Honor Guards

Honor Guards

by

RADCLY f FE

INTRODUCTION

I wrote Above All, Honor as an action/romance novel, and as the series has evolved, it has developed into the story of relationships in a world that is dangerous and often deadly. Because much of the story is set in Manhattan and one of the main characters is the daughter of the president of the United States, it seemed integral to the continuing saga to deal with the events of September 11, 2001.

I agonized over the appropriate time to write about this topic in a work of fiction. Certainly, there will never be a time when the horrific events of that day are forgotten or when the anguish of all who lived through it is assuaged. At some point, the events that occur during our lives become part of the history of the world. Whether we experience those events firsthand or via images and other records, the tragedy never lessens, nor do the memories dim. This book is meant to be neither an explanation nor a resolution of events that are beyond comprehension.

The timeline of 9/11 contained in the book is accurate and based upon Report From Ground Zero by Dennis Smith (Viking Press, 2002); Last Man Down by Richard Piccioto and Daniel Paisner (Berklely Publishing Group, 2002); Inside 9-11: What Really Happened, by the reporters, writers, and editors of Der Spiegel magazine (St. Martin's Press, 2002); and One Nation: America Remembers September 11, 2001 by Life magazine (Little, Brown, 2001).

This was a difficult book to write, to beta read, and to edit due to the intersecting plotlines and the oftentimes difficult subject matter. I am indebted to a superb group of readers and proofreaders: Athos, Denise, Diane, Eva, JB, Laney, Paula, Robyn, Sue, and Tomboy, and to Stacia Seaman, my excellent editor, for their outstanding work and tireless support.

Sheri's covers always speak for themselves far more eloquently than I can, but once again she has found the perfect visual representation of the story. Thanks also to Linda Callaghan for donating the image of the White House.

Somehow Lee finds a way to be supportive, cheerful, and patient even when I am not (which is especially true at the beginning, middle, and end of a new work). For that and all the possibilities she brings to my life, I am beyond grateful. Amo te.

Radclyffe, 2004

Dedication

To the Victims of 9/11

CHAPTER ONE

16 August 2001

The hotelier at the small pensione on Rue Seguier looked up from her newspaper as the door opened to admit two strangers. It was well after midnight—not a usual time for new guests to arrive— but she was used to the unusual in St-Germain, the arrondissement of Paris,long known for its artists, philosophers, trendsetters, and, in recent years, for its tourists. The customs and proclivities of that latter group were often unfathomable, but she had grown used to hiding her rare feelings of surprise or dismay regarding the habits of guests. Nevertheless, this evening, her curiosity was immediately piqued.

Two women in formal evening clothes approached across the expanse of thick carpet. Two far from ordinary women, even for the Left Bank. One was an astonishingly beautiful blond in a shoulder-baring, midnight blue evening dress and matching sequined wrap—very haute couture. Her thick, golden hair was caught back at the nape of her neck and her makeup, subtly and expertly applied, merely enhanced the natural beauty of her large, deep blue eyes and upswept cheekbones. Her mouth was full and lush, as if meant for kissing, or laughter. She was laughing at the moment, the fingers of her right hand curled possessively around the arm of her escort.

That woman, too, was captivating, but in an entirely different way. Slightly taller than her blond companion, she wore a fitted evening jacket and black tuxedo trousers. She was dark where the other was light—not just in coloring, but in the undeniable aura of intensity she projected. Jet-black hair curled just over the edge of her collar in the back, while in the front a wild, unruly wave apparently defied taming as it slashed across her forehead. Her eyes, even from across the room, were dark and penetrating. Whereas the blond carried herself with the agility and grace of a dancer, this sharper, leaner woman glided with the muscular ease of a jungle predator. Each, in fact, projected an air of animal vitality and strength, and together, they were an astonishingly attractive couple.

And a couple they most certainly are. The way they move with one rhythm, the way their bodies just barely touch but are so clearly united — oh yes, they 're together.

"Bonsoir. May I help you?"

"We'd like a room, if you please," United States Secret Service agent Cameron Roberts said in perfect French. She glanced at her companion and smiled. "Something private, with a view."

"I believe I have something for you," the clerk replied with a wisp of a smile. She turned and collected a key from a series of wooden pigeonholes behind her. The service in this small hotel, whose decor spoke of more genteel times, was still handled personally as opposed to by computer. There was an air of intimacy in the small foyer, which was replete with ornate wood furnishings and muted chandeliers. "You will be able to see Notre Dame from your balcony. We can also have breakfast sent up if you ring the front desk in the morning."

Cam glanced at her lover with a raised eyebrow as she withdrew her wallet. "Okay?"

Blair Powell shifted until her hip gently rested against Cam's thigh and placed a palm on her lower back. Although they spent nearly all of their waking hours together, they were rarely free to touch. Now she relished each small contact. "Perfect."

They had never spent the night alone together before—not truly alone, when there had been no one outside the door or someone, somewhere, on duty monitoring their location. They had been lovers for more than half a year and had awakened with each other less than half a dozen times. This night, in this tiny pensione in this city of lovers, they were for the first time able to simply be lovers.

"Here you are." The clerk handed a key across the counter to Cam, who filled out the short information card that accompanied it. "The second floor."

"Thank you," Cam and Blair said simultaneously before turning away, hand in hand.

Renee Savard was asleep when the knock sounded on her hotel room door. Rolling over carefully, anxious not to injure her still-healing left shoulder, she peered at the bedside clock. 2:12 a.m.

Coming almost instantly awake after years of having been trained to jump from deep sleep into immediate action, the FBI agent rose rapidly and reached for her robe from a nearby chair. She pulled it on carefully. The gunshot wound to her left shoulder was healing well, and although she had been advised to keep the joint at rest as much as possible, she had eschewed the confining support of the immobilizer after the minimum allowable time. Not only was it difficult to dress while wearing it, she felt helpless and vulnerable with only one functioning arm. A little pain was worth being able to defend herself if the need arose.

A few seconds later, she peered through the security view-hole and then, smiling broadly, quickly released the lock and opened the door. "What are you doing here? I thought you had the duty tonight."

Paula Stark stood in the hotel hallway, flushing faintly but unable to hide her pleasure. She was still in the dark jacket and pants she had worn while on duty as the lead Secret Service agent on Blair Powell's team. Her weapon was secured in the hip holster clipped on the right side of her waistband. Shrugging, she extended her hand, offering a small bouquet of red roses and white baby's breath.

"I just happened to be in the neighborhood."

Charmed, Renee leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb and slowly surveyed the dark-haired, muscular young agent, appreciating as always her clear-eyed, wholesome appearance. "I didn't expect to see you for a while. After all, I'm on leave, but you're here on assignment."

"Is it okay? I mean...I know it's la—"

"Mrnm. It's great." Renee held out her hand for the flowers, which she lifted to her nose, smiling once again. Then she turned aside and gestured to her room. "Come in."

Stark stepped inside the hotel room, her heart fluttering madly. Courtship was something new to her, as was any kind of relationship—and a relationship with a woman hadn't even been on the horizon for her a year ago. But the day that Renee Savard had been assigned to temporary duty on Blair Powell's security team, all that had changed.

In the midst of the manhunt for a deadly stalker who had threatened Blair's life andnearlycostthe commander hers, Stark had discovered how very much she wanted this one particular woman. They had come very close to consummating their relationship little more than a week before.

"I can't believe you just volunteered to work another night. What is that—three in a row? " Renee definitely had a threatening look in her eyes as she crossed the living room to stand in front of Stark.

"Two—well, two and a half, I guess, butldidn 't volunteer for last night, " Stark said quickly in self-defense.

"Getting stood up two nights straight could seriously bruise my ego, you know. "

"Well, it's kind of a triclcy situation since the commander and Egr—uh, Blair — are trying not to be too obvious about spending time alone together, " Stark began seriously. "It's easier if I—"

"Paula, shut up." Then Renee effectively implemented the order by pressing her mouth to Stark's.

Stark's small cry of surprise gave way to a soft moan as Renee s tongue moved gently over her lips, then into her mouth. In surrender, she just closed her eyes and let the warmth and softness of the caress move through her until every cell tingled. When the kiss ended, Stark opened her eyes, amazed to find she couldn 't focus. Her head was spinning too much.

"That was awfully nice," she managed, her voice slightly unsteady. The apartment suddenly felt extremely warm, too.

Renee rested her palm against Stark's cheek, then gently swept the dark hair back from her temple with trembling fingers. "Yes, it was. And there s a lot more where that came from. "

"There's no quota or anything, is there?" Stark brushed her

lips over the fingertips stroking her face.

"None at all " Renee's voice was husky and low, "In fact, I believe there's an endless supply. "

"That's good, because I'm going to want a lot. "

"Starting now? "

"What about your sister? " Stark rested both hands on Renee 's waist and stepped closer until their thighs touched. She was happy to find that Renee was a bit unsteady, too.

"She's a cop—seven to seven. And she won't bother us if we're...asleep...when she comes in. "

"Yeah—now would be good, then. " Stark was a little worried that her legs weren 't going to move if they waited much longer, because they were beginning to shake all on their own.

"Sure?" There was nothing teasing in Renee's tone now, only a gentle question, full of patience and tenderness and sweet longing.

"I want to make love with you so much, " Stark confessed, her body vibrating with urgency "I've wanted to touch you for what feels like forever. "

Renee drew in a sharp breath. "I can't wait. "

Stark slipped one arm around her waist. Just before she kissed her, she whispered, "Then let's not."

In the bedroom, Renee reached down to unbuckle the strap securing her arm across her chest. Her hand was shaking.

"Need help? " Stark's throat was dry, her voice husky.

Smiling shyly, Renee nodded. "I think so. "

Stark stepped closer and carefully began to remove the restraining support. "Is this safe to do? "

"Which part?"

There was something in Renee's tone that brought Stark's head up sharply. She searched the depths of Renee s blue eyes. "Is there something wrong? "

"I'm nervous, " Renee confessed. "I...I don't know why. "

"Second thoughts?" Stark tried to keep her voice steady. Nervous? Try terrified.

"You 're special, " Renee whispered, her fingers feather-light on Stark's face. "I want..oh God...this will sound silly I almost want to wait until we know where this is going. "

"You mean besides bed? "

Renee nodded wordlessly once more.

"It doesn 't sound silly. " Touched, and in some ways relieved, Stark lightly clasped Renee's waist. Her body was ready, and she thought her heart was, too. But there would only ever be one first time for them. "It sounds...really nice." She took a shuddering breath. "I don't mind waiting. "

"You don't? "

Stark grinned weakly. "Well, yeah.. .I mind... but I don't mind. You know? "

"Mmm." Renee kissed her lingeringly. "Yeah. I know."

Even though they'd both pulled back, Stark worried that Renee would change her mind altogether about being with her. Still, she wanted their lovemaking to be about more than just the physical pleasure of it. She'd experienced that wild thrill for a few frantic hours one night with Blair Powell, and as wonderful and memorable as that encounter had been, she hoped for much more with Renee Savard. Although she didn't know exactly what kind of sign she was waiting for, she sensed that waiting was the right thing to do. And for Paula Stark, doing the right thing was everything. So—she'd take it slow even if it meant they never got past the kissing stage. And I die from lack of oxygen and terminally swollen body parts.

"You still haven't told me what you're doing here," Renee said as she picked up one of the plastic hotel glasses and started toward the bathroom for water.

"The commander gave us the rest of the shift off," Stark replied as she followed into the adjoining room. "I know it's late, but it's so beautiful outside, and I thought...maybe you'd like to go for a walk."

"A walk?" Renee turned, tilting her head, an odd expression on her face. "You show up in the middle of the night and ask me if I want to take a walk?"

Uncertain, but determined to push ahead, Stark nodded solemnly. "I guess I probably should have called—"

Quickly, Renee closed the distance between them and put her arms around Stark's neck, stopping her next words with a kiss.

After she'd indulged herself in the softness of Stark's mouth and assuaged some of the hunger that always rose when she imagined how Stark's powerful body would feel against hers, she lifted her mouth away and laughed softly. "I think it's wonderful. Let me get dressed."

"How's your arm?" Stark inquired when she could catch her breath. It always took her off guard when Renee kissed her—or touched her in any way, for that matter. She spent a large part of every day thinking about touching her and being touched in return.

"Better."

"Need any help?" Stark asked, disingenuously.

Renee raised a brow. "Are you trustworthy?"

"Ah..." Stark shrugged and grinned. "On my better days. Sort of."

"Are you all right?" Renee asked softly, watching Paula's expression turn inward. She stroked her fingers down the broad cheek to the sturdy jaw and then across the surprisingly full lower lip. "You're so beautiful."

Stark blushed hotly and ducked her head. "No," she said, her voice husky, "you're beautiful. I'm just...serviceable."

"Serviceable, hmm?" Renee laughed, drawing her hand down the center of Stark's chest, indulging herself in the urge to touch her. "We'll see about that eventually, won't we?"

Stark lifted her eyes to Renee's and saw the same wanting there that she knew must be in her own. "I guess we will. Eventually."

Renee backed away, because to do anything else would have meant going forward. There'd been other women, but nothing serious for a long time, and the recent flings had rarely been anything other than brief mutual diversions. First the FBI Academy and then the demands of building a career within the competitive, old-boy network of the Bureau had consumed not only all her time, but also all her energy. She hadn't realized how deeply she had longed for some human connection, beyond just the physical, until Paula had come along with her unvarnished honesty and tender compassion. Now, as much as she ached to have Paula in her arms, in her bed, she wanted to wait until she was sure it would be more than another momentary respite from loneliness. For as tortuous as delaying sometimes was, she treasured the sweet anticipation,

"Sit down," Renee said softly. "I'll be ready in five minutes."

Obediently, Stark pulled out one of the small chairs by the tiny table that occupied the space in front of the windows.

"So Egret is all tucked in for the night then?" Renee asked casually as she pulled jeans and a clean blouse from her closet. Egret was Blair Powell's code name and the one most of the agents used when referring to her.

"Uh-huh." Stark hesitated, still reluctant to discuss her protectee, even with the woman who was as much a part of the team as any of the Secret Service agents who guarded Blair on a daily basis. Renee had nearly been killed thwarting a plan to kill the president's daughter. Stark's silence wasn't a matter of distrust, merely one of long habit.

"Paula?" Renee glanced up as she carefully worked a sleeve up her injured arm. "Something wrong?"

Stark averted her gaze from the expanse of skin revealed as Renee leaned over to slip into her jeans. Renee had left her blouse unbuttoned and her breasts were barely covered. Her coffee-colored skin, smooth and tight, invited a caress. "Uh..."

Head down, her voice curious, Renee repeated, "Problem?"

"No. No problem." Shaking the fog from her brain, Stark hurried on. "The commander is with her. They're just...taking some personal time."

Renee buttoned her blouse and tucked it into her jeans, still favoring her left arm. "Really? That's something of a breach in protocol, isn't it?"

Uncomfortable, Stark shrugged. "Yes and no. We escorted them most of the way to their destination, and the commander is with her."

"Sounds like they're playing hooky to me." Renee stepped into her loafers. "And I say good for them. They've both been through hell the last six months, and they certainly deserve some time alone just to enjoy each other."

She crossed the room to Paula and held out her hand. "And so do we. Come on, let's go for a walk in this gorgeous city."

In one motion, Stark stood and slid an arm around Renee's waist. Leaning close, she kissed her softly. The kiss didn't end until she had traced the inner surface of Renee's lips not once, but several times. Drawing back, breathless, Stark nodded. "Yes. Let's do that."

As if by design, both Cam and Blair stopped outside the door to 213 and turned to each other. Cam lifted a hand and stroked the backs of her fingers over Blair's cheek.

"I love you."

Blair tilted her head and kissed Cam lingeringly before tightening her hold on her lover's hand. "I love you."

Cam unlocked the door and together they crossed the threshold. Blair turned and slid the security chain home, then glided forward into the moonlit room and threaded her arms around her lover's neck, resting her cheek against Cam's chest. In a voice filled with wonder, she murmured, "I can't believe we're really here. If you only knew how many times I've dreamed of this."

"I know." With her arms around Blair's waist, Cam drew her gently closer and rested her cheek against the top of Blair's head. "Me too."

