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Oath of Honor Page 3


  time or two…hundred.”

  Dana grinned. “Same.”

  “Wes,” Emory said, “I didn’t expect to see you here. I thought you

  had interviews and all that.”

  “Circumstances are a little pressured,” Wes said obliquely. Emory

  was her best friend, but her new job demanded discretion of the highest

  order. “Things are moving a bit faster than normal.”

  Emory’s expression grew somber. “I was so sorry to hear about

  Leonard. What a tragedy.”

  “It was.” Wes hadn’t known Leonard O’Shaughnessy personally,

  but even though she dealt with death on a daily basis, sometimes the

  seeming unfairness of life defied rationalization. A sudden twist of fate

  could send so many lives, including her own, careening down paths

  never anticipated. She shook off the cloud of sadness. “My orders were

  to report promptly, so—”

  Emory laughed. “Do they have any idea who they appointed? Dr.

  Punctuality herself.”

  “Probably not,” Wes said, hoping someone somewhere had

  actually looked at her file, or this might be a very short posting.

  “Well, it’s wonderful to see you, and now that you’ll be—” Emory

  broke off as a hushed “Oh!” escaped the crowd.

  Wes followed her gaze. At the far end of the room, the wedding

  party descended the stairs. Oddly, no cameras flashed.

  She’d been to a lot of weddings, including some extraordinarily

  elaborate ones. She would’ve expected the wedding of the daughter

  of the president of the United States to be a State affair. But then she

  thought about Blair Powell—despite her well-known public persona,

  there was very little about her private life in the public domain. Blair

  rarely gave interviews and avoided media glitz and paparazzi. Her

  romantic relationship with Cameron Roberts had created quite a bit of

  controversy in the national media news, but Blair had had very little to

  say other than to acknowledge the truth of the rumors. She might be

  • 24 •

  Oath Of hOnOr

  the public face of the presidential family, but her personal life was a

  mystery.

  The gathering today was small, considering the importance of the

  event, and Wes bet everyone there, with the exception of security, was

  a personal friend of the first family or Cameron Roberts’s family. There

  were few foreign dignitaries, no Hollywood stars, no political pundits.

  Only ordinary people gathered to celebrate the special day of someone

  they loved.

  For a moment, Wes felt like an intruder. She was used to

  boundaries—clear, solid ones. She was about to witness an extremely

  personal moment in the lives of strangers, without even the excuse of

  professional involvement to excuse her presence. Then she recognized

  a face at the far side of the room from the briefing documents she’d

  been given earlier. Dr. Peter Chang, the acting head of the White House

  Medical Unit. A bulky black leather bag sat by his right leg—a bag

  that carried a defibrillator, emergency resuscitation equipment, surgical

  instruments, and drugs. This gathering might appear to be an ordinary

  wedding, but it wasn’t. Nothing about any event with the president in

  attendance was ordinary.

  Chang was present along with a flight nurse and a physician’s

  assistant to ensure the safety and welfare of the president of the United

  States—the duty Wes would be assuming within a matter of days. As

  the chief of the White House Medical Unit—her new posting—her

  charge was to ensure the health and welfare of every employee, visitor,

  and dignitary within the White House and grounds. But above all, her

  number one responsibility was to the president of the United States. In

  a crisis situation, he was her only patient, earning her the title of First

  Doctor of the United States. She’d have to get used to witnessing private

  moments as well as world-changing ones, since she would never be far

  from his side again. Where he went, she went.

  Right now, President Andrew Powell looked like every other

  proud father she’d ever witnessed. He wore a dark blue suit, snowy

  white shirt, and red tie. His face still held a hint of summer tan, and his

  thick blond hair made him appear younger than his fifty years. Blair,

  her arm linked with her father’s as they descended the staircase, had

  the same midnight blue eyes, although her hair was a deeper gold.

  Her full-length cream-colored dress, with its square-cut bodice and

  • 25 •

  RADCLY fFE

  figure-hugging design, accentuated her svelte, athletic body. Her arms

  were sleek and muscular, her carriage confident and graceful. She was

  beautiful. Cameron Roberts was just behind her, holding the hand of

  a beautiful woman who looked very much like her. Marcea Casells,

  Roberts’s mother. Roberts—tall, thick black hair brushed back from her

  face, intense charcoal eyes—was dressed formally in a gray morning

  coat, silver-gray pleated tuxedo shirt, and dark trousers with a satin

  stripe down the side. Her gaze followed Blair as if no one else was in

  the room.

  At the bottom of the staircase, Blair and her father turned toward

  an area ringed with arrangements of wildflowers and white roses in

  front of the glass doors opening out onto the veranda. An army chaplain

  awaited them. The president moved a few steps away from his daughter,

  allowing Cameron Roberts to take her place by Blair’s side. The guests

  filled the seats set up in one half of the room.

