Love And Honor Page 6

  Cam’s heart started triple-timing as she took in the sleek black dress with its nearly imperceptible straps encircling each sculpted shoulder and the subtle cut that outlined her lithe form. A hint of diamond glinted in each ear and a delicate gold chain rested at the base of her neck. Her artist’s hands were ringless, graceful and strong. Cam cleared her throat, realizing it had suddenly gotten dry.

  “Good evening, Ms. Powell.”

  Blair smiled, aware that they were truly alone for the first time in four days. “Commander.”

  “The car’s just outside.”

  “Are you to be my escort this evening?” Blair walked slowly toward her, her blue eyes dancing as they searched Cam’s face.

  The corner of Cam’s mouth lifted in a grin. “Unless you have someone else than mind…in which case there could be a problem.”

  “No, no problem at all.” Blair ran a single figure down the pearl studs on the pleated shirt that Cam wore beneath a fitted black tuxedo jacket. “How did you manage to get this into your emergency travel bag?”

  “I didn’t. I’m afraid my planning was really poor this week—I had to have an emergency fitting this afternoon.” Cam shrugged. “Off the rack, but the best I could do.”

  “Believe me,” Blair’s murmured as her fingers found Cam’s hand and she ran her thumb in small circles over the back of it. “Armani in any condition suits you.”

  Cam’s tone was low and intimate. “You look beautiful.”

  “So do you.”

  “And you have an engagement.” Cam straightened her shoulders and gestured to the door. “Shall we go?”

  “Yes, of course.” Blair’s features transformed into the composed coolly, elegant lines that the world was accustomed to associating with the image of the President’s daughter. As they stepped outside, she asked, “Are you coming inside the gallery with me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I don’t want you to waste that suit waiting in the car.”

  “Is that the only reason?”

  “What else?”

  Cam laughed as she led the way down the sidewalk to the waiting vehicle and the two of them settled into the back where the seats had been rearranged to face one another. As Fielding pulled away, the First Daughter and her security chief held each other’s eyes, bridging the distance between them with the intensity of a caress.

  Chapter Ten

  They were two blocks from the corner of Sutter and Mason when Cam’s cell phone rang. She shifted on the seat and pulled it from her belt.

  “Roberts.” A crease developed between her brows as she frowned out the window, eyes scanning the street ahead. “How many? All right. Fine. Have Stark meet us curbside.”

  She terminated the call and gave Blair an apologetic smile. “That was Mac. There are reporters and photographers in front of the gallery. More than we anticipated. I don’t know if it has anything to do with what happened in New York or not, but it’s the only reasonable way into the gallery. I’m sorry its going to be hectic.”

  “That’s all right.” Blair’s voice was remote and her expression unreadable. Usually, her public comings and goings were documented as a matter of course by the local news media, and often reporters then put out a story on the wire to be carried in the public interest section of the national newspapers. She was used to it.

  As the Suburban slowed to a stop, Cam opened the door and, one leg extended on the sidewalk, partially blocked the interior of the vehicle as she rapidly scanned the dozen or so people gathered on the sidewalk in front of the gallery. Stark appeared out of the crowd and stepped up opposite her so that they flanked the open door as Blair emerged. In another second, Felicia Davis came around the front of the vehicle and moved behind the three of them as they started up the sidewalk.

  A wiry, shaggy-haired man in rumpled slacks and an open collared shirt stepped in front of them and said, “Ms. Powell, do you know the identity of the man who tried to kill you in New York?”

  He had a laminated card hanging around his neck on a lanyard, but the image and identifying logo was turned toward his chest. He could have been a reporter; he could have been a fan; he could have been an assassin.

  “Step back, please,” Cam said firmly, her left arm out palm first at chest level. She eased her right hand under her jacket to the gun she now carried in a shoulder holster snugged to her left side.

  “Keep moving,” she said quietly to Blair and Stark.

  They were two feet away from him and she edged slightly to her left until she was in front of Blair, obscuring her from the mans view. “Please step back.”