"I wish..." Blair- sighed, knowing that wishing would only bring disappointment. She was who she was, and that would follow her for the rest of her days. She was the only child of the president of the United States. Even after her father left office, the privilege and burden of that reality would remain. Eventually her notoriety, she knew, would fade, but that was a long time in the future. It was her father's first term in office and there would very likely be a second. She was going to be in the public eye—or in the eye of the hurricane—for years to come. "Sorry. I promised myself I'd work on not tilting at windmills."

"You did?" Cam's voice rose with a combination of incredulity and laughter.

"Cut it out." Blair jokingly slapped a palm against Cam's chest, then rested her head on Cam's shoulder. "Well, since we had that talk with my father and he's been so great about our relationship, it seemed that the least I could do was stop being so angry at him for something he can't help."

"I'm glad." If Blair was less angry at the restrictions her high-profile existence demanded, it would make Cam's job as her security chief much easier. Much more importantly, though, it would make Blair's life a happier—and far safer—one. Ultimately, that was all Cam cared about. "Does that mean that you're going to stop trying to lose your security detail on a regular basis?"

"I've never tried to lose you," Blair murmured as she pressed her lips to the undersurface of Cam's jaw. She rocked her hips suggestively against the lean form as she kissed her way to the corner of Cam's mouth. "I just never seem to be able to get you all to myself."

"You've got me now," Cam whispered, her lips to Blair's forehead. She reached with one hand to release the clasp at Blair's nape and pocketed the heavy gold jewelry. Slipping the same hand beneath Blair's hair, she threaded her fingers through the thick wild tresses, loving the way their heavy softness rilled her palm. She loved everything about the way Blair felt. "I love you."

Blair didn't think she would ever grow tired of hearing those words. It wasn't something she had ever anticipated or even consciously desired. She had spent most of her adult life avoiding commitments and entanglements, preferring to preserve her anonymity in the only sphere in which she could—her private life. She managed that by routinely misdirecting her security team and slipping away to engage in anonymous liaisons that left her emotionally untouched. Although she hadn't consciously sought to put herself at risk, her actions had placed her in danger more than once. Nevertheless, she'd thought herself independent and content, if not particularly happy. All that had changed the morning Commander Cameron Roberts had walked into her penthouse and informed her that the game had new rules. Cam's rules.

"I still can't believe what you've done to me." Made me want you so much, need you so much. When I never thought I would. Shaking her head, Blair leaned back in the circle of her lover's arms and searched the dark eyes that held her own. "I don't know how you managed to get me at such a disadvantage, Commander."

"Oh?" Cam slid the zipper down the back of Blair's dress and inched her hand inside to caress smooth, warm flesh. Her fingers drifted over the hollow at the base of Blair's spine and then lower, over the gentle swell of firm muscle. Her stomach tightened as it always did when she touched Blair. Arousal followed fast on wonder, and need coiled in her depths. "God, I want you."

"Cam," Blair murmured, unfastening the studs on Cam's dress shirt and carefully placing each small, silver-encased pearl in Cam's pocket. She tugged the starched white shirt free of the waistband of the tailored silk trousers and parted the fabric to expose flesh. With a sigh, she pressed her palm to the center of her lover's chest, then drew her nails down the middle of her body, smiling in satisfaction as she felt Cam twitch. "I love to make you want me."

"You don't have to try." Cam's voice was hoarse with desire. With trembling hands, she carefully drew the gown from Blair's sculpted shoulders and released it to pool in midnight folds around their feet. Blair's breasts were bare, her only remaining garments a black satin thong and the thin lace garter belt that held the silk against her thighs. Cam's head reeled as blood rushed into the pit of her stomach and surged between her thighs, Groaning, she ran both hands down Blair's back to cup her buttocks and pull her close. "I've missed you."

"Three days of smiling at strangers and making polite conversation while all I wanted was to be alone with you..." Blair pushed her hands beneath Cam's shirt and claimed her breasts, hot skin against hot skin, "just about killed me."

"How do you think I felt?" Cam's breath came in quick gasps as her nipples tensed beneath Blair's teasing fingers. With trembling hands, she released the garter belt and brushed silk down silken skin. "Watching everyone watching you. All the men and more than a few of the women."

And as hands stroked fevered flesh, their lips met for the first time since they'd entered the room. While they explored and reclaimed each other with deep hungry kisses, they opened buttons and slid zippers and whisked the last barriers of clothing to the floor, kicking off shoes until they both stood naked, cleaving to each other.

"Take me to bed," Blair urged, her hips thrusting insistently.

"Yes. Yes." The room was small and the bed only a few feet away. Without even thinking about it, Cam curved her arm behind Blair's legs, lifted, and carried her to the bed. In the next instant she lowered herself upon Blair's body, groaning at the first full contact.

"Oh, yes-—I've missed you."

Blair arched to meet the weight of her lover descending, and their legs entwined, bringing heat to heat.

"Oh God."

"You feel so good."

"I want you so much."

"I love you."

While the moonlight silvered around them and the world faded, they lingered and teased and demanded and took until they shivered on the edge of abandon.

"Cam," Blair breathed as the passion rose up from her depths at last, seizing her soul as it obliterated reason. "Oh, Cam."

"I love you," Cam whispered when she felt the orgasm take her lover, felt the blood surge and the muscles clench around her fingers, and felt the frantic beat of their two hearts joining. She closed her eyes and slowly stroked, deeper each time, drawing forth the last drop of her lover's desire. With Blair crying out and then crying softly in her arms, Cam surrendered to her own release with a sigh of gratitude and wonder.

For the first time, for a few stolen hours, they were free to be only two women in love.

CHAPTER TWO

0313 16Aug01

Query RedDog: Do you read?

RedDog: roger team leader

Do you have target in range?

RedDog: negative... target off radar

FIND HER. Operation Hydra is active.

Awaiting strike date RedDog: roger. Will advise when target secured

"I'd ask you to come up," Renee said as she and Stark stood on the sidewalk outside her hotel. "But it's four thirty in the morning and at this point, our choices for what comes next don't include much beyond going to bed."

"That's okay," Stark said softly, reaching out to touch Renee's fingers. "I had a great time. There's something about walking around in a city while it sleeps, especially one as beautiful as this, that makes me feel as if I'm in the middle of a wonderful dream. Being with you tonight was like having that dream come true."

Renee's lips parted in surprise as she caught her breath. Her voice was husky when she spoke. "How come all the training to make you such a tough Secret Service agent hasn't beaten that tenderness out of you?"

Stark shrugged, a wry grin lifting one corner of her mouth. "They tried pretty hard, but it just seems to be something I can't get rid of."

"Thank God."

"I'm not sure it's a good thing," Stark amended, her voice troubled. "I'm supposed to be able to put my feelings aside to do the job right."

"Oh, no, honey, Renee protested gently. "I know that's the party line—no emotional attachment with the protectees. No personal investment. But I say that when you stop caring is when you'll get careless." Boldly, Renee took Stark's hand and pulled her from beneath the small awning into the deep shadows of the building. She framed Stark's face and kissed her tenderly. "You're just right, on and off the job. I hope you never change."

Swallowing audibly, Stark lightly clasped Renee's waist. "I can safely say nothing's going to change the way I feel about you."

Renee rested her forehead against Stark's, savoring the simple pleasure of the moment before kissing her again. "Promise?"

"Promise." Stark sighed. "And you don't have to worry about whether to ask me up or not, because I'd say no anyway."

"You would? Just like that?" Renee's tone was a mixture of surprise and consternation. As much as she was enjoying their slow courtship, part of her hoped that the waiting was at feast a little bit as uncomfortable for Stark as it was for her. "'I'm not sure I like the sound of that."

"Oh, believe me, I'm suffering greatly." Stark laughed and caught Renee's hand, swinging their joined arms gently. "But that's not what I meant. There's something I...uh...need to do."

"At this hour?" Renee tilted her head, narrowing her gaze as she studied Stark astutely. "Let me guess. Secret Service Agent Stark is still on duty."

"Yeah." Sheepishly, Stark nodded. "Something like that."

God, it would be so easy to fall totally head over heels in love with you. I really do need to slow down. Renee reluctantly released Stark's hand and gave her a playful shove. "All right then, go. Go. Cad me tomorrow when you get a break."

"Okay. Thanks." Stark started to turn away, and then—as if in afterthought—swiveled swiftly back, pulled Renee to her, and kissed her resoundingly. When she lifted her mouth away, she had to struggle for enough air to speak. "Sleep,..well."

Renee, her lips tingling and her heart racing, stared after Stark as she strode purposefully away. Oh, I will. If I can ever get my body to quiet down.

Half an hour later, Stark slowly approached a nondescript black sedan parked at the intersection of Rue Seguier and Rue de Savoie. A lone figure, cast in shadow, occupied the front seat of the vehicle. Before Stark could reach out to tap on the door, the window rolled soundlessly down. Leaning an arm against the top of the car, Stark peered inside. "Hey. Want some coffee?"

The face of the striking African American woman who regarded her with a raised brow could easily have graced the cover of any fashion magazine. Felicia Davis nodded, smiling a Mona Lisa smile. "Now why aren't I surprised to see you?"

"I could say the same thing." Stark grinned. "How long have you been here?"

"Since about 0230."

"Do they know?"

"No, and I'd prefer that they don't." Davis lifted a shoulder gracefully. Even the shapeless windbreaker she wore couldn't detract from her natural elegance. "I think it was the commander's intention for them to be alone."

"There's a café open around the corner. Espresso?"

"Make it a double. And bless you." Felicia rolled the window back up as Stark turned to head down the street. Throughout the conversation, she'd kept one eye on the entrance to the pensione where Commander Cameron Roberts and Blair Powell were spending the night. She understood why they wanted to be alone, and she had no desire to dispel that illusion of privacy. On the other hand, it was her responsibility to see that no harm came to the first daughter. She'd do what she could to see that that happened while respecting both her commander's and Egret's wishes.

A moment later, Stark returned, and Felicia unlocked the doors. Stark slid into the passenger seat, closed the door, and handed the thimble-sized cardboard container of coffee to the other agent. "Does Mac know you're here?"

Felicia sipped her espresso silently and then, after a moment, turned her head and regarded Stark thoughtfully. "No."

"I just thought..you know...that maybe you had checked in with him," Stark stumbled. Jesus, Paula, could you be any less smooth. She knew, or at least she assumed— -as did most of the rest of the team—that Felicia Davis and Mac Phillips, the team's communication coordinator and second in command, were romantically involved. The two agents were both very private, but they had been known to date. "I figured he sent you."

"I was in the command center when Fielding checked in after the commander dismissed the night shift. He said that you and he had escorted them to this location. He seemed only too happy to get the rest of the night off." Her tone suggested that she did not approve of his approach to his duty, but she didn't comment ftirther. She was a relatively new member of the team, and she'd been brought in from the technical division for her computer skills. Not being a regular member of the protective branch made her a bit of an outsider. To some.

Stark flushed. "I probably should've stayed here."

"1 wasn't being critical." Felicia's quiet tone supported her words. "I trust the commander's judgment, and I don't think she would have done anything to put Egret at risk, I'm here because that's what makes me comfortable."

"Me too, I guess. Look, is it okay if I keep you company?"

"Fine. I expect that the commander will check in with the comm center first thing in the morning. We should probably be off-site before an official team arrives."

"Yeah," Stark mused, sipping her coffee. "What time do you figure?"

"Knowing the commander? She'll cad Mac at 0700."

"So estimating half an hour for Mac to put the first shift on-site, we should leave here at 0715." Stark contemplated going back for more coffee and baguettes. "I don't feel like starting the day with the commander pissed at me."

Felicia sighed and stretched her long legs beneath the cramped dash. "I don't think she would be. But I'd like them to think that their night was exactly what they wanted it to be."

Surprised, Stark studied the woman beside her. Felicia was a difficult person to figure. She rarely mentioned anything personal, and she often appeared aloof and distant. Like so many high-powered computer experts, she seemed to be more comfortable with data and machines. Clearly, however, she understood the critical matters of the human heart.

"Yeah," Stark murmured, thinking of her recent stroll hand in hand with Renee on the Champs Blyssies and how precious those moments had been. "Now and then it's good to dream."

The combination of a warm breeze carrying the scents of freshly baked bread and coffee, the distant hum of traffic, and voices wafting up from the street below woke Cam. She turned on her side toward the open French doors and opened her eyes to the pink-purple haze of dawn. It wasn't the otherworldly burst of color that made her heart race, however. Blair, wearing only Cam's tuxedo shirt, stood framed on the threshold to the tiny balcony with its ornate wrought-iron railing. Her expression was pensive as she gazed toward the Seine.

Lying still, Cam took advantage of the very rare opportunity to study Blair in repose. So often, their time together was spent at briefings, traveling to or from the first daughter's many official or private functions, or in the company of other members of the team. Being alone with Blair, especially in quietude, was a rare treasure. As was so often the case, the gift was fleeting.

Blair turned her head and looked back into the room, a soft smile curving her lips as her eyes met Cam's. "I thought I felt you wake up."

"I'm surprised I didn't feel you leave the bed," Cam said quietly, stretching beneath the rumpled sheets. Her body felt unusually relaxed, almost loose. That was another rare occurrence, and Cam recognized the lassitude as the aftereffect of their lovemaking and the pleasure of sleeping with Blair in her arms. "I think you might just have worn me out."

"Really?" Blair's smile widened and she arched one blond brow. "I'm not sure that bodes well for our future, Commander. I tend to be a more than a once-a-week kind of girl."

"I shouldn't worry, Ms. Powell." Throwing back the light coverings and swinging her legs to the floor, Cam chuckled. She glanced around and spied her trousers. "I have remarkable powers of recovery."

"I know," Blair murmured, watching appreciatively as Cam stepped into her pants. Naked from the waist up, she was beautiful-all tight muscles beneath smooth skin and seething with sensuality. Feeling the familiar urgency that just the sight of her lover instilled, Blair's eyes traveled to the irregular scar above Cam's left breast and the long incision that extended from just below her breast around her side to her back. The once bright red ridges were pale pink now, but no matter how faint they might eventually become, Blair would always see them. Just as she would always see Cam lying on the sidewalk in front of her apartment building, bleeding to death from the bullet meant for Blair. Thank God you 're so strong. What would I do...

Wondering at the odd tone in Blair's voice, Cam zipped her trousers and met her lover's eyes. Quickly, she crossed to her, slid both arms around Blair's waist from behind, and pressed her chest to Blair's back. She nuzzled her face in Blair's hair and kissed the edge of her ear. "Don't."

Resting her weight against Cam's body, Blair folded her arms over Cam's to hold her closer. "Don't what?"

"Don't remember. It's over." Cam kissed the sensitive spot just below Blair's ear. "Let it go, baby."

It should have bothered Blair, that subtle command, but it didn't. The tenderness ablated any edge the words might have carried. Indolently, she stretched back an arm and thrust her fingers into Cam's hair. "No one has ever been able to read my mind before."

"No one has ever loved you the way I do."

"I don't want to live without you."

Cam drew a swift breath, shocked by the statement. It wasn't that she doubted Blair's feelings for her, but she had never expected to occupy a place of such pivotal importance in this particular woman's life. Blair was nothing if not strong and independent— so much so that sometimes she drove Cam to distraction. Theirs had been a stormy beginning, and even now they locked horns on practically a daily basis, usually disagreeing over how much security Blair required. Professionally they had begun to learn to compromise. Personally, they had barely defined their present, let alone their future.

"I want to spend the rest of my life with you," Cam murmured, her mouth against Blair's neck. "I'll do anything possible to make that happen."

"I wish we could live together."

Cam closed her eyes and held Blair closer. She had trained herself from childhood not to want things she couldn't have. Blair had been the first woman to make her break that rule, and still, she tried not to want more than what they had. The wistful tone in Blair's voice washed that resolve away in a heartbeat. "We will."

"You know that's not possible."

"Not today," Cam turned Blair to face her, but kept her within the circle of her arms, "and not tomorrow. But it will happen, I promise."

"Is that what you want?" Blair's blue eyes searched gray.

Cam's gaze never faltered. "With all my heart."

