Word of Honor Page 7

Blair searched Cam’s face. “Is it anything I need to be worried about?”

  “Absolutely not. Just some routine information gathering.”

  “That requires the deputy director to do it personally,” Blair said sarcastically.

  “There are some things I need to do myself,” Cam replied.

  “I’m being an ass.” Blair gave Cam a quick kiss. “I know you should be at a briefing right now instead of chasing down here after me—”

  “I’m exactly where I want to be.” Cam took Blair’s hand. “I needed to kick a little butt to get my day off to a good start.”

  Blair snorted. “Dream on.”

  Cam flashed her grin. “I’ll be too busy making those notes.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Let me out on the far side of the park,” Dana instructed the cabbie as she extracted money from her wallet.

  The taciturn driver swerved to the curb and she handed him a handful of bills. “Got a receipt?”

  Wordlessly, he tore off a blank square from a coffee-stained pad and handed it through the divide between the front and rear seats. She pocketed it, grabbed her duffel, and stepped out into a cold misty rain a little before eight a.m. Hunching her shoulders in her too light nylon windbreaker, she hiked to the corner, dodging early morning pedestrians, and stopped on the corner to study Blair Powell’s apartment building across the way. She’d spent most of the previous evening scouring online sources for information on her new subject. She never undertook any assignment without doing the background work herself. A lot of reporters used assistants to prepare profiles and gather data, or didn’t bother at all, but she did the legwork. She never knew what little nugget of information might spark a story, and she trusted her instincts more than anyone else’s. If she was going to spend the next ten days with the first daughter of the United States, she wasn’t going to be writing about Blair Powell’s fashion sense. She was going to write about what she had discovered was surprisingly absent in the media. An in-depth look at the woman behind the glamorous façade. Thumbnail sketches abounded—wealthy only child, glamorous and sophisticated first daughter, notorious bad girl. All too easy and all supported only by superficial glimpses, as fleeting as a reflection in the surface of a fast-running stream.

  Who was Blair Powell? That’s what Dana planned to find out.

  The apartment building was a typical New York City building—plain-faced stone façade, short green awning above double glass doors with the shadow of a doorman just inside. The exact location of the first daughter’s apartment was not public knowledge, but a quick search of the reverse directories indicated that most of the units in the building were held as corporate rentals, and she was willing to bet they were empty or used intermittently for vetted government officials and visiting dignitaries needing temporary housing in the city. She was also willing to lay money that she would never find out. She crossed to the wrought iron fence that enclosed Gramercy Park and peered through the gray drizzle into the impeccably maintained postage-stamp park. Not surprisingly, it was empty. With a practiced eye, she swept the streets looking for anything suspicious. She might be back on American soil, but the habits she’d developed in combat zones around the world were permanently ingrained. Never take anything for granted and always question the unusual.

  Dana didn’t see anything she hadn’t expected to see. A news van was parked diagonally across the street from the entrance to Blair Powell’s apartment building and another down the block. Security cameras swiveled lazily above the front door and high up on the corners of the building. A black Suburban with dark tinted windows and a short, subtle satellite antenna bookended the van on the opposite side of the entrance. Two opposing forces—the media and those devoted to secrecy.

  “It’s going to be a fun week or so,” Dana muttered as she slung the strap of her duffel over her shoulder, jammed her hands in the pockets of her black chinos, and headed off to start her new assignment.

  Dana hadn’t quite reached Blair Powell’s front door when it swung open. She couldn’t make out the features of the person just inside, but she got the impression of big. When she stepped into the lobby, she saw that she was right. Tank would have been a good nickname for the clean-shaven, square-jawed man with the inscrutable dark eyes. The flesh-toned curlicue wire leading from his right ear down his neck and disappearing under the collar of his nice white dress shirt spelled Fed.

  “Good morning, Ms. Barnett,” he said in a pleasant baritone. “I’m Agent Ramsey. If you’d step over to the desk for a moment, please.”

  A bank of elevators made up the wall to her left, and the last one was keyed. To her right a freestanding waist-high counter stood out from the wall. Dana hefted her duffel on top and walked to the end of the desk. She preferred not to be frisked in full view of the front door. Agent Ramsey joined her, his expression still pleasant, and quickly and efficiently patted her down. He wanded her and the duffel. “Would you open the bag, please.”

  “Sure.” Dana unzipped and opened the duffel to reveal her clothes neatly rolled and stacked inside.

  Ramsey methodically sorted through the contents, then stepped away. “Thank you.”

  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?” B
lair 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.”