  He began walking backwards up the walk toward the gallery, maintaining the distance between them as he asked again, “Is it true that you once had a sexual relationship with him?”

  Cameras clicked, other people shouted questions as the crowd followed them, but Blair looked neither right nor left. The door to the gallery was ten feet away.

  Cam raised her left wrist with the radio band attached, her right now closed on the grip of her automatic. “Mac, Hernandez, if he moves toward her, take him down. Prepare to extricate.”

  Stark now took two steps forward, getting slightly ahead of Blair and Cam while Davis remained in the rear, and reached for the door. “Step away,” she said.

  The stranger had no choice but to move aside as Stark gripped the doorknob and pulled. Still, he was half in front of the entrance and easily within touching distance of Blair.

  “Ms. Powell—” he said one last time.

  Cam shouldered his chest hard with her right elbow and side, pushing him off balance and out of the way as Blair walked between her and Stark into the gallery.

  Once inside, they stopped to survey the room and get their bearings. Cam spoke once again into her radio.

  “I want him ID’d—complete background check. Do not let him inside.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Blair said in a low voice that only Cam could hear.

  “What?” Cam asked absently as she nodded to Stark, who moved a few feet away to a spot where she had a better view of anyone approaching Blair through the crowd.

  “Stand in front of me.”

  “It was nothing,” Cam said dismissively, her attention fixed on the layout of the space and its inhabitants.

  Frustrated, Blair shook her head slightly but before she could protest further, she recognized San Francisco’s Mayor approaching with a welcoming smile. She held out her hand and murmured a few polite words as they greeted one another. For the next few minutes, she was occupied fulfilling the social obligations that accompanied her position. It was a function she had performed numerous times, and she did it without conscious thought. As she moved around the room, Cam and Davis moved with her, one on either side, keeping a distance of five feet between themselves and her. Not close enough to appear intrusive but near enough to physically shield her if need be. Stark had disappeared into the crowd to institute roving surveillance, observing the attendees to ensure that no one suspicious approached the President’s daughter.

  Eventually, Blair had attended to all of her political obligations and made her way through the people gathered in pairs and small groups to where Marcea stood, wine glass in hand, talking to Giancarlo and several well-wishers.

  “Blair,” Marcea said, leaning to kiss her cheek. “Thank you so much for coming.”

  Her eyes moved to her daughter’s face but she did not greet her other than with a smile.

  “It’s my pleasure.” Blair returned the kiss with a brush of her lips against Marcea’s skin. “It’s wonderful. Very impressive—congratulations.”

  “Believe me, I am anything but impressed.” Marcea laughed and took Blair’s hand. “Probably the reason I don’t have very many shows is that I can’t tolerate all the pomp. I’m glad you’ve come, though.”

  “So am I. I hope that I’ll actually be able to look at your work now without needing to talk to yet another art critic.”

  “Please, escap
e while you can.” Marcea squeezed her hand and turned with a smile to yet another patron, and Blair slipped away.

  For the next few moments she moved slowly around the large room. The space was subdivided by white, half walls upon which Marcea’s paintings had been hung and lit with overhead track lights. She was familiar with Marcea Cassells work of course, as any serious artist was, but she had never had the opportunity to see so many in one place. She was aware of Cam just outside her field of vision, keeping pace with her as she walked from one canvas to the next. Eventually she lost herself in the color and form and captivating fluidity of Marcea’s work and forgot everything except the beauty.

  She jumped, startled, when a voice close by murmured, “There’s a particularly interesting work just ahead.”

  Turning her head, she met Cam’s eyes. “Oh?”

  “Yes. It doesn’t appear to be my mother’s, though.”

  Blair followed the direction of Cam’s gaze and saw her own charcoal sketch of the day before mounted on the wall. The simple card beside it read, Untitled, by Anonymous.

  “Interesting,” she remarked noncommittally.