"I'm sorry. God." Blair sighed and shook her head. "I don't know what has gotten hold of me. Maybe it's being here with you. I went to school here..." She shrugged and smiled wryly. "It wasn't a great time."

"How so?"

I was lonely. I was lost. I wanted what we have now, but I was afraid it would never happen.

Blair pushed aside the melancholy with a shrug. "My father was the vice president then, and I was a bit of a handful for all concerned, I guess."

"I can just imagine." Cam kissed her lightly on the lips. "I don't envy your security chief."

"Which one?" Blair laughed. "The position was practically a revolving door. They'd do anything to get out of it."

"I thought that's the way I would feel too," Cam confessed. "I did feel that way when I first got the assignment. I don't feel that way now. Even if I weren't in love with you, I would want this job."

Curious and surprised, Blair cocked her head. "Why?"

"Because it's essential to the security of the country."

Blair's eyes widened. "You really believe that?"

"Absolutely. And so does every member of my team." Cam leaned her shoulders back against the door frame, cradling Blair in her arms, as they both looked toward the Cathedral of Notre Dame. "The currency of power today isn't arms, it's terror—and that is much subtler and much more difficult to defend against. If something were to happen to you..."

"Nothing will," Blair stated emphatically, hearing the worry in Cam's voice. She caught Cam's hand and slid it inside the shirt, pressing her lover's fingers to her breast.

Softly, Cam groaned. "You don't honestly expect me to think now, do you?"

"Mmm," Blair sighed. "I just love to have your hands on me."

Cam rested her cheek against Blair's hair and breathed in her scent. "If you were used as a political marker against your father, there's no way he would be able to resist the influence. He'd either have to submit to whatever demands were made or step down. Either way, we would all lose."

"I didn't really appreciate that before—not the way I do now," Blair admitted. "I'll try, darling. I really will."

"I know." Cam cradled the softness of Blair's breast in her palm, lightly brushing the tender skin and the taut nipple. This woman was critically important to a nation constantly at war, even if those struggles were not .acknowledged in the media. But even more, she was beyond precious to Cam—to her heart, to her very life. "I promised you once, that first day, that I would try to make this situation tolerable for you. I still will, as much as I can. I love you."

Blair shifted until her mouth met Cam's. Against her lover's lips, she murmured, "God, I love you too."

"We have an hour or so before I need to call Mac," Cam whispered.

"They offered us breakfast in bed." Blair pushed Cam back into the room and shrugged out of the shirt. "Hungry?"

Cam ran a hand slowly down the center of her abdomen, watching Blair follow her movements. She flicked open the button on her pants and drew the zipper down. "Yes."

CHAPTER THREE

E yes closed, Cam was alive with sensation—with the rich tangle of Blair's hair sifting between her fingers, with the warmth of Blair's mouth firing her already heated skin, and with the tenderness of Blair's lips drawing her ever closer to the edge of surrender. Rising from her distant reaches, the first whisper of orgasm curled in the pit of her stomach and danced like tendrils of flame along her spine. Her skin tingled, the muscles in her thighs trembled, and her hips lifted in silent supplication, entreating her lover to take more.

"It's so good," Cam whispered in wonder. Moaning softly, Blair stroked a hand down the center of Cam's stomach, feeling the muscles tighten in preparation for the final thrust toward completion. It was always at this moment, when the pure and simple beauty was about to blossom beneath her hands and flower against her lips, that the breath stilled in her chest and the blood thundered in her ears. Cam's cell phone rang.

Cam groaned, the pleasure transformed to agony. Blair lifted her mouth.

"Don't answer it."

But Cam was already rolling onto her side and reaching for her phone on the bedside table. Desperately, she fought back the urgency clamoring for escape like a wild thing in her depths and struggled to clear her head. Hoarsely, she rasped, "Roberts."

Breathing heavily, Blair pushed away, flopped onto her back, and stared at the ceiling. She fisted one hand in the sheet and drew it over them both. All we wanted was a few goddamned hours!

She'd allowed herself to forget everything except being with Cam for those few hours, and now their idyll was over. She pushed her hand through her hair and wrestled with the fury. It's no one's fault. Not Cam's. Not whoever's on the other end of that line. No one's. It just is.

At another time, in another place, she would already have been out of bed and pulling on her clothes. If she'd cared at all about the woman she'd been about to pleasure, she would have vented her rage on whoever was close by—herself, her temporary lover, or, on occasion, her friends. But now, she was alone with the woman she loved, and there was nowhere for the anger to go except inward. If she allowed that, it would destroy even the memory of the few hours of peace she'd found in Cam's arms.

Cam closed the phone, set it down, and turned back to Blair. "I'm sorry—"

"No," Blair quickly rejoined, shifting to face her lover. "No, it's all right." Drawing Cam near with one hand behind her head, she put her mouth to Cam's and gently kissed her while sliding the other hand between Cam's thighs. She smiled against her lover's lips as she heard the deep groan. "You're still throbbing."

"I'm still ready to...God, don't stop..." Cam's vision blurred as Blair stroked her.

"Never," Blair whispered, watching Cam's eyes glaze. When Cam threw back her head, neck arched and body quivering, Blair pushed her onto her back and thrust into her in one long, deep stroke, taking her over, taking her. "I'll never stop...never, never..."

"Ahh...God." Cam sighed when she could catch her breath. She wrapped limp arms around Blair's shoulders and pressed her lips to her lover's damp temple. "Great timing."

"Me or the phone?" Blair asked lazily.

"What phone?"

Blair dipped her head and kissed the base of Cam's throat. "I love you, but what have you done with the commander?"

Cam stroked Blair's back and sighed. "That was Mac."

"I figured. He's the only one with balls big enough to call us when you've taken us off-line." Blair mentally steeled herself. "What is it?"

"Eric Mitchell didn't give us the two weeks he promised."

"He filed the story." Blair's voice rang hollow. It had been almost a week since she and Cam had met with the reporter, but she remembered every word of their half-hour interview.

Cam answered the intercom, listened for a moment, and said, "Send him up. " She settled the phone carefully backinto its cradle and turned to Blair. "Ready? "

Blair nodded. Silently, she extended her hand and immediately felt anchored when Cam's fingers clasped hers. She leaned forward and kissed Cam fleetingly. "I'm fine. "

While Cam went to open the door for their visitor, Blair walked to the wide windows on the opposite side of Cam s living room and looked out over DC. They 'd chosen to meet with the reporter in Cam's apartment rather than at the White House. This was not an official meeting; this was intensely personal. A clandestine photo of her and Cam had appeared in newspapers across the country not long before. The image was just blurry enough to obscure Cam's identity, but the fact that they had been captured in an intimate moment was abundantly clear.

Speculation was rampant within the media as to the specifics of Blair's "love affair, " and various "confidential sources" put her in the arms of mafia kingpins, movie stars, and even members of her father's cabinet Ordinarily, she would have brushed it off and allowed the rumors to die away, eclipsed by the next natural disaster or national emergency. But her relationship with Cam was not going to go away; in fact, she hoped that it would become even more central to her life. And if that was the case, they could not live in secrecy any longer.

In an attempt to forestall rumors and to control the dissemination of misinformation, she haddecided, with herfather's blessing, to reveal the nature of her sexual identity as well as her romantic relationship with Cam. She had chosen a reporter who was also the husband of a college friend, hoping that old loyalties would translate into some degree of discretion. At the sound of Cam's deep voice at the door, Blair turned, determined and resolute.

"Ms. Powell," Eric Mitchell, a tall, thin, balding thirty-year-old, said as he approached with an outstretched hand. "I'm honored to be of service. "

Blair shook his hand, rinding his unwavering pale blue gaze somewhat comforting. She indicated a nearby chair and then took Cam's hand and sat with her on the facing sofa.

"I'd like to make a statement, " Blair said calmly. "I'm happy for you to include any of my comments in your article, but I would ask that you discuss the timing with both the White House chief of staff, Lucinda Washburn, and the White House press secretary so that they can be prepared with a response. "

Mitchell removed a slim notebook and a ballpoint pen from his inside jacket pocket. He flipped open the cover and smoothed down a blank page. Looking up, he regarded the first daughter. "I don't need the White House's permission to file a story, Ms. Powell. "

Cam made a soft noise that verged on a growl.

Blair squeezed her lover's hand and smiled coolly. "I'm well aware of that, Mr, Mitchell, I was only asking as a courtesy. Considering the circumstances."

"I understand, and I'll do my best. "

"Ms. Powell is scheduled to perform state duties, including meeting with the president of France and the ministers of health of several European nations in Paris next week, " Cam said pointedly. "While she's out of the country, it's imperative that we not be faced with the heightened media attention this story is likely to generate."

"I appreciate the burden of public scrutiny, Ms. Powell." Again, Mitchell nodded, looking expectantly from Cam to Blair. "I'll do my best to work with my editors and the White House on a mutually acceptable release date."

"Thank you," Blair replied, believing in his sincerity while at the same time knowing only too well how difficult it was to control anything in the bright glare of Washington's spotlights. She looked once at Cam, who returned her gaze with a smile and a squeeze of her fingers. The steady assurance in Cam's eyes and the solid comfort of her shoidder pressed to Blair's were all she needed.

Turning her attention back to the reporter, who waited silently, she said clearly and quietly, "I wish to make a public statement regarding my private life. Due to the unique circumstances of my family's visibility, I felt it important that I clarify certain issues raised by the recent photo of myself and my lover, who happens to be another woman."

The reporter s expression did not change. He held Blair's gaze comfortably. "Does your father know? "

"Yes."

"Does he approve? "

Blair's expression was glacial, but entirely composed. "That's a question best presented to my father, although I should think there are matters of much greater importance for you and the rest of the news media to focus on."

"That may be, but it's a question that everyone will want to have answered."

Blair hesitated, wondering where to draw the line between the personal and the public, especially where her father was concerned. "My father is aware of my sexual orientation and is supportive."

"And the woman in the photograph is your current lover? "

"Yes." . .. Cam leaned forward. "I'm the other person in the photograph."

For the first time, Mitchell's composure faltered and his eyebrows rose in surprise. "You are the head of Ms. Powell's security team, are you not, Agent Roberts?"

"That's correct. " Cam eyed him flatly. "But I'm here today as Ms. Powell's lover. "

"Are your superiors aware of your relationship? " He kept his eyes on them, but he was writing furiously.

"Not yet. But I expect to advise them within the next twenty-four hours,"

"Do you expect to be dismissed? "

Blair stiffened.

"I don't know, " Cam answered calmly.

Mitchell turned his attention back to Blair. "Does your father know about Agent Roberts as well?"

"Yes."

"How long has he known? "

"That is of no relevance," Cam interjected swiftly. There was a definite edge to her tone now.

"Do you expect to continue your relationship after this public announcement, especially in light of your unusual professional relationship?"

"Yes, " both women said emphatically.

From that point, the interview had proceeded much as Blair had expected, with the usual questions about when she had first become aware of her sexual orientation, the details of previous liaisons, and suppositions as to the effect of the announcement on her father's reelection campaign. Most of the questions she refused to answer because there were some things no one had the right to know. She also refused to speculate on the position of the White House. It had not been a pleasant discussion, but it wasn't nearly as difficult as she imagined it would have been had Cam not been with her.

After much debate and chest thumping from the West Wing in the days after the interview, a consensus had been reached as to when to release the story. Mitchell and his editors argued that there was a strong likelihood of a leak from the Hill and that some other newspaper might break the story. They wanted to file immediately. Lucinda Washburn claimed that would put Blair at undue risk while abroad. Eventually, all parties had compromised on a delay of two weeks, which would enable Blair and her security team to be back in the U.S. when the news came out.

"God." Blair sighed. Going public about something so very personal had been a difficult decision—one that she'd avoided making all of her adult life. If she hadn't fallen in love with Cam, she might never have willingly disclosed the information. "That's not good news."

"I'm sorry, baby." Cam pushed up in the bed, her back against the headboard, Blair still in her arms. "We need to get back to base so Mac can bring me up to speed. I have to get a sense of where this is headed."

"We won't have to cut the trip short, will we?"

Cam was silent.

"Damn it, Cam! I will not allow public opinion to dictate my life." Blair did get out of bed then and paced angrily, unmindful of her nakedness, around the small room.

"Blair" Cam said softly. When her lover failed to acknowledge her, she tried again, slightly louder. "Blair."

Blair stopped at the foot of the bed long enough to fix Cam with a steely glare before she resumed stalking the ten feet between the door and window.

"It's not public opinion that I care about," Cam went on in a level voice, She hadn't moved, but remained propped up against the pillows, the sheet drawn to her waist. "We don't really have enough people of our own for any kind of crowd control, but I can draft extra security from the French if necessary."

"I know that tone of voice, Roberts," Blair said sharply, halting abruptly and turning to face Cam, hands on her hips and eyes flashing. "You've got your command voice on, which means that my lover just left, I hate it when you do that."

"I know." Sighing, Cam pushed the sheets aside and climbed from the bed in search of her pants for the second time that morning. She pulled them on and then stuffed her hands into her pockets while edging a hip against the small night table to give Blair more room to continue her pacing. "There's been a resurgence of right-wing dissidence throughout Europe in the last five years, and France is one center of activity."

"You think someone's going to try to shoot me because I'm a lesbian?"

Every minute of every day, Cam lived with the knowledge that someone, somewhere, might try to harm the woman she loved for reasons that would be unfathomable to any sane individual. But assassins were not sane, and fanatics needed very little rational motive to carry out acts of terrorism, "I have to consider that a possibility, yes. And that means that 1 have to reassess our vulnerability in light of this new development. It's part of what I do."

Blair walked to the table and picked up Cam's cell phone.

Cam regarded her quizzically.

"I have to call Felicia."

"Any particular reason?"

"I need clothes." Blair punched in the number to command central and snapped, "Get me Davis at this number." Then she sat down on the edge of the bed and put the phone beside her.

Curious, Cam asked, "Why Felicia? Stark's your lead agent."

Smiling despite herself, Blair shook her head. "It's a girl thing. You wouldn't understand."

"Probably not." Grinning, Cam sat down beside her and reached for her hand. With the other, she pulled the sheet across the bed and wrapped it around Blair's body. "The view is spectacular, but you're going to get cold."

"Not while I'm this pissed off" Blair muttered, but she allowed Cam to cover her.

"Do you understand my concerns?"

"Yes." Blair entwined her ringers with Cam's. "But I don't like it. I'm scheduled for a tour of the breast cancer center at Institut Gustave-Roussy this afternoon. I was hoping that I would have a few hours to myself in the morning to sketch in the Tuileries gardens."

"All of that may still be possible. Let me just get the updates on recent cell activity in the Paris environs and a look at what's breaking on the newswires." Cam lifted Blair's hand to her lips and kissed her fingers. "Just give me an hour or so to brief with the team and then we'll discuss the day's itinerary."

Blair turned her head and studied her lover's face. Cam's dark eyes were tender and warm. "You never used to ask."

"I know." Cam brushed the backs of Blair's fingers against her own cheek, needing the contact. "But that was before I fell in love with you."

"Do you think the longer we're together, the more rope I'll be able to get from you?"

"I don't think so," Cam said musingly, her eyes dancing. "I think you've gotten just about as much as I intend to give."

Blair shifted closer, threaded an arm around Cam's waist, and rested her head on Cam's shoulder. "I'm very persuasive."

Wrapping her in an embrace, Cam pressed her lips to Blair's forehead. "Mmm. Believe me, I know."

At that moment, the phone rang and Blair snatched it up, "Blair Powell...Felicia?...I need an emergency makeup kit and something to wear. Yeah...slacks and a shirt will do. Can you raid my room and pack a bag?...Sure, half an hour's fine." At Cam's raised eyebrows, Blair pointedly ignored her. "Let me give you the address where we are." After giving Felicia the details, Blair closed the phone once more and set it aside. Regarding her lover seriously, she asked, "Shall we call down for breakfast or is there something else you'd rather do for half an hour?"

Cam framed Blair's face with both hands and leaned in to kiss her lingeringly, enjoying the softness of her lips and the heat that rose beneath her palms. When she drew her mouth away, her voice was husky. "There's always something I'd rather do with you, Ms. Powell. But considering the circumstances, I think breakfast might be the safest choice."

