Word of Honor fr-7 Page 7

  While Dana secured her clothes, he murmured into a wrist unit.

  “If you’ll wait here for a moment,” he said.

  “Right.” Dana stared at him while he divided his attention between the front sidewalk and her.

  Five minutes later, one of the two unkeyed elevators opened and an athletic woman a few years younger than Dana stepped out. Her dark collar-length hair was plainly styled and her brown eyes sharp despite the faint shadows beneath them. She approached quickly with her hand outstretched. “Morning. I am Agent Stark.”

  Dana shook her hand. “Dana Barnett. I take it you know why I’m here.”

  “Yes.” For a brief second, a smile flickered across the agent’s face. “I’ll let Ms. Powell know that you’ve arrived. Before you meet with her, there are some things we should review.”

  “Fine,” Dana said, annoyed by the red tape even though she had expected it. Security types were notoriously anal, even worse than their military counterparts in her opinion. Somehow, she found the overt military hierarchy easier to tolerate than the secrecy and paranoia that often seemed to permeate the civilian security agencies. As she stepped into the elevator, she wondered what it must be like to be immersed in that atmosphere day in and day out for months and years at a time. The doors glided closed and they were alone. Time to send out a test probe. “Is Cameron Roberts still heading up Ms. Powell’s security?”

  “No,” Stark replied.

  Dana didn’t consider the response any particular indication of cooperation, since it was public knowledge that the celebrated agent had been replaced. She was encouraged, though, since most of the Feds she knew wouldn’t agree it was raining if they were standing in a downpour. “So who has the job now?”

  “Here we are,” Stark said as the elevator door opened.

  So much for two-way communication. Dana followed her out into an unadorned foyer with hallways extending to each side. They turned right and immediately entered a small conference room. Four chairs flanked a scratched wooden table. Otherwise the room was empty. Obviously, they didn’t get many visitors. Dana waited until the agent indicated a chair, then pulled one out, dropped her duffel, and sat down. Agent Stark sat across from her.

  “I will provide you with Ms. Powell’s daily social schedule so you can decide which events you’d like to cover,” Stark said. “Along with that, we’ll arrange your transportation.”

  “Thank you.” Dana contemplated the best approach and then decided there was no way to diplomatically handle things. “I don’t suppose you’re any happier about me being here than I am.”

  Stark said nothing but again, that flicker of a smile.

  Dana grinned. “Okay, maybe you’re even more unhappy than me.”

  “We enjoy a challenge.”

  Dana laughed. “So do I.” She leaned forward and her laughter died away. “I’m very serious about my work. I respect what the first daughter is doing and I consider it a privilege to be able to tell her story. I’m going to want unrestricted access to her twenty-four hours a day. That was the deal.”

  “That will be up to her.”

  “Then I should be talking to her.”

  Stark leaned forward too, her hands loosely clasped on the tabletop, her eyes boring into Dana’s. “While in the first daughter’s presence, you will be subject to the jurisdiction of the Secret Service. We will tell you where to move, when to move, and how quickly. If at any time the security of the first daughter is threatened, your safety will not be a priority.”

  “I understand.” Dana actually felt relieved. She liked this woman. She understood that even though the assignment might be a soft one, the circumstances were not. Anyone who thought that the world was going to return to the way it had been before September was fooling themselves. Getting an inside look at the first daughter’s security was a story in itself. “I’m pretty steady under fire, Agent Stark.”

  “I’m aware of that.” Stark knew a great deal about Dana Barnett in addition to the fact that she was thirty years old, the daughter of a steelworker, and an Ivy League graduate with a full merit scholarship. She knew where Barnett had been for the last six weeks and just how much heavy bombardment and small weapons fire she had endured. Stark was also aware that the year before, the reporter had been isolated with a group of Red Cross volunteers during an uprising in Africa and had carried a wounded nurse on a makeshift litter for twenty miles through the jungle. All things considered, if they had to deal with a reporter inside their perimeter, Dana Barnett was an excellent choice. Stark doubted that Egret would agree, but that had little to do with Barnett personally.