  “It’s more than that. It’s beautiful,” Cam declared, her voice husky with emotion. “When did you do it?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Several reasons,” Cam said quietly. “First, I recognized your style.”

  Blair waited, watching Cam’s eyes darken, feeling their heat on her skin. Finally, she asked, “And?”

  Cam shrugged, at an unusual loss for words. “No one else could do that—no one knows me well enough.”

  “Sometimes,” Blair replied quietly, “I’m not sure how well I really know you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Like outside tonight I thought wed agreed you wouldn’t be doing that again.”

  Cam looked genuinely confused. “I’m sorry?”

  “Putting yourself between me and danger.”

  “He wasn’t a threat just a nuisance.”

  “And if he had been dangerous?”

  Cam was silent a beat, because they both knew the answer. “I guess I don’t always make it easy for you, do I?”

  “No, you don’t.” Blair reached for her hand, then suddenly stopped, remembering where they were. “I suppose on occasion I’m guilty of that as well.”

  “Sometimes.” A grin flickered across Cam’s features and then quickly disappeared. “But I’m not complaining.”

  “Do you suppose there’s any chance at all that we could disappear for a while?”

  “Considering that were surrounded by over a hundred people, including four of my agents? Not right at this moment,” Cam replied with a regretful smile.

  Blair sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  “I should let you go back to enjoying the paintings. I just wanted to…thank you.” She gesture to the charcoal drawing. “I asked my mother about it, but she said it wasn’t for sale.”

  “I know the artist. I’ll see if there might be another in the series.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “You might have to sit for it.”

  “I could do that,” Cam murmured as she stepped away. “Anytime you want.”

  Chapter Eleven

  When they eventually said goodnight to Marcea, she informed them that she planned to attend a late-night gathering at the Regency and would most likely not see them until the next day. Then she kissed Blair once again and thanked her for coming.

  Blair and Cam, alone together in the rear of the Suburban, were silent on the short ride back to Russian Hill. As soon as Blair was safely inside, Cam posted Fielding to the Suburban for perimeter watch, relieved Davis for the night, and gave Stark the inside duty. The three agents offered polite goodnights to Blair and dispersed in various directions to carry out their assignments.

  Cam and Blair were left facing one another in the living room.

  “Fancy that. Except for the agent out front and the agent in the house, we’re…alone at last.” Blair’s eyes were hot on Cam’s as she spoke.

  Cam nodded. “What are your plans?”

  “You mean for the rest of this evening or for the next couple of days?”

  “I’m afraid tonight is pretty well taken care of,” Cam said with a regretful smile. “I’d like to bring the team up to speed on your itinerary now that we’re all back in one place again.”

  “If I could, I’d stay here indefinitely.” Blair settled on the arm of a chair, her bare arm draped along its back. “I really enjoy Marcea’s company, and San Francisco agrees with me.” She shrugged. “But I need to get back to New York. My work is there and we’re leaving for Paris soon. There are things I need to take care of before we go.”

  “Is it all right with you if I book flights to New York tomorrow evening?”

  “Fine. Just make sure you get a seat next to me.”

  “Understood,” Cam said with a grin.

  “How’s your headache?”

  “What headache?”

  “Cam.”

  “Practically gone.”

  “And the rest of it? The dizziness, the vision thing?”

  Driven by the concern in Blair’s eyes, Cam stepped up to her, placing her fingertips lightly on Blair’s waist. “I’m fine. Really.”

  Blair tilted her head so she could study Cam’s eyes, the one place where she could always see the truth. Right now, those dark eyes were slightly wild, ebony shadows swirling through their depths. She knew what those shadows meant. “Cam,” she breathed as Cam’s lips drew closer to her own.

  At that moment, the sliding door to the kitchen opened with a thud, an unusually noisy entrance for the ordinarily stealthy Stark.

  Cam sighed, her mouth a fraction from Blair’s. “I believe that was an announcement.”

  “Yes,” Blair said regretfully as Cam backed away. “I think I’ll turn in, since it appears that sex on the sofa is out.”