  Wes made her way around the perimeter toward Peter Chang. She

  wasn’t officially the head of the medical unit yet. Until her final security

  clearance, she was in limbo. She hadn’t felt quite so displaced since the

  day her mother met her at the bus stop after school one late June day

  when she was eight and said they were moving in with her grandmother.

  They couldn’t afford to live in the house she’d grown up in any longer.

  Wes pushed the uneasy feeling aside. She wasn’t eight anymore, and

  she had learned since then that destiny was hers to determine.

  Chang nodded to her when she stepped up beside him. He’d

  obviously been briefed too, but there was no time for conversation. The

  chaplain’s deep voice filled the room.

  Dearly beloved…

  The president’s daughter and Cameron Roberts faced each other,

  hands lightly clasped, eyes locked.

  I, Blair Allison Powell, take you, Cameron Reed Roberts, to be my

  friend, my lover, the mother of my children, and my wife. I will be yours

  in times of plenty and in times of want, in times of sickness and in times

  of health, in times of joy and in times of sorrow, in times of failure and

  in times of triumph. I promise to cherish and respect you, to care for

  and protect you, to comfort and encourage you, and to stay with you,

  for all eternity.

  A willowy blonde stepped to Blair’s side, and Blair lifted a

  • 26 •

  Oath Of hOnOr

  gleaming gold band from her palm. She lifted Cam’s left hand and slid

  the ring securely on her third finger. Wi
th this ring, I thee wed.

  Cameron Roberts’s gaze never wavered from Blair’s face, her

  voice ringing strong and clear. I, Cameron Reed Roberts, take you, Blair

  Allison Powell, to be my friend, my lover, the mother of my children,

  and my wife. I will be yours in times of plenty and in times of want, in

  times of sickness and in times of health, in times of joy and in times of

  sorrow, in times of failure and in times of triumph. I promise to cherish

  and respect you, to care for and protect you, to comfort and encourage

  you, and to stay with you, for all eternity.

  Roberts accepted the matching ring from a young dark-haired

  woman who leaned on a plain wood cane, and slipped it onto Blair’s

  finger. With this ring, I thee wed.

  An anticipatory breath shuddered through the crowd. Six

  uniformed officers, the Guard of Honor, stepped in sync to form a path

  from the proceedings area, facing one another in a line, white-gloved

  hands on shining saber hilts.

  By the power vested in me by the United States Army, the President

  of the United States, and the Commonwealth of…

  The three male and three female officers drew their swords with

  a slick of steel, their blades raised and touching to form the Arch of

  Sabers.

  …I pronounce you wed.

  The couple kissed, the crowd clapped, and Wes turned to Peter

  Chang.

  “I guess you know who I am.”

  Chang held out his hand. “Welcome to the hot zone, Captain.”

  • 27 •

  RADCLY fFE

  chapter three

  Hot zone. The term wasn’t new to Wes, but somehow she

  didn’t think Dr. Peter Chang was using it in the usual medical

  sense, meaning an area of contamination—typically bacterial or viral

  or chemical. In combat, the term referred to the region under fire. When

  teaching battlefield evacuation, Wes stressed that the hot zone was the

  area where the injured were still in the line of fire, and those charged to

  secure their safety would be too. Working in the hot zone was a way of

  life for a battlefield surgeon, and though her career path had been one

  of teaching, she’d done her tour at the front.

  She hadn’t had much time to think about the tactical aspects of her

  new job, and she wasn’t sure who she should talk to about the specifics.

  One thing any team leader learned quickly was to keep their inexperience

  to themselves. She wasn’t too proud to ask for help when she needed to

  know something, but she didn’t plan to walk into her first day on the job

  acting like a rookie, either. No one needed to explain the critical nature

  of her assignment; she had only to look around the room. The president

  of the United States, his chief of staff, his military liaison, his daughter,

  her newly wedded partner, several ranking members of the cabinet, at

  least one member of the Joint Chiefs, the national security advisor, and

  the president’s security chief were all gathered in one room. A strike

  against this location would effectively paralyze the government of the

  most powerful nation in the world. It wasn’t her job to worry about the

  security of the nation, only the health, welfare, and safety of its leader.

  Right now, that leader was dancing with his daughter, as any

  father of the bride would. Ushers and valets in crisp white jackets and

  black tuxedo pants had magically secreted the chairs somewhere out

  • 28 •

  Oath Of hOnOr

  of sight. A four-piece band had set up adjacent to where the vows had

  been exchanged and was playing soft jazz. Waiters passed through the

  crowd with flutes of champagne on silver trays. The atmosphere was

  boisterous and relaxed. Wes didn’t feel relaxed.

  She might not have officially begun her duty, but she was all but

  signed-on-the-dotted-line, making every individual in this room her

  responsibility whether she carried the black field-trauma bag today or

  not. She wasn’t here to socialize. She wasn’t exactly sure why she was

  here, but as long as she was, she intended to work if necessary.