  “I don’t think you’ll find this assignment as exciting as your last one.”

  “Believe me, I won’t mind.”

  Dana had no doubt that Stark or someone on her team—and it was apparent to her now that Stark was in charge—had investigated her far more thoroughly than she had been able to investigate any of them. There had to be a file on her somewhere, but if anyone really wanted to know about her all they needed to do was read her articles. While the news was based on fact, the truth a reporter chose to bring to the public was always colored by their own perceptions, prejudices, and beliefs. She prided herself on digging out the real story, despite its popularity, or lack of it.

  Stark stood. “If you’ll wait here, I’ll advise Ms. Powell that you’ll be joining her later. She is not scheduled for anything until this afternoon. Then I believe she and a friend are conferring with the caterers.”

  Dana winced and quickly smothered it. “I would very much like to meet with her before her formal day begins. If you could relay my request.”

  “I’ll tell her,” Stark said, feeling very very glad she didn’t have Dana Barnett’s job.

  Blair lay on her stomach, her eyes closed and her head pillowed on her folded arms. She focused every ounce of her concentration on not having an orgasm. The ride back from the gym in the rear seat of the Suburban had been intolerable. She kept seeing Cam in the ring, the muscles in her abdomen bunching and stretching as Cam blocked her kicks and parried her punches. All she could feel was the hot slide of Cam’s fingertip between her breasts and the slick tease of Cam’s tongue inside her mouth. She’d wanted her right there in the locker room, and she hadn’t cared if Cliff or Hara or every man in the gym had heard them fucking. The only reason she let Cam put her off was because she knew it would be even better when she finally got Cam inside her.

  Where she was now.

  Cam brushed her mouth over Blair’s ear and pushed a little deeper. “You’re holding back.”

  “No, I’m not.” Blair trembled, opening her legs a little wider. Cam’s knuckles brushed the underside of her clitoris and she bit her lip as whispers of pleasure swirled through her belly. “But you can…go ahead and come if you want to.”

  “Why, thank you,” Cam murmured, half laughing, half groaning. She lay partially on Blair’s back, her weight braced on one arm, slowly rocking against her ass while she thrust her hand between Blair’s legs. She kissed the back of Blair’s neck, then the edge of her jaw, and leaned farther over and found her mouth.

  Blair arched her back and sucked on Cam’s tongue. When she felt Cam’s thumb press and circle between her buttocks, she moaned. Breaking the kiss, she panted and clenched her thighs, trying to hold back the tide. “Oh, God.”

  “You’re so tight on my fingers right now,” Cam groaned, resting her face in the curve of Blair’s neck. Her breath wafted hot across Blair’s face. “You’re going to come.”

  “Yes,” Blair whispered. “You. Wait.”

  Cam held her breath as Blair flowed beneath and around her. “Oh, yes.”

  Before the last tendrils of her orgasm had spun themselves out, Blair raised her hips and, despite Cam’s protests, dislodged her. Then she pushed Cam over onto her back and slid down between her legs. Cam was just as hot and hard as Blair had known she would be, and Blair moaned with pleasure as she took her into her mouth.

 
“What happened to more than once?” Cam groaned. “Oh, God, baby.”

  “I’ll be back for seconds,” Blair said, quickly taking her in again. As Cam pulsed between her lips, she reached up to caress her breasts and abdomen, judging how close she was to coming by the heaving of her chest and the quivering of her muscles.

  “Blair,” Cam warned, half sitting as she clutched Blair’s head. She jerked once, then curled forward, trembling violently. “I’m coming, baby.”

  This was the moment Blair loved, when her strong, brave lover was completely, totally hers. When Cam fell onto her side, her limbs twitching helplessly, Blair stretched out beside her and kissed her. “I love you.”

  “Same,” Cam croaked.

  “Catch your breath, and I’ll be ready for round—” Blair stiffened as the phone rang. She ignored it and it stopped ringing. “I’m going to have that disconnected.”

  “Good idea.”

  Blair cradled Cam’s head against her breasts and stroked her hair. “You’re going to need another shower.”