Blair ran her fingers down the center of Cam's bare chest. "I know you're not the type to play it safe."

"You have severely tested my limits." Laughing, Cam caught Blair's hand and stilled her teasing movements. "So I'll have to decline the offer of other pleasures for the time being."

"Oh yeah?" Blair planted both hands on Cam's chest and pushed her backward onto the bed, climbing astride her hips as she fell. Leaning over with her arms braced on either side of Cam's shoulders, she slowly lowered her head, her eyes fixed on Cam's. "We'll see about that, Commander."

0635 16Aug01

Query team leader: Do you read?

Team Leader: Roger, RedDog

Target located. Awaiting green light.

Team Leader: Observe at the ready

Roger. Strike team out.

CHAPTER FOUR

T wenty-nine minutes later, a knock sounded at the hotel room door. When Blair started to rise, Cam caught her arm and stood quickly. "I'll get it."

After pulling on her pants and shirt, Cam reached for her weapon, which was lying in its holster on the bedside table. She slid it out with practiced ease on her way to the door. There was no peephole hi the heavy wooden door, and she glanced over her shoulder to ensure that Blair was not in the sightline of anyone outside in the hail. Then, her hand on the knob, she asked, "Who is it?"

"Davis, Commander."

Automatic held down at her side, Cam inched open the door for identity verification, then stepped aside and allowed Davis to enter.

Felicia stopped at the foot of the bed, her eyes face front, appearing to take no note of the rumpled solitary bed or the fact that the first daughter sat in the middle of it with nothing on but a bedsheet.

Blair held out a hand for the overnight bag. "Thanks."

"You're quite welcome, Ms. Powell." Turning away, Felicia returned to the door. "I'll take the hall, Commander."

"Very well." Once again, Cam blocked the sightline to Blair as her agent opened the door and slipped out.

"Do you do that on purpose, just to make me crazy?"

Cam turned, returning her automatic to the holster and securing it to the waistband of her pants at the small of her back. Ordinarily, she wore a shoulder holster but had found it difficult to camouflage in the evening jacket she'd worn the night before. "What?"

Blair blew out an exasperated breath and stood up. "Never mind."

Cam fingered die studs from her pocket one at a time and began to fit them into her shirt. "What?"

"Put yourself between me and even the remotest possibility of danger."

Frowning, Cam looked up. "You mean just now?"

"Yes," Blair said slowly, cocking her head and giving Cam a look. "I mean just now."

Cam opened her fly, tucked in her shirt, and zipped up. "That's just SOP. I don't even think about it."

Blair regarded her lover contemplatively, not angry, but curious. "How do they teach you to do that?"

"What?" Cam slid both arms around Blair's waist and kissed her softly. "What?"

"You're being unusually dense this morning." Blair rested her forearms on Cam's shoulders, watching the colors swirl in Cam's eyes.

Cam grinned. "Too much sex."

Despite herself, Blair smiled. Then her expression grew serious. "How do they teach someone to be willing to die for a paycheck?"

"It's not about that," Cam murmured. "You know that."

"I don't understand why you do it."

Cam rested her forehead against Blair's and took a long breath. "It's an honor."

Blair made a small sound and pressed her face to Cam's neck. "Oh God. I do love you."

"I'm so glad." Cam kissed her once more, still softly, but this time she allowed herself the luxury of lingering- She traced her tongue over the soft surface of Blair's lips and into the warm welcome of her mouth, knowing that it could be hours or even days before she might do so again. Then, resolutely, she released her hold and stepped away. "I love you, too."

"I'll be ready in just a second." Blair was subdued as she turned away to sort through the clothes Felicia had packed for her. Even though she would be with Cam for almost the entire day and probably most of the evening, it would not be the same. She would not be free to touch her without thinking, or to smile or laugh or cry with her without restraint. Even though their relationship was no longer a secret, her behavior was still under scrutiny, and the personal was about to become very public.

"Blair," Cam said softly.

Blair looked up, a question in her eyes.

"I miss you, too."

Oddly, the admission lifted Blair's heart. Knowing that she was not alone in her longing gave her the strength to banish the loneliness. "Thank you."

Nodding solemnly, Cam shrugged into her jacket and checked to be sure that she could access her weapon without interference. Satisfied, she said quietly, "I'll wait outside with Felicia."

"Of course. I'll be out shortly, Commander."

The short ride in the Peugeot, one of the regulation French security vehicles, passed in silence. Felicia drove while Cynthia Parker, the newest member of Blair's detail, rode shotgun in the front passenger seat. Parker was on temporary loan from the White House security division, replacing Ellen Grant, who was recovering from an injury sustained while thwarting an attack on Blair. Parker, in addition to having ten years in the protective division, had worked in counterterrorism, and Cam had requested her specifically for the Paris detail.

In the backseat, Blair and Cam sat wordlessly side by side. As the car turned into the wide driveway fronting the Hotel Marigny, Cam murmured, "I'll call you as soon as we're done briefing."

Blair reached out and rested her hand on Cam's thigh. "I need to shower and change. Just come when you're done."

Covering Blair's fingers with her own, Cam squeezed lightly. "Fine." Then she released her lover's hand and checked the activity streetside before opening the car door. Two agents, Hernandez and Michaels, approached and, once they flanked the rear door, Cam stepped out. She looked up and down the plaza, then to the hotel entrance, and finally up the building's exterior, checking every window. Most modern hotel windows did not open, but it was a simple matter to cut out a square of glass through which to extend a rifle barrel. With luck, the glint of sunlight on steel would give an early warning, but many weapons had a matte black finish that prevented precisely that kind of reflection. She saw nothing amiss and turned to lean into the vehicle. "We're ready for you, Ms. Powell."

As soon as Blair stepped out, the two agents immediately closed in on either side. Cam walked slightly ahead, and Blair knew without looking that Felicia was right behind her. The phalanx of guards escorted her inside the building, across the lobby, and into the elevator. They rode to the top floor and into the east wing where two penthouse suites had been reserved for Blair and her security team. The second suite had become the command base while she was in Paris, and the agents, including Cam, slept in rooms one floor down. In the hall outside Blair's room, Cam murmured, "I'll see you soon."

Blair watched her lover disappear into the room opposite hers, and then she opened her own door and stepped inside. Felicia took up a post in the hallway outside. Alone, Blair wearily stripped and headed toward the bathroom. She didn't regret the loss of a night's sleep, because the hours with Cam had more than made up for it. Her weariness now was not from fatigue, but rather from the long years of the restricting routine. Nevertheless, reaching in to turn on the shower, she felt a surge of happiness. She remembered falling asleep, and much more importantly, awakening, in Cam's arms.

Cam shed the evening jacket as soon as she walked into the temporary comm center. Laptops were open and running on every available surface, and an entire bank of monitors displayed images of the hallway outside and the interior of all the elevators that serviced Blair's floor. A youthful-appearing blond man in his early thirties, wearing dark chinos and a blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to his mid-forearms, sat in the center of the U-shaped array of electronics. He had a healthy complexion and cornflower blue eyes and might have passed for Brad Pitt on one of Pitt's less scruffy days.

"What have we got, Mac?" Cam asked as she walked over and dropped into an adjacent chair.

"Good morning, Commander," Mac Phillips said with a friendly smile. If he took note of the fact that his commander was still wearing the clothes she had worn to the embassy gala the night before, he showed no sign of it. "The data information service from the NSA gave us early warning that the...news release regarding Ms. Powell was due to hit the streets this morning." He glanced at his watch. "In approximately four hours now."

As soon as Blair had given Mitchell the interview, Cam had advised her team of it, leaving out most of the details but warning them to prepare for increased media attention at any moment.

"Let's get the team together so we can review the adjustments we need to make in the rest of the itinerary." Cam glanced at her watch. "Give me fifteen minutes. I'll be in my room if you need me."

"Very well, Commander."

Cam left to shower and change, wondering just how much she was going to have to disappoint her lover. When she returned to the comm center, dressed now in her usual work attire—dark suit, white shirt, black tasseled dress shoes—all of her agents except those currently detailed to Blair were present. Most she had worked with since she had assumed command of Egret's personal security detail nine months earlier. There were a number of new faces—several agents who had been assigned temporary duty due to the increased security required when Egret traveled abroad and one replacement for a core team member absent due to injury.

Cam accepted all of them at face value because she fundamentally believed in the integrity of the Secret Service. On the other hand, she trusted fewer than a handful implicitly. Those agents had been tested under fire with her—more than once—and those select individuals she trusted without reservation. Those were the only people she would entrust with Blair's life, and she counted on them to take command in the event that anything were to happen to her. She had given the responsibility of shift rotation to Mac, with the understanding that at least two of these unofficial "core" agents would be present on every detail.

"Commander," a number of voices called as she entered.

Nodding to her team, Cam walked to the corner credenza. She poured herself a cup of coffee from a pot that sat brewing twenty-four hours a day and carried it to the center of the room where two aluminum catering tables placed end to end served as their conference table. She set her cup down and surveyed the waiting agents. Felicia and Reynolds—one of the newbies—were absent. Both were stationed outside Blair's room. After the morning briefing, those who were just coming off the abbreviated night shift would be off duty until their next rotation. The exception was Paula Stark, who as Egret's lead agent worked swing shifts—part of the day and part of the evening shifts—when Egret was most active.

"Good morning, all. Let's have the routine updates first." Cam slipped her PDA from her inside pocket, opened it, and powered up. She glanced briefly at Blair's itinerary for the next two days, although she knew it by heart.

Mac shifted printouts, then succinctly and efficiently reviewed the timetable for the day's scheduled events along with the personnel assignments. He opened a window on his laptop and a sectional map of Paris came up on a 42-inch plasma screen monitor at the end of the table.

"This is the planned motor route to the hospital. Two cars will be placed here," he highlighted an intersection, "and here, for backup and evacuation."

He tapped the keyboard, and an image of the front entrance of the massive hospital appeared. "Egret's ETA is 1600 hours. The advance team will vet the lobby and do a walk-through of her tour at 1300 and again at 1500, then detail here," he highlighted a point just outside the main doors, "to escort her inside with the primary team."

"What do we have on the surrounding topography?" Cam asked.

"Three structures within critical range and with sightlines to the entrance," Phil Rogers, the advance team coordinator, interjected. "All are commercial buildings, all open for business today."

Internally, Cam winced, because that meant dozens, perhaps hundreds, of people could potentially access a point from which to see, photograph, or fire upon the first daughter. Her face remained composed. "Anything turn up on the occupants?"

"No, ma'am," Rogers replied. "The French ran the leases and corporate ownership records when they got the advance itinerary from us last month. Nothing popped."

If the preliminary checks had revealed anything the least bit suspicious—a lessee with a criminal history or a business with strong ties to anti-American interests—deeper checks, including surveillance, would have been requested from "friendly" intelligence operatives in the region, most often CIA or their French counterparts.

"Employees?"

Rogers frowned. "Harder to evaluate. The French aren't so much uncooperative as lousy record keepers...their computer archives are even less capable of interfacing than ours back home."

Cam sighed. It was common knowledge within the intelligence community that the dozen or so U.S. agencies involved in information gathering and analysis often didn't talk to one another— and even when they wanted to, their data storage and retrieval systems were often antiquated and/or incompatible. As a result, interagency intel exchange was often impossible. Internationally, where diplomatic relationships with the host countries were often volatile at best, the situation was even worse. The upshot was that safeguarding political figures on foreign soil was more often than not a nightmare. "How many people are we talking about?"

"Fifty."

"Do you have teams on-site?"

"Yes, ma'am." Rogers glanced at his own PDA. "The Service de protection des hautes personnalites will deploy operatives to all three locations at 1200."

"Interior and exterior?" Cam asked sharply; She hated relying on any security forces other than her own, but it was neither practical nor possible to travel with the numbers of personnel truly required to protect an individual from all potential avenues of harm. A car containing explosive devices could careen through a roadblock and ram Blair's car; a suicide bomber could walk up to her on the street and self-detonate; a shooter could rent a room across from her favorite restaurant or salon and just wait. Eventually they would get a clear shot. Protection service relied on meticulous, exhaustive planning for any and all contingencies, but the save often came down to instincts and intuition.

"Yes, Commander."

"Risk assessment?"

"Low," Mac said. "Friendly government, economically stable, little in the way of recent unrest. Egret is popular, plus she has ties to a number of well-positioned people—diplomatically and socially—from the time she lived here." He smiled. "The French love her, Commander."

Some of the French a little too much. Cam considered the obvious attentions of the French ambassador's wife, whom she knew to be a former lover of Blair's, toward Blair at the gala the previous night. Cam's mouth quirked but she did not smile. "Very well—the hospital tour is a go."

As people made notes and shuffled papers, Cam set her PDA down beside her coffee cup and placed both palms flat on the table. She leaned forward slightly, and when she said, "New developments," everyone immediately sat slightly forward in their folding chairs and gave her their complete attention.

"At approximately 0500 stateside—1100 hours local time— a news article will be released containing a personal statement from Egret that states she is romantically involved with another woman."

Cam surveyed every individual in the room. No one moved. Not a single eyebrow flickered. Satisfied, she sipped her coffee and collected her thoughts.

"The effect on our current situation is uncertain at this time. I expect that by the end of the day the news will have been disseminated internationally. It will definitely be a topic for discussion, but my concern is whether it will be a catalyst for any kind of action involving Egret." She looked at her new political analyst. "Parker?"

Cynthia Parker, early thirties, solidly built and confident, took her time replying. Her dark brown eyes, a shade richer than her hair, were focused and calculating. "I wouldn't expect an organized protest for at least twelve hours after the peak of the media exposure. In Paris in particular, sexual orientation and activity is not a hot button. I don't think we're likely to see much fallout." She shrugged. "The previous administration's sex scandal was a joke over here. Hell, most of Europe was laughing at us for even noticing who the president screwed."

"Agreed." Cam looked to Mac. "We'll need to increase our crowd control response."

"Roger that."

"It's also possible she'll be confronted by individuals at some of her upcoming venues," Cynthia continued, her gaze holding Cam's. "Possibly even socially."

"That's a personal matter which I'm sure that Ms. Powell will handle as she sees fit." Cam's voice was even and controlled, but she felt a surge of anger that Blair might be faced with even further invasion of her privacy. She knew without a doubt that Blair could handle any comments or questions, but she hated that her lover would need to. It was just another instance where Blair's personal life was on display and where others felt that because she was a public figure it was appropriate to question her about private matters. Cam drew a breath and pushed aside the anger. She needed to focus on her job.

"What about fundamentalist group reaction—religious opposition, right-wing cells?" Cam was not worried about picketers. While she did not want Blair harassed or embarrassed or accosted in any way, protestors were usually more of a nuisance than a threat. Usually. She was concerned about the groups with paramilitary or terrorist affiliations. A direct assault was not going to come from the established right-wing political parties, regardless of their doctrine. These groups were infiltrating the political structure through mainstream bureaucratic channels, helped by their increasing popularity in recent elections. Of much greater concern were the underground extremist groups, especially in light of increasing intelligence that these groups were forming loose coalitions across racial and religious lines.

Cynthia replied immediately. "Reports show no increased activity over baseline for the last six months within the major cells operating in Western Europe. The Austrian Freedom Party, Sweden's White Aryan Resistance, the Flemish Bloc in Belgium— all of them are fairly visible and their communications are constantly monitored. There's nothing coming over the wire to suggest any focus on Egret." She appeared to consider her next words. "But that intel is only as good as our sources."

"Mac?" Cam asked. "What do we have from the Central Security Service on extremist activity in this area?"

"I can't be certain that we're as up to date as we might be, because channels from that direction tend to run slowly," Mac stated. A momentary flicker of displeasure crossed his smooth features and was gone. The intelligence community was a huge network of interfacing agencies, each of which dealt with a portion of national and international intelligence. Many functioned under the umbrella of the National Security Agency, but every agency from the CIA to the FBI and individual military intelligence branches gathered information through their own networks. Theoretically, that information was pooled, distilled, and then disbursed to those who needed to know, including the Secret Service. Mac received bulletins directly from the NSA and CSS around the clock. "But I haven't gotten any alerts/'

Nodding, Cam turned her attention to their steganographer, Barry Wright. "Anything locally of concern?"

