She had just needed to touch her so much. And now she needed to go.

What she had to say next came hard. It was hard for her to even think it, but she had to. Everything between them had changed drastically almost overnight. They'd spent five frantic days trying to assuage a yearlong thirst, and nothing had really been settled when they'd parted, except they both believed there'd be a next time. She thought then that they'd have time to tackle the issues of Blair's notoriety and her own professional ethics, but the reappearance of Lover Boy had changed all of that. Now whatever personal relationship they might have had was secondary. She knew Blair was hurt and angry, and she'd seen Blair in the arms of too many lovers not to know what she did when she was hurt. She said what she had to say. "If you don't plan on going home tonight, please tell Grant. Let them protect you."

Staring straight ahead so that she would not see the goodbye in Cam's eyes, Blair replied quietly, "As you wish, Commander."

And then she was alone, the wind whipping at her tears.

*

At precisely 0700 the next morning, Cam walked through the command center toward the conference room. "Stark, Mac-" she called as she passed each of them, "-with me. The rest of you will be briefed later."

She closed the door to the conference room after they followed her in and waited until they took seats. She was crisply attired in a steel-blue suit, a tailored white linen shirt, and imported black loafers that matched the belt at her waist. There were faint shadows under her eyes, but her gaze was clear and sharp and glinting with something hard. She remained standing, leaning forward slightly with her hands on the back of a chair. Had they been looking, they would have noticed that her knuckles were white where she gripped the leather. It was the only sign that she was distressed.

"This is what I know," she began, her tone and demeanor completely composed. "Approximately three months ago Lover Boy contacted Egret via the U.S. mail. His messages consisted of short rambling notes professing his undying love for her, his desire to make love to her - put quite a bit more crudely, and his intention to be alone with her so that he could convince her of his passion." At her first few words, Stark and Mac sat up straight, clearly shocked.

"Commander! This is the first-" Mac began, his face pale.

Cam held up her hand to silence him. "We'll get to that. Six weeks ago he began electronic contact, this time in addition to his verbal descriptions, he sent short video clips of explicit sexual activities he hoped they might share."

Stark couldn't contain her disbelief. "It's impossible. She would have told us. She's difficult, but she's not stupid. She would know that we had to be informed."

"The FBI knew. They formed a task force to monitor the situation," Cam began. At that announcement, Mac's mouth fell open. She continued, preferring to save the considerable explanations for later. "They've set up their own surveillance system with vehicles and agents tracking her whenever she's outside this building. They've attempted to set up alternate e-mail connections in the hopes of backtracking his messages to their source. So far, they've been unsuccessful."

She forced herself to let go of the chair back when her fingers began to cramp. Her voice still quiet, she said, "I was called back because ten days ago his messages changed. He's becoming more violent; he threatened her." She was surprised to feel her voice catch and hoped that Mac and Stark hadn't heard it. Quickly she continued, "The behavioral people at Quantico feel that he may be decompensating, either because he's been unsuccessful at gaining access to her or just because he's coming unglued. In any event, we must consider her at risk at any time."

"Oh my God," Mac breathed, "how could they have kept us out of the loop?"

Struggling now to contain her own anger, she answered, "They were investigating us." That wasn't strictly true. The FBI had been investigating everyone on the security team with the exception of Cam. She was exonerated by virtue of the fact that she had been an unintended victim of Lover Boy's presumed attack on Blair.

Mac stood up, too agitated to sit any longer. "That's insane. Some of us were with you when it happened. We couldn't have been the shooter!"

"I agree with you," Cam shrugged. "But I don't have to remind you how paranoid our brethren in the FBI can be. They were floating the theory that if it was one of you, it might have been a hired hitman who did the shooting. A stand-in to deflect suspicion from you."

"Oh, for Christ's sake," Stark muttered, rubbing the bridge of her nose as she frequently did when upset. "I don't believe I'm hearing this."

Cam almost smiled at that. Over the past year, Paula Stark had become the agent closest to Blair Powell. Cam could only imagine how furious she must be having her professional integrity maligned and her efficiency undercut by people who were supposedly on the same side. She also believed that Stark cared for Blair, and she didn't think it had anything to do with the night they had spent together. She didn't encourage any kind of personal attachment between her agents and those they guarded, but it privately comforted her. Blair deserved to be cared for.

"I'm sure members of the task force will be showing up soon to convince you that this is all quite real," Cam went on. "Our official policy is one of cooperation."

Mac and Stark looked at her expectantly, waiting for her real orders.

"We are the Secret Service. We are the people assigned to guard her. We are the people with her twenty-four hours a day. This is our ball, our game, our rules," she said decisively. "Stark, you will choose a replacement to lead the day shift. Until further notice, you are Egret's primary guard. If at all possible, when she's outside this building, you will be with her. That means physically within sight of her. You'll be working split shifts, so review her itinerary carefully."

It was a tough assignment, and Cam watched Stark closely as she spoke.

"Yes ma'am," Stark said immediately. "Understood."

"Mac, we need an agent, not just the video cameras, stationed in the lobby around the clock. The surveillance tapes need to be backed up every twelve, and I want them analyzed for repeat visitors, delivery people, public service crews - anyone who doesn't live or work here. Run the backgrounds again on everyone with access to floors above the lobby."

Mac and Stark were taking notes, but Cam had nothing written down. As she spoke, her gaze was distant, her mind clicking down the list of priorities as automatically as she dressed in the morning. She understood intuitively what few citizens of the United States did. The illusion that the President and those close to him were untouchable was part of the image of invincibility essential to a world power. Unlike the leaders of many nations, the President of the United States was incredibly accessible. He could go jogging through the streets of Washington D.C., he could stand on an open podium and give a speech, and he could ride a bicycle through the dunes on Martha's Vineyard with only a few Secret Service agents nearby. He was at risk in ways that few people ever considered, unless, like her, it was their job to do so.

In many ways, Blair's security was even more critical than his. The presidency was not a man, but an office. If the President were incapacitated, the line of succession was clear. But the President was susceptible to manipulation through his affections. It was the policy of the United States government not to negotiate with terrorists. But what if the hostage were the President's daughter?

For an instant, Cam remembered waking with Blair in Diane's apartment. Blair had still been asleep, naked and warm in her arms. All her fury and fierceness had quieted in slumber, and Cam shivered inwardly at the image of her vulnerability.

Not Blair. Not on her watch. Not ever.

She cleared her throat and picked up where she had left off with barely a moment's hesitation. "Her mail needs to be visually inspected before she picks it up. Any package, any delivery ofany kind, requires verification of its point of origin before it goes to her, including ID checks for all delivery people. I'll arrange for a portable x-ray machine to be set up downstairs."

She took a breath and began to relax for the first time in days. It felt good to be in charge and comforting to know that the right people were providing Blair's safety.

"We'll go over the rest of the details with the team later today." She looked at Mac and asked the question she had avoided thinking about since she had awakened at five am after a few hours of restless sleep. "I'll need a special briefing this morning with Ms. Powell. Is she on-site?"

"No," Mac said carefully. "Grant checked in at 0600. She's requesting relief for continued surveillance at an off-site location."

She didn't come home. Cam had to work to ignore the swift surge of disappointment, but she said without inflection, "Right. See to it then. I'd like a full report ASAP."

After Mac and Stark left the room, she finally sat, resting her face in her hands, and tried to dispel the image of Blair in the arms of another woman.