  Cam opened her eyes. They were hazy and satisfied. “Take one with me?”

  “What time are you leaving?”

  “Nine.”

  Blair tried to keep her voice even. “We don’t have much time.”

  “Sure we do.” Cam eased Blair onto her back and caressed between her legs.

  Blair caught her breath. “Okay. We’ve got enough time.”

  Grinning, Cam sucked a nipple into her mouth and massaged Blair’s clitoris with her thumb.

  “Time’s up,” Blair cried, letting the inevitable claim her. When she couldn’t take another second of pleasure, she clamped her hand over Cam’s. “Stop.”

  “Not a chance.” Cam laughed.

  “Okay. Revise that. Desist momentarily.”

  Cam dropped onto her back and pulled Blair into her arms. She kissed her and sighed. “On second thought, maybe you working out with Stark or Hara isn’t such a good idea.”

  “You’re not serious.”

  “They’re going to be frustrated enough when you beat the hell out of them. Adding sexual torment on top—”

  Blair slapped Cam’s stomach. “Not everyone finds me irresistible.”

  Cam tilted Blair’s head up with a finger beneath her chin. “You’re wrong about that.”

  “You’re not worried, are you?” Blair asked, frown lines forming between her brows.

  “No.” Cam kissed her gently. “Don’t you think you should check who called?”

  “No. I don’t care who called.”

  “Okay.”

  “Just like that?” Blair murmured. When Cam didn’t answer, Blair heaved a sigh and reached across her for the phone. She checked Caller ID, then pushed Call. “It was Stark.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Paula? It’s Blair. Who?” Blair sat up, continuing to stroke Cam, who regarded her intently. She covered the mouthpiece. “Barnett.”

  “I want to speak to her before I leave today,” Cam said.

  Blair rolled her eyes. “All right. Half an hour.” She tossed the phone aside and glared at Cam. “This is all your fault, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s a good thing you’re so good in bed.”

  “Ah, is there any safe answer to that?” Cam asked.

  Blair shook her head, her gaze dropping to Cam’s mouth. “But there is a very good reply of another sort.”

  “How much time do we have?” Cam moved down the bed.

  Blair spread her fingers through Cam’s hair. “Enough.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Sir?"

  “Good morning, Colonel.” Matheson held the phone in one hand and balanced his coffee mug on the knee of his crisply creased trousers with the other as he sat in a comfortable chair in front of a huge stone fireplace. He’d played on that hearth with his best friend as a child. Charlie was dead now, a martyr in the battle to secure the American way of life. But his memory remained, and his son, unlike Matheson’s, also lived on to fight for the cause.

  “I received some intelligence that I thought I should bring to your attention.”

  “Go ahead, Colonel.”

  “A reporter has been assigned to cover the target’s upcoming… uh…event. Full access.”

  “Anyone we can use?” Matheson watched the logs shift, sending showers of sparks onto the stones.

  “Doubtful, sir, but we’re running background checks now.”

  “How reliable is your source?”

  “Very, sir. She’s an assistant in the office of the White House Deputy Press—”

  “That will do.” Matheson didn’t trust even the most secure of lines. He smiled at the thought of a patriot in the West Wing. A woman, whom no one would suspect. It wasn’t true that only men could serve, it was simply a matter of recognizing a woman’s unique skills. While not having the mental fortitude or physical constitution for combat, women were a natural for communications work. “I like the press angle. Get me a list of names. We’ll want someone out there right away to establish connections before the target arrives.”

  “Yes sir. Are you comfortable, sir? Everything you need there?”

  “Perfectly, Colonel. Thank you and carry on.”

  “Sir.”

  Matheson disconnected and settled back in the chair, crossing his long legs at the ankle. Information was easy to come by. Until recently, access to potential targets—people and places—had been relatively simple as well. Getting close to Blair Powell might be more difficult now, but it was far from impossible. He smiled. A challenge merely made the hunt more satisfying.

  The outcome was not in question. After all, he had God on his side.