"Nothing specific, just a worrisome increase in traffic in general." Barry was a new breed of cryptographer. He spent the bulk of his time monitoring the Internet, analyzing sites known or suspected to be shields for communication between individuals, radical groups, and even governments involved in right-wing or terrorist activities. The most common way to transmit "hidden" messages was to insert them bit by bit into jpeg image files, called "cover" images. The recipient then deconstructed the image code and put together the camouflaged message. It was a sophisticated and time-consuming encoding and decoding process, but very difficult for intelligence agencies to detect. "There's been a buildup in chatter over the last six months, but nothing that's come together as a coherent picture. No hits on Egret other than the usual notices of her travel plans,"

A muscle in Cam's jaw bunched. Blair's schedule—hell, even the president's schedule—was posted on the official White House Web site for anyone to read. The Secret Service protested the practice vigorously, but the media consultants had won the point.

"Okay then," Cam said briskly, closing her handheld and putting it away. "First team—I'll advise when I've checked with Egret regarding her morning schedule. Have the cars ready and a backup team available."

"Yes, ma'am," Stark replied sharply.

As the agents stood to disperse, Cam said quietly, "Stark-wait a minute, please."

Surprised, Stark stiffened. "Yes, Commander."

Once they were alone, Cam refilled her coffee and raised an eyebrow at Stark, who shook her head. Sipping hers, Cam leaned back against the sideboard. "You're off duty until 1500,"

"But—"

"You'll be in the lead car, first team for her hospital tour. I want you fresh."

Stark knew better than to protest again. "Yes, Commander."

"Tell Felicia the same thing."

"Uh..." Stark's pulse shot into the stratosphere.

"The coffee cups steamed up the windshield," Cam remarked blandly. "Next time you're doing street surveillance, drink it cold."

Stark's face went from red to white in less than a heartbeat.

Cam placed her cup careiully on the stack of dirty dishes next to the coffeemaker. On her way to the door, she added, "You can tell Felicia thanks, too."

CHAPTER FIVE

0930 16Aug01

Query RedDog: Do you read?

RedDog: Roger, team leader You have green light 1600 IGR Confirm

RedDog: 1600 IGR Green light

Good hunting Godspeed Team leader out

Outside in the hallway, Cam nodded to Felicia and Reynolds. "You're relieved, Agent Davis. Check in with Stark."

"Yes, ma'am."

Cam knocked on Blair's door and a moment later, it opened. "Good morning, Ms. Powell. May I have a moment?"

Blair smiled. "Of course, Commander. Please come in."

Once Cam was inside, Blair closed the door and locked and chained it. Then she turned to where Cam waited only a few feet away and stepped into her waiting arms. With one hand clasping the back of Cam's neck, Blair leaned into her and kissed her. Then she drew away and lightly ran her fingers along Cam's jaw. "You're tense. Difficult meeting?"

''You 're frightening." Cam made a conscious effort to relax her shoulders. No one except Blair would know by looking at her, or very probably even by touching her, what she felt. Blair, however, could read her body and her mind with alarming accuracy. "Just the usual briefing."

"Uh-huh." Blair walked a few feet away, sat on the broad arm of the sofa, and leaned against the back. She wore a blue silk robe, belted at the waist, and her hair was still damp from the shower, finger-combed and falling freely around her face. "I'd like to sit in on one of those morning chats some time."

No, you wouldn't. Cam considered her answer, and then decided to go with the simple truth. "It's your prerogative, but I'd rather you didn't."

"I'm not surprised." Blair tilted her head and studied her lover, who looked drawn, as she often did when a public outing was scheduled. Blair knew the risks, and she knew the additional pressure it put on Cam to ensure her safety. "I think I know why you're tied up in knots, but I'd rather not guess. Want to tell?"

Sighing in surrender, Cam crossed the room to sit on the sofa by Blair's side. On the way down, she grabbed Blair and tumbled her into her lap. With an arm around her lover's shoulders and one at her waist, Cam nuzzled her neck. "I really like you in this robe. You look exactly like you did the first morning we met, except I couldn't touch you then. But God, I wanted to."

"You're trying to distract me," Blair murmured as Cam leaned over until they were nearly reclining face to face. She slid her hand inside Cam's jacket and ran her hand down Cam's side. "I'm beginning to recognize that tactic, Commander Roberts."

"Busted. I'm in trouble for so many reasons." Cam kissed her then because she was beautiful, and she was vital, and she was everything that made Cam's life worth living. "I love you so much."

Blair's heart skipped a beat. "Amazing. You have no idea what hearing that does to me."

"I know what feeling it does to me." Cam rested her forehead against Blair's and closed her eyes. There were moments when she wished they were anywhere else, anyone else. She wished that they never needed to walk out the door, and if they did, that she would never need to look over her shoulder for some dark force that might sweep into her life and in the space between two breaths destroy everything that mattered to her. Most of the time she could separate herself from those fears. She was trained to deal with reality and not to dwell on possibility. But there were times, when Blair was in her arms and she felt nothing but total completion, that she couldn't keep the dread at bay.

"Cam?" Blair's voice held a concerned note. "You're shaking."

Cam took a long slow breath and pushed up on the sofa as Blair swung her legs around until she was sitting beside her. "Sorry."

"Want to tell me what that was about?" Blair took Cam's hand, folded it between her own, and rested their joined hands on her thigh. She loved Cam's hands. They were bold and strong and incredibly tender, just like the woman herself. "Sweetheart?"

"I'd rather not. It was just one of those...passing things," Cam said gently. You'll feel responsible, and you don't need to be burdened by something else you can't change.

Understanding privacy, Blair simply nodded, but she'd seen the pain. "All right. Then back to the initial question. Why don't you want me at the briefings?"

Cam eyed Blair with obvious exasperation. "You are the most single-minded, relentless, and all too frequently annoying individual I have ever met."

Blair smiled sweetly. "That's another stall tactic. You're not going to goad me into an argument."

"We talk about you." The words came out with a combination of apology and anger. "I don't want you to hear that."

Surprise showed in Blair's eyes. "Cam, I know that you talk about me."

" I talk about you," Cam said quietly. "You think you don't like my command voice when we're together? You'd really hate it in there."

"And you think... what? If I heard you discuss Egret with your team that I'd feel like I meant less to you?"

Cam looked away briefly, then brought her eyes back to Blair's. When she did, there was uncertainty and unease in their dark depths. "I don't know. Maybe. I don't want to risk it."

Shaking her head, Blair turned and drew her legs up onto the couch until she was kneeling by Cam's side. She took Cam's face gently in both hands and tilted her head until their faces were inches apart. Her gaze bored into Cam's. "Listen to me. I know what you do. And I know what they don't know, Cameron—what they'll never know. I know your fear, and I know that you can't let them see it." She kissed her, tenderly at first and then with fierce possession. She felt Cam's hands on her back, pulling her down until she was once again in Cam's lap, her arms around Cam's neck. When she drew her mouth away, she murmured, "I know that you have to go away from me to do what you need to do."

"No," Cam said swiftly, her voice strained. She took Blair's hand and placed it over her own heart, cradling it there. "I'll never go away from you. Not ever."

"That's good," Blair sighed, resting her cheek against Cam's shoulder. "Because I'm starting to count on you being around."

"Good thing." Cam rested her chin against the top of Blair's head, feeling the melancholy drift away. Blair brought her not just peace, but the joy of being known. "Because I pretty much plan on sticking around."

"You want to take a walk with me?"

"I'd love to."

Outside, Cam and Blair walked together ten feet ahead of the three agents who accompanied them. Blair carried a small portfolio in one hand. Her hair was down and she had changed into blue jeans, a navy polo shirt, and sneakers. Had they not exited from the Hotel Marigny, the residence reserved for state visitors, Blair could easily have passed for any other tourist. Cam carried nothing, needing to keep her hands free to access her weapon. Despite the fact that her jacket concealed a wrist mic, a radio pager, a cell phone, and her automatic in a shoulder harness, she appeared so casual that she might have been a tourist as well.

"Do you mind if we don't take the main avenue, but stay on the side streets on the way to the gardens?" Cam asked, her gaze traveling over both sides of the thoroughfare ahead.

Blair hooked her left hand through the crook of Cam's arm. "Not at all. I'm not in the mood to fight with the crowds on Champs Elysees at the moment." She took a deep breath of the warm summer air and sighed with contentment. "It's beautiful this morning, and I just wanted to be outside for a while."

"They're still renovating a large part of the Tuileries Gardens, apparently," Cam remarked. "It's not likely to be as crowded as some of the other areas because of that."

"I know. It doesn't really matter where I am, as long as I have a few hours just to relax."

"If you want to be alone—"

"No," Blair said quickly, squeezing Cam's arm. "Not from you. From...all the rest of it."

"Then I'll keep you company while you sketch." Cam smiled. "I think I told you that I used to spend hours with my mother and her friends when they were working. She always had a studio in the house, and she often had students who spent weeks—sometimes months—with her. I modeled now and then."

"Did you?" Blair gave Cam an appraising glance. "Commander Roberts, you are full of surprises. Would you pose for me?"

"Of course."

"Nude?"

Cam's right eyebrow rose. "If you wish."

"On second thought," Blair mused, "I'm not sure I'd be able to concentrate." She gave Cam another look. "Would it excite you, to pose for me nude?"

"Yes."

"I think..." Blair's face took on a contemplative expression, "that I'd like to tell you which part of you I'm touching as I draw. Would you be able to feel my hands on you?"

"Yes." Cam's voice was deep and heavy, echoing the pulse of excitement in the pit of her stomach. "You'd know—you'd see the flush on my skin and my nippl—"

"Stop!" Blair gave a small groan. "God, I really shouldn't be thinking about that out here. But I'm not going to forget the offer."

"You needn't worry. I won't renege." .

From the Rue de Rivoli, they turned onto a path that led into the huge expanse of the once-gracious gardens of Catherine de Medicis. Many of the formal plantings and trees had been destroyed by blight over the ensuing five centuries, but an intensive replanting had been underway for close to a decade, and much of the beauty had been restored. Near one of the large octagonal fountains, Blair found a bench that was free and relatively secluded.

"Okay?"

"Looks good," Cam agreed, and with a subtle murmur into her mic, she deployed her agents before sitting down beside Blair on the bench. The air was warm and she would have removed her jacket, but couldn't because of her weapon. She was used to that inconvenience and quickly forgot it.

"I think this is one of my favorite things to do," Blair commented as she withdrew a sketch pad and pencils from her portfolio.

"Sketch outdoors?"

"Mmm," Blair was already bent over her sketch pad, making swift, sure lines across the paper. "Especially with you nearby. You really don't mind?"

"No, it's one of the most enjoyable things that I've ever experienced. I'm reminded—"

"What?" Blair looked up, concerned by Cam's pensive tone. "What, sweetheart?"

Cam shook her head. "Sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you. I was just thinking that it reminded me of my childhood in Italy. It was..." She shrugged. "I guess like most people's childhoods, it was sometimes idyllic and other times unbearable."

Blair reached across the space between them and ran her hand down Cam's arm until she reached her fingers, which she lightly clasped. "I love you."

Cam smiled, squeezed Blair's hand, and then let it go. "Draw, Ms. Powell."

Blair smiled. "As you wish, Commander."

At 1150, a thin, dark-complected man with short brown hair, wearing gray coveralls and carrying a small toolbox, walked down the narrow alley behind a fifteen-story office building. His stride was confident, his carriage comfortable, as he walked up to the service door. A keypad was set into the door frame, and he unhesitatingly punched in a series of seven numbers. Then he reached down, grasped the knob, which turned easily in his hand, and slipped inside.

"Blair," Cam said quietly.

"Hmm?"

"It's almost noon."

Blair did not look up, but continued drawing for another few moments. Then she set the pencil down beside her and eased her cramped shoulders. Running a hand through her hair, she looked out over the gardens. Here and there groups of tourists or families strolled about with cameras, expressions of excitement on their faces. She turned to her lover, who sat with her long legs stretched out in front of her, ankles crossed, arms down by her sides, her hands loosely curled around the edge of the bench. If Blair didn't know better, she'd think Cam was completely relaxed. She would also bet any amount of money that Cam knew the exact placement of every individual within her sight range, how long each had been there, and exactly how long it would take any of the three invisible agents to reach Blair's side. "Are you able to enjoy any of this?"

Slowly, Cam slid her left hand over until her fingers met Blair's. "I see you, Blair. Even when I'm working. I always see you."

"I'm sorry." Blair smiled wryly. "God, I can't believe I'm jealous of your job now."

"I think being together takes a little getting used to."

Blair laughed. "You think?" She slid her sketch pad into her portfolio and secured her drawing pencils. "I am completely new at this. I don't have a clue as to what I'm doing." She glanced at her lover, who regarded her seriously. "The only thing of which I'm entirely certain is that I want us to be together."

"Then we are in complete agreement." Cam stood, lifted her left hand, and advised her agents of their departure.

The service entrance opened into a warren of storage rooms, with a bank of elevators at the end of a long hallway. Next to the elevators, a sign marked the stairwell. The man in the electrician's uniform pushed the bar handle, and the stairwell door opened soundlessly. With steady steps, he began the climb to the roof.

In the main lobby of the building, two bored French security officers lounged behind the information desk, conversing with the receptionist who relayed calls to the various offices and provided directions to those visitors who might need them.

Francois Remy glanced at his watch. "Do you want to do the first walk-through or do you want me to take it?"

Henri Bouchard shrugged. "I'll take this one, and you can have the next."

"Good enough."

Henri set out to take the elevator to the fifteenth floor to commence the inspection of the building. His route would wend from one end of each hallway to the other and down the stairwell between floors. Most of the offices were occupied, and he would spot-check those, particularly the ones facing the Institut Gustave-Roussy. He sighed as he watched the numbers above the elevator doors count down to one. Such a lot of fuss for one woman. If she weren 't an American. ..

When the man with the toolbox reached the fifteenth-floor landing, he found a door to his left that led to the corridor and offices. To his right, a narrow staircase led up to a single gray steel door at roof level. He made his way up and paused a few steps below the door. A red sign warned that any attempt to open it would trigger a central alarm.

Unhurriedly, he set down his toolbox, opened it, and removed a set of screwdrivers, a wire stripper, and fine needle-nose pliers. Working quickly but coolly, he removed the faceplate from the alarm box, inspected the simplistic design to ensure that no backup alarms had been added, and rerouted the signal around the door connection. Then he replaced the faceplate, secured his tools, and pushed open the door. It had taken him exactly six minutes to reach the roof from the street.

1200 16Aug01

RedDog in position

CHAPTER SIX

A t precisely 1200, Bouchard stepped off the elevator at the east end of the fifteenth floor and headed down the corridor at a steady pace. From behind partially open doors came the low murmur of voices and the insistent hum of myriad electronic devices. He paid particular attention to the offices on the north side of the building, the ones that faced the wide boulevard below and the medical complex opposite. At that morning's briefing, he had been given a list of locations on each floor that posed particular security concerns, but a thorough check suggested nothing out of the ordinary. When he reached the west end of the hallway, he pushed open the fire door and stepped out onto the six-by-six-foot landing. To his left a steep, narrow staircase led upward, and he climbed several stairs to get a clear look at the door to the roof. As he knew from the building specs provided to his team by the captain, the door was alarmed. If the circuit was disrupted, a switch on the main board in the reception area in the lobby signaled an alert. His partner was at that moment watching those monitors. Satisfied that nothing was amiss, he started down the stairwell to the fourteenth floor. He checked his watch as he reached the next level and nodded, pleased to note that he was right on schedule.

"We depart at 1530," Cam said as she walked Blair to the door of her suite. It was hard to leave her again so soon, but they both had jobs to do. "I'll be in the comm center until then if you require anything."

"That's fine," Blair replied softly, mindful of the other agents close behind. "I want to change and make some phone calls." Lowering her voice even further, she met Cam's eyes. "Thank you for last night, and for these last few hours."

Cam nodded. Briefly, she touched Blair's hand and then turned toward the room across the hall. By the time she reached the door, Blair had disappeared.