  “Goodnight, Ms. Powell.”

  “Commander.”

  As Blair disappeared up the stairs to the second floor, Stark entered from the rear of the house.

  “All clear, ma’am,” she informed Cam as she walked directly to the television in an alcove on the opposite side of the living room and turned it on.

  “Thank you,” Cam said. “I’ll be upstairs if there’s a problem.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I don’t expect to need to disturb you.”

  Cam paused halfway up the stairs and looked down at the back of the young agents head. “I appreciate that.”

  ———

  When Cam reached the hallway on the second floor, she noticed a faint light filtering from beneath Blair’s bedroom door. Silently, she stood before it, debating whether to enter. She knew it unlikely that anyone would notice, or if they did, would care. Regardless, it was not something that would ever be mentioned. Nevertheless, she turned away, more out of long habit rather than anything else. She wanted to be inside with Blair; she wanted to lie down beside her—she was weary from the past weeks of tension and struggle, and she was tired in body and spirit. She missed the comfort of Blair’s arms.

  Sighing deeply, she told herself that a few more days wouldn’t matter. Once they were back in New York City, they could relax their vigilance somewhat. On home ground, Blair had a greater degree of freedom and would often spend hours or even days at a friend’s apartment where she and Cam might be able to steal a few hours of privacy. It was far from ideal, but for a public figure such as Blair, it was the norm to have to manufacture privacy.

  Resolutely, Cam opened the door to her own bedroom and slid her right hand along the wall toward the light switch.

  “You might want to leave that off.”

  Cam dropped her hand and quietly pushed the door closed behind her, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim light offered by the street lights and night sky outside the windows. “Do you trust me to do this by feel?”

  “Well,” Blair said musingly, stepping from the shadows int
o the slash of moonlight cutting across the center of the room, “it has been a while, but I imagine that given a little time, you could manage.”

  As Blair spoke, Cam quickly shed her jacket and shrugged out of her shoulder holster, placing each on the chair just inside the door. She walked the ten feet to Blair and stopped with a sliver of the night still between them.

  “Not tired?” Cam asked, her deep voice a register lower than normal.

  “I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to get to sleep—and I only know one sure remedy for that.” She hesitated, then added quietly, “I could go it alone—”

  “Trying to make me jealous?” Cam interrupted softly.

  “Me?” Blair laughed. “Hardly…and with you across the hall, there really is no other choice. At least none that compares.”

  It was Cam’s turn to laugh. Then carefully, she placed her fingertips on Blair’s bare shoulders and turned the other woman so that she faced the window and night. Moving up close behind her so that her trousered pelvis just brushed Blair’s rear, Cam loosed the clasp that held Blair’s hair confined at the base of her neck. She ran her fingers through the thick curls, fanning the strands over Blair’s shoulders, then caressed her palms over the slope of her shoulders and down her arms. “You look very beautiful tonight.”

  With a sigh, Blair leaned back into Cam’s body, resting the back of her head against Cam’s chest. Her voice throaty and just a bit ragged, she asked, “Have I ever mentioned how much I love it when you undress me?”

  Cam placed her lips on the firm curve of muscle where Blair’s neck met her shoulder, exploring for an inch or so with her mouth before pressing her teeth to the tight flesh. Then she bit slowly until she heard Blair’s breath catch and a small moan escape her. Finally, she lifted her mouth away and answered. “I seem to remember something about that.”

  Cam drew her fingers back up the outside of Blair’s bare arms and insinuated her palms under the thin spaghetti straps, lowering them smoothly halfway down Blair’s arms. She stopped then, causing the fabric of the dress to draw tightly across Blair’s breasts just above her nipples. With one hand, Cam reached around Blair’s body from behind, spreading her fingers over Blair’s chest, dipping into the cleft between her breasts. With the other, she slowly pulled the studs from her own shirt, letting the silver-encased pearls drop one by one to the hardwood floor.