  Dana stepped off the elevator into a foyer that could have been in any luxury apartment building in the city. The eight by ten foot space was dimly lit by wall sconces, the marble floor nearly hidden beneath a thick oriental carpet, and the walls papered in some muted classic pattern above dark wood wainscoting. The surroundings spoke of money and taste and elegance. Even the cameras discreetly tucked into several corners weren’t that unusual in a security-conscious city, nor was the fact that the elevator required a special key, which Agent Stark had produced when they were ready to ride up. The man standing with his back to the wall next to the only door in the foyer was different, though. A blond-haired, blue-eyed clone of the one who had greeted her in the lobby downstairs scrutinized her and Stark with unapologetic intensity. Agent Stark handed him Dana’s ID, which Dana had surrendered upon request when Stark had informed her that the first daughter would see her.

  “This is Dana Barnett,” Agent Stark said, handing the ID to the agent guarding the door.

  The man studied Dana’s face, then the ID, then Dana once more. He held out her ID and she took it.

  “Why the ID check? Doesn’t he believe you?” Dana asked Agent Stark. She didn’t get an answer, and she wasn’t entirely surprised. Thus far she’d been told three times in slightly different fashions that the Secret Service does not discuss protocol. “If I don’t know, I may have to make things up.”

  “Perhaps you just shouldn’t report on topics that haven’t been cleared,” Stark replied mildly.

  “Is anything ever going to be cleared?”

  “I’m sure Ms. Powell’s wardrobe…no, actually, I’m not certain of that either.”

  Dana grinned ruefully. She had a feeling that Agent Stark wasn’t making a joke. “All right, tell me if I’m hot or cold. He won’t take your word for it because I could have coerced you into bringing me up here. However, since I wouldn’t know to give you my ID to give to him, that’s a signal that you brought me here intentionally. It’s a code.”

  “I doubt that Ms. Powell has much time allotted for you,” Stark said. “We probably shouldn’t waste any.”

  “You’re right.” Dana waited while Stark knocked on the door. “But I was hot, wasn’t I?”

  As she spoke, the door swung open and Blair Powell regarded them with interest.
“Something new and exciting I should know about?”

  Stark blushed. “No, ma’am. Dana Barnett to see you.”

  Blair looked Barnett over. She appeared slightly more rested than the day before, but obviously wasn’t concerned about the image she projected. Her chinos and white button-down collar shirt were clean but not pressed, the black leather belt cinched above narrow hips was dull with age, and her boots similarly worn. Her casual disregard for her appearance and her lack of desire to make a good impression were refreshing.

  “I gather you couldn’t convince anyone there’d been a terrible mistake?” Blair asked.

  Dana couldn’t help but smile. “Apparently, Lucinda Washburn doesn’t make mistakes.” She raised a hopeful eyebrow. “What about you? Any luck?”

  “Apparently not,” Blair said dryly, appreciating Barnett’s disregard for her position. Usually the press tended to be obsequious or obnoxious, but rarely unimpressed. “You’re here.”

  Cam stepped up next to Blair. “I only have a few more minutes.”

  “I know.” Blair slipped an arm around Cam’s waist. “Come in, Ms. Barnett.”

  “Please, call me Dana.” Dana followed the first daughter and the deputy director as they crossed to a seating area in the center of the loft. She had caught the flash of discomfort that streaked across Blair Powell’s face an instant before she hid it behind the beautiful façade the world was used to seeing. The first daughter was unhappy about something. The deputy director looked as impassive as a stone statue. Except. Except when her eyes moved ever so briefly to Blair Powell’s face. Then her charcoal eyes sparked with tenderness and heat. The wave of raw desire emanating from Cameron Roberts washed over Dana so unexpectedly she had no time to prepare. She broke out into a sweat and her heart rate soared. Jesus. These two should come with a warning sign.

  Roberts turned to Dana and Dana stiffened under the unwavering gaze.

  “Sit down, Ms. Barnett,” Roberts said, taking Blair Powell’s hand as the two sat on a leather sofa in a seating area with a fireplace on one wall, huge windows on the other and open space. The hammered tin ceilings had to be twenty feet high.