Inside, Cam walked directly to Mac, who was in his usual place in the center of the electronic activity. She pulled over a stool and sat beside him, ignoring the flickering monitors with their dizzying kaleidoscopes of shifting images. Her only interest was the stack of computer printouts by his left hand. "What do we hear from the media?"

"Well," Mac answered, leaning back in his swivel chair, "it's not above the fold, but the article made the front page in most major cities stateside."

"As expected," Cam noted grimly. "Have you heard anything from the White House?"

"Lucinda Washburn called and left a message for Egret to call her ASAP." Mac gave Cam a sideways glance- "I didn't think it was necessary to interrupt you in the field."

"Thanks. I think she needed a bit of a break." Cam gave him an appreciative smile. "I'll pass on the chief of staff's request."

Mac merely grunted. He had nothing against Lucinda Washburn, arguably the second most powerful person in the country, but his sole allegiance was to the team. And to Blair Powell. "I expect that the White House press secretary will make some kind of statement at the afternoon briefing."

"I suppose once Aaron has officially addressed Blair's announcement, every major news outlet will pick it up." Cam sighed. "I don't expect we'll see much media response at the hospital today, but she has the meeting with the minister of health and the representatives from the WHO in the morning. That's going to get some coverage."

"You know," Mac commented, "Egret's status in the administration is closer to first lady than first daughter, since she fulfills so many of the obligations that would have been her mother's responsibility."

"Yes. And because of that, she is much more visible to the world at large." And much more vulnerable, both thought, but neither said. Cam's gaze hardened. "We have to consider her at high-alert status at all times."

"Roger that, Commander."

"Our advance teams are on-site?"

"Yes, ma'am. I should have the first reports soon."

"Good. Keep me advised. As soon as the lead team arrives, we'll brief."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Anything out of the ordinary, anything at all, from any source—I want to know."

"Yes, Commander."

Paula Stark jerked awake and blinked furiously. Her first thought was bright. Very bright. She closed her eyes. She next recorded an unusual sensation beneath her cheek. Soft. Warm. She drew a breath. Smells good. Cinnamon? She opened one eye a slit. An image of a long-necked giraffe tilled her vision. Closing that eye again, she rolled onto her back, registering that she was indeed lying supine and that her head was propped on something yielding, but firm. Warily, she peered .upward, finally focusing on the blue eyes a couple of feet above her own that regarded her with gentle amusement.

Stark blinked. "Renee?"

"You were expecting perhaps someone else?"

Stark blinked again. The last thing she could clearly remember was the commander telling her to stand down until the afternoon briefing. Then she had called Renee, told her she had a few hours free, and they had agreed to have breakfast together. "Uh-oh. Breakfast?"

Renee shifted slightly and deposited the newspaper she'd been reading onto the coffee table beside her feet, which were propped on its tiled surface. "You fell asleep in the middle of toast."

Stark groaned. She curled on her side and pressed her face to the curve of Renee's abdomen, hoping to hide her acute humiliation. She registered at that point that the material beneath her cheek was soft, brushed cotton and that a multitude of tiny animals danced on the edges of her field of vision. "You have a jungle on your boxers," she mumbled, her mind a mass of confused embarrassment and awakening arousal.

Chuckling, Renee insinuated her fingers through Stark's dark hair and massaged her neck softly. "You should see what I've got inside."

Stark's blood pressure shot through the roof, her stomach flipped, and her heart came to a complete standstill. Her breath whooshed out on a reflexive moan.

"However," Renee continued, her stomach tightening as she felt Stark tremble, "since it's 1300 hours and you're due at a briefing in an hour, I don't think you're going to get a chance to find out today."

I fell asleep on her. Literally on her. Jesus! Thoroughly mortified, Stark rolled back once again and looked up with imploring eyes. "I'm so sorry. I'm such a dud."

"A dud?" The corner of Renee's mouth lifted in a smile at once tender and seductive. "Let's see—you worked all day yesterday, you were up all night, and then you were ordered to take a few hours' downtime. The first thing you did at that point was call me." She curled downward and kissed Stark's forehead, then her mouth. "Believe me, sweetie, you have nothing to apologize for. But if you don't get your tail in gear, you'll be late for one of Roberts's briefings. Then we won't have to worry about the condition of your ass, because she will have chewed it off."

Sweetie. She called me sweetie. Stark curled one arm back, found the hand stroking her hair, and threaded her fingers through Renee's. "A week ago when we were back in New York, we were half a second away from tearing each other's clothes off. I want you just as much right now." She took a breath, took the plunge. "More. A lot more."

Renee's blue eyes widened, and her full lips parted in surprise. "One of the things I lo—find so enchanting about you is your absolute lack of pretense. You say what you mean." At least I hope you do, because that's why I'm falling in love with you.

"Why did you stop? Back then." Stark's question was soft, gentle.

Renee sighed and looked across the room, but her mind looked back over the last ten years of her life. Pensively, she replied, "I haven't had many relationships of consequence in my life, and none to speak of in the last few years. Most of them couldn't stand up to the demands of the training and then the work that we do." She shrugged and sighed again. "You know what I mean—the hours are terrible, we can't talk very much about the specifics, and even when we do, most people won't understand it. It was just easier not to get serious about anyone." She felt Stark grow still against her side, and she looked back down, finding dark, understanding eyes as she brushed her fingers through the hair on Stark's forehead. "You and I—we had something in common, right from the beginning, even if at first we didn't see eye to eye."

"The job," Stark replied, knowing that Renee knew what she knew-—that the job defined who they were as much as, or more than, what they did.

"Mmm. Yeah...but it's not just the job. You're special." Shyly, Renee added, "You make me feel special."

"I hope so," Stark murmured fervently. "I think you're the most wonderful woman I've ever met. I hope I make you feel that way." She flushed. "Except I don't know exactly how to do that."

"Maybe thinking about me first before anything else, even after twenty-four hours with no sleep doing one of the most stressful jobs in the world, is a good start."

"You didn't quite answer the question," Stark pressed carefully. Tell me if there's something wrong—if there's something you need that I can give you.

"No, I didn't." Renee smiled wanly, "I want you today just as much...more...than I did that night. I think about it; I dream about it. I'm just..afraid."

That wasn't what Stark expected. Her brows furrowed in concern. "Why? Is it something I've done? Something I've said?"

"No, just the opposite. You're a little bit too good to be true." Renee blushed and twirled a lock of Stark's hair around her fingertips. "I'm afraid if I sleep with you, and it doesn't work out, it's really going to hurt."

Stark pushed up on the sofa until she was sitting beside Renee. She slid an arm around her shoulders and pulled the other woman close. With her lips lightly brushing Renee's hair, she whispered, "I think you're special, too. I don't know how to tell when the time is right, but that's what I want. For it to be right."

Sighing with contentment and not a small degree of frustration, Renee threaded her arm around Stark's waist. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being patient."

Laughing, Stark dipped her head and captured Renee's mouth. She slipped her tongue between Renee's lips, danced over the surface of her tongue, and slid out again. "I'm not patient. In fact, I'm pretty sure something's going to explode before long. But I'm not taking any chances on messing this up."

With a small cry, Renee pushed her hands into Stark's hair and shifted until she was lying half in her lap. Her mouth on Stark's was hungry, needy, demanding. In another second they were lying stretched out on the sofa, Renee's thigh tight between Stark's, Stark's hands beneath Renee's blouse, their hips moving in perfect synchrony, thrusting hard. Someone groaned.

Stark wrenched her mouth away. "Oh man. Man...I want you so bad."

"Oh yeah." Gasping, Renee pressed her forehead to Stark's chest. "Oh yeah. I think maybe I'm done waiting."

"You gotta wait..." Stark's voice was a desperate plea. "Just a little longer. I gotta go."

Groaning, Renee could only nod.

"I'm gonna think about you all—"

"Shh," Renee murmured, pressing tightly to her. "Once you walk out of here, I don't want you to think about anything except the job. I want you totally focused on Egret, just like you always are. Then, when you're off shift, I want you to come back to me. Safe and sound."

"I don't know how I got so lucky," Stark whispered, tilting Renee's chin up and kissing her with a series of tender, gentle caresses.

"We got lucky," Renee sighed against her mouth.

The thin man knelt by the three-foot wall that rimmed the fiat expanse of the rooftop, shielded from view by the oversized air-conditioning units and heating ducts. If anyone opened the rooftop door, he would hear them, and he had the advantage of surprise.

He did not, however, expect visitors. The first security check was over, and the second was likely to be cursory. After assessing the sightline to the hospital entrance, he once again opened the toolbox, this time lifting out the upper compartment. Beneath that lay the barrel of a Heckler and Koch G36 assault rifle. From various pockets in his gray coveralls, he removed the remaining components of the weapon, which he had fleldstripped just that morning before departing the rooming house he had inhabited for the last fourteen months. Quickly and efficiently, he assembled the 3.6 kilogram weapon and loaded it with a standard magazine carrying thirty rounds. In the lower compartment of the tool chest were additional magazines. The German assault rifle was capable of firing 750 rounds of 5.56 x 45mm bullets per minute. He did not expect to need more than one.

Seated on the sofa in the high-ceilinged palatial suite, Blair drew out her sketch pad and opened it on her lap. Critically, she appraised that morning's work, thinking about the upcoming show scheduled in Manhattan in three weeks. It wasn't her first gallery exhibition, but it was her first solo showing. She was nervous and excited and just a little resentful that she couldn't concentrate completely on the work that mattered the most to her. Her other responsibilities—her official duties—so often interfered. Although she was proud to represent her country and happy to assist her father in any way possible, his dream had never been her dream. Nevertheless, she had embraced it as much as she possibly could. She flipped through the pages until she came to the last drawing she had done. Cam had not been aware of Blair sketching her, or if she had been, she had not shown any sign of it.

Cam was Blair's favorite subject. Not only was she beautiful, with the coloring and bone structure that any artist loves to draw, but Blair reveled in the opportunity to study her. Even knowing it was impossible, she still tried to capture the essence of Cam's unique nobility and strength through her art. Lightly, she traced her fingers over the drawing, feeling Cam's flesh beneath her own.

I love you.

Carefully, she closed the pad and secured it away. Then she leaned over and drew the phone from the table beside the sofa and punched in a series of numbers from memory. After less than a moment, her call was answered.

"Johnny? It's Blair. I don't suppose there's any chance... You're sure?...Of course." A minute passed, and then she sat up straighter. "Dad?"

"Blair. Everything all right?"

"Yes, fine."

"Still in Paris?"

"For another two days. Everything is going well on that front."

"Have you been to the hospital yet?"

The question startled her. She hadn't realized he had any idea of her itinerary. She swallowed and kept her voice even. "Just about to go in an hour or so."

"Doing okay?"

"Yes. Fine." She took a deep breath. "I guess you've seen the newspapers?"

A dry chuckle came through the line. "I haven't actually read any of the articles, since I already know from you what the interview entailed. But I gather someone jumped the gun."

"Looks like. I just wanted to make sure that...I'm not sure what, exactly," she confessed.

"It's okay, honey. There's nothing you need to be concerned about. Just concentrate on the trip, and try to enjoy it as much as you can."

"What does Lucinda have to say?" Blair pressed. Lucinda often had a better sense of the undercurrents of public opinion than her father did.

"Lucinda worries a little too much sometimes."

"You should listen to her. I'm sorry if I caus—"

"Blair," her father's voice was at once firm and gentle, "I can't think of anything you've ever done that you need to apologize to me for. I am nothing but proud of you."

She heard a muffled conversation and knew that he had covered the phone.

"Look, Dad, I know you're busy. I can—"

"Sorry, I am running late. How's Cam?"

Blair's heart skipped a beat "She's,..she's fine. Traveling is difficult, and she's preoccupied."

"She should be. But she's okay.,.with this other?"

Blair's throat tightened. She wasn't certain, but she thought her father might be asking her if everything was all right with her relationship. "She's great I'm...happy."

"That's the best news I could get. I'm sorry, honey. I'm going to have to go. Call me again soon."

"Okay. Yes. I will."

"Be careful. Bye, honey."

"Bye, Dad." Blair set the phone down gently. They'd never had a conversation anywhere near like this one. It was terrifyingly strange and strangely wonderful.

Intentionally or not, she had kept a barrier between herself and her father all her life, just as she had shielded her private self from the prying eyes of the public and hidden the true longings of her heart from the women she had touched. Until Cam. Loving Cam had changed everything, and as frightening as that sometimes was—to be vulnerable and exposed, not just to heartbreak, but to the unmerciful scrutiny of strangers—she had never felt so free.

CHAPTER SEVEN

F elicia was the first of the lead team agents to arrive for the briefing. When she entered the comm center, Mac was the only other person present. A murmur of conversation emanated from the adjoining room where Cynthia and Barry spent most of their time, hunched over their consoles searching for intel hidden in cyberspace. She walked to the sideboard, poured a cup of coffee, and crossed the room to the conference table.

At the sound of the quiet movement behind him, Mac swiveled away from the monitors and silently observed Felicia. She was dressed in the same two-piece suit, tailored shirt, and functional shoes that all the agents, male or female, wore. On her long, svelte frame, however, the outfit managed to appear elegant. Her slender neck, high-arched cheeks, and fine-boned jaw gave her the look of an ancient priestess or warrior. She was painfully beautiful, as well as being intrmidatingly intelligent and inestimably competent. They'd had two dates before she'd told him in firm gentle tones that it had been a mistake.

Mac cleared his throat. "Good afternoon."

Felicia looked up from the most recent field reports related to the afternoon's engagement and turned her head with a smile. "Hello."

Nothing in her eyes to suggest familiarity. The same pleasant yet cool inflection she used with everyone. He swallowed his disappointment and tried to tell himself that it didn't matter. "Did you get a chance to see anything of the city during your downtime?"

"A little," Felicia replied carefully. It was not her habit to discuss her personal life with colleagues. Mac was different, and that difference concerned her. Ever since they had spent sixty or so stress-filled hours in each other's company, monitoring an operation that ultimately might have cost the president's daughter her life, she had felt more for him than for any man she had ever worked with. Any man, she acknowledged, with whom she had been involved hi any way for a long time. Eventually, she'd succumbed to the uniqueness of that unusual connection and had broken one of her own rules. She had dinner with him. Twice. He was precisely as she had expected him to be. Charming, intelligent, gentle. After the second evening, when he'd walked her to the door of her East Village apartment building, he'd kissed her briefly on the mouth. The kiss had been slightly more than friendly, but not intrusive or demanding. It had been a very nice kiss. It had been a kiss she wouldn't have minded repeating. And that's when she'd told him that there would be no more dinners.

"The Secret Service isn't exactly the way to see the world," Mac commented wryly.

Felicia grinned. "No more than the navy. Or any other branch of service."

"Still, a posting in Paris does beat spending a week in a lot of other places I could think of."

"Agreed."

"Felicia—"

Stark walked in and abruptly stumbled to a halt. She took one look around the room with the sense that she had just walked in on something personal. Coloring, she desperately sought a way out.

"Paula," Felicia said smoothly, indicating the seat across from her with a graceful hand. "Get some coffee and have a seat. We can go over the deployment positions before the commander arrives." She glanced at her watch. "Which I estimate will be in two minutes."

"Uh...okay. Sure. Fine."

Disappointed, but not entirely certain he knew what he'd been about to say anyhow, Mac turned back to his ever-present companions—the flickering images on the dozen monitors where shadow figures moved in and out of focus with jerky, robotic movements. As he gathered his papers, he thought that there were times when he was no more tangible to others than those disembodied people captured on his screens. He recognized the sensation as loneliness and quickly pushed it aside.

On the rooftop, the thin man glanced down when he felt a faint vibration emanating from his belt. He removed the two-way pager and glanced at the text.

1358 16Aug01

Query RedDog: in position?

He thumbed the small keyboard with practiced efficiency, doing it by feel just as he assembled and disassembled his weapons in total blackness.

Roger.

Green light. 1600. Team leader out.