  “What’s the evacuation route to the nearest medical facility?” she

  asked Peter.

  “There’s a EC145 Eurocopter standing by. The closest level one

  trauma center is about a twenty-minute ride.”

  “Who flies it?”

  “One of the marine pilots out of Andrews. He and our flight nurse

  are in the building.”

  “And you’re in charge today?”

  “Yes. We draw up the duty roster monthly, depending upon

  POTUS’s itinerary and events scheduled at the House.” Peter’s

  expression grew somber. “Len was supposed to have this detail.”

  She wondered if Chang and the previous medical chief had been

  close friends, although their personal relationship didn’t really matter.

  The death of a colleague, especially someone you worked with every

  day, was painful, and no words of sympathy were ever adequate. “I was

  sorry to hear of his death.”

  Peter nodded, watching the crowd. “Yeah. We all were.”

  “I’ve seen the team roster.” Wes had been provided dossiers on

  all the members of the team—three docs, three flight nurses, three

  PAs. Not a huge group considering they covered the clinic for White

  House staffers, visitors, and guests, oversaw routine and urgent care

  for the president’s and vice president’s families, and accompanied the

  president on all scheduled and OTR trips. “That makes for some pretty

  intense scheduling.”

  “It can get hectic.”

  “We can pull personnel from Bethesda if we need to?”

  Peter shifted slightly and met her gaze. “You can do pretty much

  anything you want to do, Captain. It’s your show.”

  She searched his eyes, looking for resentment or resistance or

  • 29 •

  RADCLY fFE

  challenge. He was in his late thirties, about her height, clean-shaven

  with a wiry build, and dressed in a navy suit, a plain pale blue shirt, and

  a thin black tie. His straight, glossy dark hair was precisely parted on

  the right side, and a thick shock fell over his forehead. His eyes were

  chocolate brown, steady and calm. Understated, composed, with a hint

  of reserve—he didn’t know her, and she was now his boss. She’d need

  his cooperation, if not assistance, to make the transition a smooth one

  and to ensure the team continued to function at top efficiency. Too much

  was at stake for anything less. Taking a chance that professionalism

  would trump personal issues, she exposed her underbelly. “Who do I

  answer to, unofficially?”

  The guy whose job she’d probably taken smiled. “Pretty much no

  one, except the president’s chief of staff. Lucinda Washburn runs his

  schedule, which means she runs pretty much everything. If you need

  something that affects the president, ask her. Next in line is the head of

  his personal protection detail, Tom Turner.” Peter scanned the room.

  “He’s around here somewhere—tall, thin African American, about

  forty. He’ll provide our weekly itinerary and general assignments,

  updated every morning at b
riefing.”

  At the mention of the Secret Service detail, Wes thought of Agent

  Daniels. She’d struck Wes as being a little humorless and a short step

  away from unfriendly—a lot like some of the military police she

  knew. Maybe that was just an occupational trait in closed groups with

  little regard for outsiders. “Where exactly do we fall in the chain of

  command?”

  Peter waggled his hand. “We have to liaise with the Secret Service

  pretty intimately, because when he moves, they move, and we go with

  them.”“Separate but equal?”

  He shrugged. “That’s not exactly how they see it but, technically,

  yes. If a situation impacts his physical security, they carry the ball. If it

  has to do with his medical safety, we do.”

  “And if we disagree?”

  He smiled for the barest second. “Depends on who has the biggest

  bark.”“Or bite?”

  “That too.”

  • 30 •

  Oath Of hOnOr

  Wes sighed inwardly. She hated politics. What the hell had she

  been thinking?

  v

  Evyn made her way along the veranda to the rear of the house,

  where they’d set up their command post. After four hours outside in

  the wind and cold, she was ready for a cup of coffee or ten. She had

  no idea how much longer they’d be stuck out here in the ass-end of

  nowhere, but she was pretty sure she’d be outside again before they

  left. Departure time was fluid, depending on how long the postnuptial

  celebrations went on. It didn’t matter much to her. Other than being

  outside in the damn cold, she didn’t care how long she worked. The

  more she worked, the more overtime she made and the less free time

  she had to figure out how to fill until her next shift. There was only so

  much after-work socializing she could do with the other members of

  the detail, only so many movies she could watch while rattling around

  her apartment in Alexandria, and only so much clubbing she could take

  in search of a few hours’ company.

  There had been less and less of the last diversion lately. Sometimes

  the effort just didn’t seem worth the payoff. She enjoyed the physical

  anticipation as she got dressed to go out and drove to one DC club or

  another. The tingle in her belly while she spent a few hours nursing a

  drink and scanning the room for possibilities kept her mind occupied

  too. Anything that got her adrenaline surging felt good, and it was