With another flick of his thumb, he deleted the message. Though the sun blazed down on his back and unprotected head and he wore far too many layers of clothing for the August weather, he had no conscious sense of discomfort. Snipers—men and women who could lie for hours in uncomfortable positions, in snow or mud or tropical heat, without moving a single muscle-—were known to have markedly quiescent autonomic nervous systems. When studied, their heart rates were found to be exceptionally slow, their blood pressure reflected little response to adrenergic stimulation, and their galvanic skin reactivity was abnormally low. Assassins, theory had it, were not created, but born. The challenge was in the selection process.

He returned his cheek to the stock of the assault rifle and sighted through the laser scope to the sidewalk in front of the hospital at the precise point where the lead car would pull up and Blair Powell and her entourage would disembark. He anticipated a clear shot. However, it wasn't absolutely required. His ammunition was capable of traversing the human body with almost no deceleration and minimal alteration in trajectory. A body shot, assuming that the individual between him and his target wore body armor, could be problematic because, although his ammunition would penetrate the armor, the exit velocity and direction would be skewed to an unpredictable degree by the impact. He might miss the primary target. But if anyone did stand between him and his target, a shot to the head would take out both. He had established the necessary kill-shot angle via computer simulations using the height of every agent assigned to Blair Powell's team.

He hoped that the Secret Service followed their usual quadrant-based protection pattern, because that would put someone directly behind the target. And that challenge would make the mission more enjoyable.

"Updates, please." Cam crossed the room and took her usual seat at the head of the table. Those agents not yet seated hurried to find places.

Mac began immediately. "No reports of problems from the advance team. The first walk-through at 1300 was all clear."

"Any sign of interest from the press yet?" Cam had taken half an hour to shower and change and now wore a summer-weight charcoal silk suit with a shirt in a slightly lighter shade of gray.

"Not at the site as of this time," Mac advised.

"What do we have coming over the wires?" Even though almost all of their intelligence was received by computer or electronic transmission, the idiom remained.

"Television stations are carrying the story now, and there was a brief mention of the article and its 'shocking' revelations on one of the British news channels."

Cam's eyes darkened to black. "Every news station and paper in Europe will follow suit. That means a much higher rate of individual contact attempts. I don't want our perimeter breached. Keep her in a tight ring whenever she's on the ground."

Murmurs of assent rang in the air.

Cam turned her attention to Barry Wright. "Anything suggesting an organized response from the underground groups?"

Shaking his head, he frowned slightly. "Still the same dense chatter, but nothing any of us can pin down. No names, no locations, no specifics. If there's something planned, I can't find the details."

"Keep looking," Cam said succinctly. She trusted him to find the hidden messages more than she trusted the NSA.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Everyone knows the drill. This visit will be well publicized because the Institut Gustave-Roussy is the largest cancer center in Europe, and the administrators are hoping this will prompt contributions. They've had a major media campaign running all week, so expect TV cameras and reporters. What with the personal angle thrown in, probably a bigger-than-average crowd. No one comes within six feet of her outside that building. Once inside, make sure everyone has a press pass or a visible hospital ID." She turned to Mac. "You have photos of the PR people from the hospital as well as the doctors and nurses on the floor she'll be touring?"

Mac passed out several stapled sheets of paper to each agent. "All here. Obviously, there will be others we didn't anticipate, but these are the individuals likely to have personal contact with her."

"Take a good look, people. If you don't recognize someone or they don't have clear identification, pull them aside and verify. I don't care about ruffling feathers or bruising egos. If it looks wrong, assume it is." She rolled her shoulders to ease the tension she always felt when Blair was making a public appearance. It was nearly impossible to keep her completely safeguarded at any time, but prepublicized public events were the most dangerous. Assassins, kidnappers, or anyone else with an agenda would have plenty of advance notice to fine-tune their plans.

Plus, it didn't help that Egret chafed under the restrictions of the close coverage and tended to disregard it. Cam understood her lover's aversion to tight security, but she couldn't relax the protocols. Her job, as well as her instinctive need, was to keep Blair safe. Sometimes that meant making her angry as well. She stood. "Bring the vehicles to the entrance at 1500. Davis and Stark— you're in the lead car with me. Mac, Fielding, and Reynolds— you're backup in the follow car. Stark will brief you on positions once we're streetside."

A chorus of Yes, Commanders followed.

"I'll be with Egret until departure."

The thin man observed the path of an ambulance as it approached along the Rue Camille Desmoulins. To the casual

observer, it looked like any other of the dozens of ambulances that came and went from the country's largest public cancer hospital twenty-four hours a day. Even a trained professional would have had difficulty telling this vehicle from any other while it was moving. It was unlikely that its low carriage or slightly overwide transverse dimension would be obvious. This particular vehicle was easily hundreds of pounds heavier than its functional counterparts. In the interior, where emergency equipment and drugs were ordinarily stored in shelves and bins bolted to the walls, there were ammunition racks. The patient stretchers had been removed and replaced with narrow benches along either sidewall, each large enough to accommodate five men in full body armor sitting shoulder to shoulder. Post production, the vehicle had been armored to the National Institute of Justice specifications for Level V protection. Armormax Pac 500 overlapping shields reinforced the roof, lateral walls, floor, and the gas tank. The transparent areas were polycarbonate/glass laminate, capable of withstanding 17.2 footpounds per inch of impact. Nothing short of an antitank short-range missile would disable it, and even that would require a shot directly into the driver's compartment.

Moving slowly but drawing no attention, the ambulance coasted into the emergency loading area a hundred yards from the main entrance. Far enough away not to be of concern but close enough that the assault team could reach the target in the first minute of chaos following his shot. Cut ojfthe head and the snake dies.

He showed no reaction, not even a blink, when the radio pager on his belt vibrated again. With his eye still fixed to his scope, he reached down, slipped the small square of plastic from his belt, and held it up at eye level.

1430 16Aug01

Avenger on site

Cheek still resting on the abbreviated stock of his weapon, he returned the pager to his belt. Unless he received a directive from the team leader countermanding his orders, his actions and his fate were sealed. God Bless America.

Blair had changed into a cream-colored jacket, matching knee-length skirt, and a deep rose silk blouse. Her medium heels were a slightly deeper hue than her suit. She answered the knock at her door, kissed Cam briefly on the lips as she entered, and locked the door.

"How are you doing?" Cam asked, sensitive to the pensive expression on her lover's face.

"Okay." Blair's voice was quiet and her expression solemn. She forced a smile and ran her fingers along Cam's jaw before leaning close to kiss her again. This time she lingered, playing her tongue over Cam's and biting teasingly at her lower lip.

Cam sighed, a mixture of regret and contentment. She rested both palms loosely on Blair's hips beneath her jacket, holding her close but leaving her room to move away if she needed to. "Lucinda call?"

It was Blair's turn to sigh. She nodded. "Just a few minutes ago."

As Cam expected she would, Blair broke their contact and walked to the windows on the far side of the enormous room. She leaned a shoulder against, the centuries-old woodwork and gazed out.

"Trouble?" Cam kept her voice even but she was furious. Furious that her lover should have to answer to anyone regarding something so very private; because Blair was such a private woman, the intrusion was an even greater violation. That Blair should also need to answer to the White House chief of staff—the woman who had guided Blair's father's campaign and who was critical to his reelection—was more pressure than anyone should have to bear. Cam crossed the room, stopped just behind Blair, and placed her hands very gently on her shoulders. "Baby?"

"Trouble? No. Not really." Blair crossed her arms beneath her breasts and settled back against Cam's solid presence. "For Lucinda, she was exceptionally calm."

Slowly, Cam massaged Blair's tight shoulders, working her thumbs into the firm muscles on either side of her spine. As Blair always did when making a public appearance, she had caught back her thick wavy blond hair with the gold clasp that Cam had placed in her pocket just hours before. Brushing the beautiful hair aside with a fingertip, Cam dipped her head and kissed the back of Blair's neck.

"Mmm," Blair moaned softly. "That could almost make me forget everything."

With her lips still skimming Blair's skin, Cam murmured, "It's supposed to." Feeling Blair relax. Cam slipped her hands around Blair's waist, embracing her fully but still allowing her the freedom to escape. Blair was still vibrating with tension, and when she hurt, she was very much a wounded animal. "What did she say?"

"Lucinda made all the politically correct remarks. You know... it doesn't matter who you love, as long as you love. It's no one's business but mine. She even reiterated that the White House and the party supported freedom of choice and gay and lesbian issues."

"But?"

"She suggested that we curtail public displays of affection."

Cam forced herself not to react, either physically or verbally. She could do that, because she was trained to do it. She could stand in a room and listen to the president of the United States make plans for war without blinking or just as easily ignore an illicit tryst being consummated within earshot, or even right in front of her eyes. She was not only paid to mm a blind eye, she was indoctrinated with the ability to observe without reaction. But this was her lover, and pretending she didn't want to curse was a struggle. "I suppose I'll have to stop fucking you in the Suburban, then."

Laughing, Blair felt some of the tension melt from her bones. She let her head fall back against Cam's shoulder. "And you can't feel me up at state dinners anymore."

"Damn." Cam kissed Blair's ear, "Does that mean you won't be slipping your hand down my pants at the president's dinner dance tomorrow night?"

Blair turned and wrapped her arms around Cam's neck. Her eyes sparkled and this time her mouth lifted in a genuine smile. "Guess not, Commander. Want to rethink this whole affair?"

Cam kissed her lightly. "That depends."

"Really?" Blair tilted her head and narrowed her eyes dangerously. "On what?"

"On how good you are when I get you alone."

Bfair leaned in and nipped Cam's chin. "Better than you can possibly imagine."

Cam groaned, the sudden heat in her belly making her legs weak. "Okay. That's it—no more teasing. I need all of my blood going to my brain for the next few hours."

Pleased, Blair brushed her fingers through Cam's hair and stepped away. "I know. But thanks."

"For what?"

"Making me laugh when I wanted to—ah, God."

"What?" Cam asked gently.

"I don't know. Throw something? Cry maybe. It doesn't seem to make much difference." Blair shrugged off the melancholy. "I have to keep reminding myself that Lucinda has only one goal in mind, and that's keeping my father in the White House. That's not a bad agenda. I like her. I always have. It's not her fault that she's so single-minded."

"No! Nor is it yours how you choose to live your life, or whom you choose to love."

Blair leaned once again against the magnificent window casing. "I didn't choose to love you, Cameron. I just couldn't help myself."

"Same here." Cam tucked her hands into her front pockets and edged a shoulder against the opposite side of the leaded-glass windows. She regarded her lover contemplatively. "Are you ready for this afternoon?"

"Which part?" Blair laughed humorlessly as she thought about the media attention to come.

"The hospital."

Blair gave a small start. "God, it scares me to realize how well you know me already."

Cam lifted a shoulder. "Not nearly as well as I want to. Not nearly as well as I intend to."

"Hospitals." Without being aware of it, Blair shivered. "It doesn't matter what they look like or how hard everyone tries to make them feel welcoming. There's something about the air...or maybe it's the light. Or maybe it's just the way everyone walks around with that horrible mixture of hope and despair warring hi their eyes." Blair lifted a hand and let it fall helplessly. "All of a sudden I'm twelve again. It all happened so fast, and then she was gone."

Cam nodded, understanding all too well how life could change in the blink of an eye. Her father had been killed in a car bombing, and in the space of time it had taken for her to run back to the house for her book bag and return to the sidewalk to find his car engulfed in flames, her world had been altered forever. Blair had never talked to her about this before, and Cam chose her words carefully. "How fast?"

"Less than a year. The tumor was aggressive, and despite everything she did...and she did everything right...it didn't make any difference." Blair turned her head to look out the window, seeing nothing as she waited for the brimming tears to subside. "Everyone did everything they could have or should have. It just didn't help. They even did a bone marrow transplant, which was experimental back then for breast cancer. Some women do go into remission after that, but not as many as with leukemia or the other blood malignancies. She didn't."

Cam made a small noise of comfort. Blair was lost in memory, and Cam just let her talk.

"The last few months she was more often in the hospital than out. My father was a newly seated governor and tremendously busy. Still, he was there as much as he could be." She glanced back at Cam. "But a lot of the time I was there by myself."

Wanting nothing more in the world than to take Blair into her arms and make every hurt she had ever suffered disappear, Cam railed inwardly at her impotence. She yearned to reach into the past and rewrite history, so that the child Blair had been would never have felt frightened or lonely or in pain. The inability to do that was one of the most frustrating things Cam had ever experienced. Never before bad she realized just how terribly helpless love could make one feel. Throat tight, she asked gently, "Was it hard?"

Blair smiled wistfully. "Sometimes, But it was wonderful, too. We talked so much. Probably more than we ever would have if things had turned out differently." She laughed quietly, more freely this time. "Girls do tend to spend decades at odds with their mothers."

"I'm sure Marcea would agree," Cam remarked, referring to her own mother.

Blair closed the distance between them and put her arms around Cam's waist. "Marcea adores you, and you know it." She rested her head lightly on her lover's shoulder. "I'll be fine."

Cam kissed her temple and stroked her back. "Of course you will."

"You'll be nearby, won't you?"

"Every single minute."

CHAPTER EIGHT

1505 16Aug01

S lowly, the thin man raised his head and squinted infinitesimally against the bright August sun. The boulevard below had suddenly come alive with activity. Within the span of five minutes, six teleyision news vans and at least as many cars, most bearing the logos of news agencies, crowded into the street directly in front of the Institut Gustave-Roussy. For a relatively low-profile humanitarian visit of little international import, this degree of coverage seemed unusual. He had anticipated and considered media presence in planning his position, the deployment of the ambulance, and the exit strategies, but the current situation could prove to be problematic. Even as he observed the beehive of commotion below, two more vans, the printing on the side panels indicating German and Italian networks, jockeyed for position with the others. The boulevard was rapidly becoming congested. Vehicles were angled into no-parking zones and fire lanes, some were left double- or triple-parked on the shoulder, and swelling crowds of reporters, photographers, and television crews jostled in an ever-increasing shifting mass on the sidewalks.

If the motorcade arrived as planned, he could still make his shot. There would be a momentary hiatus when the target would be exposed just before the swarm of media hounds and paparazzi descended, and that was all the time he required.

Extraction and evacuation through the maze of vehicles, however, might not be so straightforward. His finger lightly depressed the trigger, just short of the pressure required for discharge. What happened after he fired was not his concern.

"All set?" Cam had shed her jacket and weapon harness and sat on the broad plush sofa, her arm loosely draped around Blair's shoulders. Blair had kicked off her shoes and sat curled against Cam's side, her feet drawn up onto the sofa. For the last twenty minutes, she'd been leafing through a French magazine, but Cam had the sense she wasn't really reading anything.

"Mmm, I guess." Blair tossed the magazine onto the coffee table and rested her left hand on Cam's thigh. "What do you want me to say if they ask me about you? About...us."

"What would you say if I weren't your security chief?"

"I'd tell them to stuff it"

Cam smiled and stroked Blair's arm. "Let's pretend that's not an option."

"The last thing I would do is give the press an entree to my lover and expose her to the kind of scrutiny I've been subjected to all these years."

"Might I suggest 'no comment' then?"

"Yes." Blair's tone held a trace of scorn. "Putting it diplomatically, as ever, Commander."

"Works for me." Cam lifted a shoulder. "No need for you to fight unnecessary battles."

Blair shifted so that she could see Cam's face. "They already know it's you because we told them."

"True. We acknowledged that the newspaper photograph was of us and, in the process, dispelled some unseemly rumors about you. That was worth the exposure."

"Maybe. And maybe it wasn't so smart," Blair said quietly. "Mitchell practically drooled when he found out you were my lover. The press-—hell, the public—loves that kind of story. It could still come back on you professionally."

"It won't." And if it does, I'll deal with it She studied the storm brewing in her lover's eyes and couldn't decide if it was anger at the invasion of privacy or worry over her. "Hell, your father even supports me staying on as your security chief."

"Yes—that means a lot." Blair smiled, thinking just how much that meant now. "He asked about you today."

Cam's eyes darkened, and she straightened automatically.

"Oh? Does he have any concerns? I can report—"

Blair laughed. "Relax, lover. He wanted to know if you were okay about the press thing."

"What about the press?" Cam's confusion was clear.

"Oh God—you really don't think about yourself in the equation." She brushed her fingers over Cam's cheek. "He wanted to know if we were okay—if the media attention was bothering you."

"What? Does he think I'd walk away because of it? Walk out on you?" Cam's voice held an edge, and a muscle bunched along her jaw. "Maybe he and I should have a talk."

"Sweetheart?" Blair forced back another laugh even as her heart swelled with wonder and delight. "You can't take him on— he's the president."

"He's your father, too, and if he doesn't understand how much I love you, then he needs to."

"You mean it, don't you?" Blair's throat grew tight with the swift rush of emotion. "Oh, Cam. I can't quite get used to it, but I love how you love me."

Cam framed Blair's face gently with both hands. "I want you to feel it every day, everywhere, forever."

Blair turned her face and kissed Cam's palm. "I've never felt so special."

"Good," Cam whispered. "Now forget about the press. You're not required to provide any further information."

"They'll be hungry for more."

"They're always hungry." Cam leaned forward and kissed Blair, savoring the softness of her lips and the heat of her mouth. "Let them starve."

When they separated, Blair's voice was steady and sure. "It's time to go, Commander." She rose and held out a hand. "I have some ribbons to cut and a speech to make. After that, I'm hoping that my lover will take me out to dinner somewhere quiet and private."

The corner of Cam's mouth lifted as she took Blair's hand. "I'll be sure that she gets the message, Ms. Powell."

"See that you do."

Before they reached the elevators, Cam's mic vibrated. She lifted her wrist. "Roberts."

Advance team reporting. We've got unusually high media traffic on the main approach route, Commander.

"Numbers?"

Two dozen vehicles. Head count's a hundred and rising.

Cam's expression hardened. Crowd control and close-range security outside the hospital were now the critical issues. She could draft the hospital security force as backup, but they weren't trained for this kind of maneuver and would likely prove to be more hindrance than help. The last thing she needed was an overeager hospital guard manhandling a reporter. She wanted to prevent an incident, not precipitate one.

The official French security personnel were already posted as perimeter protection, and she would not leave her borders exposed by pulling them off that detail. The elevator doors opened, and she and Blair stepped on.

"Roger that." She keyed her mic to a different frequency. "Mac."

Go ahead, Commander.

"Your vehicle will take the lead. Egret's will follow."

Roger that.

"Trouble?" Blair asked quietly.

"Nothing to worry about," Cam replied smoothly.

"Don't try that with me, Cameron."

Cam sighed. As they exited into the main lobby, Stark and Felicia moved in on either side, falling into step as Blair walked toward the front doors. "The media are out in force. We may need to adjust."

"Just get me through them."

"Absolutely."

Mac, Reynolds, and Fielding waited under the canopy on the sidewalk. As soon as Blair appeared, they turned and moved ahead of her so that she was ringed by agents.

Blair glanced at Cam. "What's with the close-range coverage?" She spoke quietly, so that Felicia and Stark did not hear.

"I forget," Cam murmured as the men fanned out by the side of the second Peugeot and she reached for the rear door handle, "that you know so much about what we do."

"You're stalling," Blair observed as Cam held the door and she slid with practiced ease into the vehicle.

Cam settled next to her while Stark got behind the wheel and Felicia took the front passenger seat. A pane of Plexiglas with a built-in speaker separated the passenger compartments. "The news release this morning introduces an unknown factor into our usual security protocol. Being out of the country amplifies that. I'm being cautious."

"You're always cautious." Blair smiled fondly and rested her hand once again on Cam's thigh. "I've come to expect that. One thing I've always felt with you is safe."

"Thank you." Briefly, Cam covered Blair's hand with her own and squeezed. "Of all the things I hope you feel because of me, that's one of the most important."

"I know., It isn't something I was looking for, and certainly not something I expected to find with another person."

"Then I'm truly honored." Cam gave an apologetic shrug. "I need to ignore you for a bit while I work."

Blair settled back, her face composed and her eyes distant. "I know. You go ahead. I'll see you later."

1549 16Aug01

The view through the high-powered scope was a few inches of sidewalk directly in front of the main entrance to the Institut. At the moment nothing showed between the crosshairs other than concrete. But in eleven minutes, a vehicle would slide to the curb and the first agent would step out. In the span of ten seconds, she would look first straight ahead and then left and right before finally swiveling to look back over the top of the vehicle to the buildings across the street. Unlike his predecessor, he would not allow a glint of sunlight on steel or twitch of nerves to give his position away. He would see her, but she would not see him. At that point, he would have a clear shot directly between her eyes.

By eleven seconds after arrival, the front doors would open, and the agent in the passenger seat would step to the end of the open rear door while the driver circled the vehicle to flank the lead agent.

At fifteen seconds, the primary target would emerge. Within twenty seconds, the tightly positioned group would begin moving, making his shot more difficult. That five-second span between her exit from the vehicle and her first step was his window of opportunity. More than enough time.

Cam opened a channel to the advance team. "Advance team— report."

It's a mess, Commander. You'll need to slow to under 10 kph just to get down the street to the entrance.

"What's the situation streetside?"

We've cordoned off the sidewalk, but it's a long approach. Time to full cover four minutes.

The original estimate had been two.

"Assessment?" She didn't like the fact that the motorcade would need to slow to a crawl for the length of the boulevard in front of the Institut. They'd make very good targets at that speed. She especially did not like that it would take twice as long as expected to get Egret into the building. Even with no specific intelligence indicating an elevated threat level, anything that forced her into a defensive position raised her suspicions. Ten seconds passed with no response. "Rogers—are we clear on current course or not?"

His hesitation only added to Cam's reservations. Phil Rogers had done advance work for the team before, and she found him thorough and astute. His eye-level read of the situation was critical, but ultimately only her assessment mattered.

I would categorize the situation as suboptimal but secure, Commander.

"Very well, Agent Rogers. Stand by."

Cam leaned forward and activated the global positioning system on the computer built into the partition between the front and rear seats. She worked the keyboard rapidly, zooming in on the Paris street map until she brought up the six square blocks surrounding their destination. When she entered a series of coordinates, three alternate routes outlined in red, yellow, and green appeared on the grid.

"If we sneak around the reporters," Blair said quietly, "it will look as if I'm afraid to confront the issue."

"You've already confronted the issue," Cam pointed out, her eyes still on the screen.

"I want to go in the front door as planned. I won't have it seem that I'm ashamed."

Cam opened another channel. "Mac, divert to Alt Route Yellow."

Roger that.

After repeating the same instructions to Stark, she contacted the advance team again. "ETA nine minutes—-switching to ARY. We'll use the emergency entrance on the south side."

Roger that.

"Cam—"

"I can't be concerned with appearances." Cam met Blair's irritated gaze unwaveringly. "I'm sorry."

"My father was right not to remove you from this post," Blair observed flatly. "Your involvement with me doesn't affect the way you do the job. I should've remembered that."

Cam wasn't certain if that was a criticism or not, but she didn't have time to consider it.

ETA five minutes.

The faint vibration at his hip produced no physical response. His heart rate did not accelerate, his blood pressure did not elevate, his finger did not move even a fraction of a millimeter on the trigger. Once again, without moving his face from its resting place against the rifle stock, he lifted the pager to eye level.

1556 16Aug01

Abort sequence two

He inched his head upward and watched emotionlessly as the armored ambulance rolled slowly down the lane toward the main street and wended through the haphazardly parked news vans until it disappeared from sight around the corner. Then he rested back on his heels and dispassionately disassembled his weapon. With careful precision, he repacked the main assembly into the bottom of his toolbox and stowed the various smaller mechanisms in his pockets in exactly the same order in which he had withdrawn them almost four hours earlier. Task completed, he turned his back to the wall and sat down on the roof, his legs stretched out in front of him.

He would wait three hours before making his way down the stairwell and out of the building. Then he would return to his two-room apartment, resume his unassuming life, and await further instructions. His orders might come that night or the next day or the next week. He could only hope that he would be given another critical role in the complex plan to send notice to the world that even the mightiest of superpowers was vulnerable to those with a clear and certain calling, and that the righteous would ultimately prevail. The sweat running into his eyes brought tears swimming to their surface, but he did not blink.

God Bless America.

CHAPTER NINE

" O ne in every eight women will develop breast cancer." Blair stood at the front of a large, well-appointed auditorium. It was designed to accommodate several hundred people in individual plush fabric chairs arranged in traditional tiered, semicircular rows, and it was full. Her audience consisted primarily of potential benefactors, with a smattering of hospital personnel. After touring the research and clinical wings, she'd spent the last twenty-five minutes discussing the disease that had killed her mother. "One woman dies of breast cancer every twelve minutes."

Cam stood eight feet away, slightly behind and to Blair's right. Stark occupied a similar post on the opposite side of the raised stage, near the entrance from the rear hallway. Mac and Felicia were at the back of the lecture hall flanking the main entrance. Two more agents stood guard in the lobby and others were posted outside at the hospital entrance and with the motorcade.

"We can do better with those numbers," Blair said with certainty, speaking without notes as she leaned toward the audience, her forearms stretched out on either side of the streamlined lectern, her fingers curled loosely over the forward edge. "With better diagnostic tools and more tumor-specific treatments, fewer women will die and more will live longer and more productively."

She stepped out from behind the podium and strode confidently to the center of the stage. Seeing this, Cam subtly shifted her position, concerned about Blair's exposure in the densely crowded room. Although everyone had been prescreened and IDs had been scrupulously checked, there had been no reasonable way to scan for weapons. That level of security, requiring portable metal detectors and handheld wands and a hell of a lot more people than she had at her disposal, was usually only feasible for the president and vice president. Blair was always vulnerable when in public, and that was the simple reality that Cam lived with and was forced to deal with. The only true protection for the first daughter was ensuring that those who guarded her were able to physically shield her in the event of an attack. That demanded that her security agents be close enough to position themselves between her and danger.

"The researchers here at the Institut Gustave-Roussy and those at similar institutions worldwide need our support—our financial support." Blair's voice was steady and strong as her eyes swept the room, pausing briefly on different individuals, making fleeting but powerful contact. "My mother was thirty-two years old when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. She was thirty-three when she died. It's heartbreaking that one so young should die, but death at any age from a disease that we might prevent is the true tragedy. Please, let's work together to eliminate breast cancer from the list of killers. Thank you."

Amidst applause and murmurs of assent, the president of the Institut approached with his hand extended and a deep smile. Blair turned to him with a gracious smile of her own. Her head throbbed and her throat was dry, but she needed to keep up the public facade just a few minutes longer.

"Thank you, Ms. Powell," he said as he shook her hand warmly. "We are honored by your presence here today and appreciate your support on behalf of our endeavors."

Cam listened with half a mind as the final speeches wound down. The greater part of her attention, however, was occupied with the details of her exit strategy, Blair had been extremely unhappy with the earlier diversion to the side entrance of the hospital. Cam knew her lover well enough to know that she would not consent to leave that way.

As the audience began to disperse and a crowd of attendees surged toward the stage for a private word with Blair, Cam moved closer still until she was only a few feet away. Stark mirrored her movements. Only someone watching very closely would have appreciated their actions. Blair spoke with members of the staff and potential donors for an additional twenty minutes, her smile never wavering, her words warm and engaging.

Cam had seen her at many public functions and knew her to be supremely adept at the social and political nuances required when interacting with everyone from heads of state to inner-city residents. Despite Blair's reluctance to engage in the politics of the White House, when called upon to represent her father's administration she was not only good at it, but she excelled. Cam also knew that these functions took a toll on Blair, particularly when they involved talking about something as personal and difficult as her mother's illness and death.

At 1730, Cam leaned near and murmured, "It's time, Ms. Powell."

Without turning in Cam's direction, Blair nodded and cordially greeted another smiling individual. Five minutes later, she thanked the president of the Institut and started up the aisle toward the exit.

"It would be less complicated if we used the side exit," Cam advised as they walked.

Eyes straight ahead, Blair's smile never wavered. "I'm sure. But I'm going out the front door."

Cam sighed. In the time since their arrival on-site, she'd had time to adjust for the greater-than-anticipated crowds in front of the hospital and reposition the team. In all likelihood, some of the eager reporters would have left for other assignments in the interim, diminishing the problem further. Although she wasn't happy about Blair's unanticipated exposure under less than ideal circumstances, she allowed that the margin of safety had been augmented to the point that objecting would only anger Blair for little gain.

"As you wish."

"Thank you, Commander."

They stepped into the lobby and four more Secret Service agents converged on them. Seemingly oblivious to the close proximity of the bodies keeping time with her, Blair moved steadily toward the large double doors and the sunlit sidewalk beyond. Cam advised the outside team of their approach with a few terse orders issued into her wrist mic. Then they were outside and the questions began.

"Is it true you're sleeping with several of the women on your detail?" a sharp female voice called out immediately.

"How do you feel about having your lover take a bullet for you?"

Blair stiffened perceptibly but her step did not falter, nor did her expression change.

"How do you think your announcement will affect your upcoming gallery exhibit in New York?"

"Is this just a publicity stunt to promote your artwork?"

When Blair slowed, Cam slid a hand behind her right elbow. "Please keep walking."

"What do you think this will do to your father's reelection possibilities?"

"Does the White House approve of your affair?"

"Ms. Powell," a burly redhead in a short-sleeved white shirt and creased trousers called, leaning far over the rope barricade with a microphone extended. "Why didn't your father run on a gay rights platform, considering that you're a lesbian? Was he hoping to keep that a secret?"

"My father demands equal rights for everyone," Blair answered sharply as she glanced in his direction.

Stark opened the rear door of the Peugeot when Blair was five feet away.

"I want to make a statement," Blair said urgently as she attempted to withdraw her arm from Cam's grip.

"I'm sorry," Cam replied, continuing to move forward while firmly directing Blair toward the interior of the vehicle. "Not here."

And then Blair was inside and Cam was sliding in next to her, blocking her view of the crowd outside. Still, the sound of cameras clicking and shouted questions rang in her ears even after they pulled away from the curb.

With a sigh, Blair closed her eyes. "Well, that was fun."

Cam didn't answer. She checked in with the lead vehicle and follow car to ascertain that the exit route was clear. She didn't intend to have a high-speed chase through the streets of Paris with a pack of overeager paparazzi hoping for another shot at Blair. When she was satisfied that everything was in order, she turned to her lover. "Are you okay?"

"I suppose so," Blair's tone was weary, but when she glanced at Cam, she smiled. "It was about what I expected. I'm just a little tired."

Cam reached across the space between them and took Blair's hand, squeezing gently. "I love to hear you speak. I know it's hard for you, but I can tell that you reached the audience. You accomplished something important this afternoon, Blair."

Surprised and touched, Blair whispered huskily, "Thank you. Thank you for reminding me of what matters."

"I'm sorry about the abrupt change in plans earlier—"

"Are you?" Blair asked, more curious than critical.

"Well—yes and no." Cam shrugged. "I'm sorry to have upset you, but I would do the same thing again under similar circumstances."

"Of course you would." Blair's mouth lifted into a half-smile as she shook her head in fond resignation. "I don't know why I'm surprised every time you behave exactly as I should expect you to. I've never met a woman whom I have so consistently failed to influence."

Cam's brows rose in shocked amazement. "Then you haven't been paying attention, Ms. Powell. Because you've changed my life."

"You shouldn't say things like that under the circumstances. It makes me want to kiss you...among other things."

"See what I mean?" Cam grinned. "My judgment is clearly impaired."

"Hardly that,"Blair murmured, thinking about how effortlessly Cam slipped from her role of lover into that of security chief. That transition both frustrated her and made her feel incredibly loved. Both emotions gave her pause. "That was just the opening bell with the reporters, you know."

"I know," Cam acknowledged grimly. And I hate what that does to you.

"It would probably be better if I gave some kind of press conference and just got the questions out of the way."

Cam shook her head. "I'm not so certain about that. It would simply put you at their mercy and there's no guarantee that the questions would stop. You're the news of the hour and will be until something else comes along with a higher popularity rating. Until then, I think you should continue with business as usual and try not to engage the subject"

Blair rubbed her temples and sighed. "I'll have to think about it. God help me, I suppose I'll have to talk to Lucinda as well."

"All right. If that's what you feel you must do." Cam moved closer on the seat and slid her arm around Blair's waist, "But not tonight, okay? Let it go for tonight."