Word of Honor fr-7 Page 9

  Dana wasn’t really worried. She had lots of practice keeping her fly zipped. Spending half the year on the road, or most likely in places where there were no roads, wasn’t exactly conducive to having a love life. She’d discovered pretty quickly that the stress and uncertainty of danger tended to make people do things they wouldn’t ordinarily do. When you weren’t sure you’d wake up in the morning, you hated to waste a night, especially if you could spend it with someone else who was just as eager as you to feel alive. The good thing was, most of the time you did wake up the next day. Unfortunately, the night before would often come back to haunt you. After a few embarrassing and one painful experience, she’d decided love on the run didn’t have much to recommend it. She’d gotten used to going without, but occasionally she got blindsided. Happily, she was in the clear now. She only had to see Blair Powell and Cameron Roberts together for a few minutes to realize nothing and no one would come between them, not that she wanted to. But just witnessing the power of what they shared was enough to banish any lingering fantasies.

  She turned from the window and surveyed the nicely appointed but completely sterile apartment and contemplated powering up her computer to investigate the players further. But now that she’d met Blair Powell and Cameron Roberts, she realized that nothing that had been written about them, or speculated about them, was going to tell her anything of real value. Since she was still at least forty-six hours behind in sleep, she stretched out on top of the bed in one of the bedrooms and closed her eyes.

  When the knock came on her door, Dana woke instantly and checked her watch. Showtime.

  “Be right there.” Briskly, she rubbed her face, made a quick stop in the bathroom to douse her face with cold water and chase the cobwebs from her head, and grabbed her leather flight jacket on her way to the door. A small, slim woman with straight jet-black hair and almond-shaped deep brown eyes wearing a well-cut navy suit greeted her when she stepped out into the hall.

  “I’m Special Agent Hara,” the woman said.

  “Dana Barnett,” Dana said, feeling foolish since she knew the agent knew her name. And likely everything else there was to know about her.

  “If you’ll come with me, please.”

  They rode down the elevator in silence and exited the lobby where an SUV stood idling at the curb. Stark stood by the open rear door, her body partially obscuring the interior as she scanned the street in both directions. A half dozen reporters and a couple of cameramen jostled to get a look into the car around the big blond whom Dana had last seen standing outside Blair’s apartment. He was effectively blocking the sidewalk between the crowd and the Suburban.

  “Dana!” A woman’s voice rose above the general onslaught of shouts. “What are you doing with the first daughter’s detail? Are you dating her or is it business?”

  Caught off guard, Dana half turned toward the gaggle of reporters and saw cameras raised in her direction. Other people shouted questions, most of which she didn’t catch in the general tumult of noise, but she did hear the phrases sleeping with, new lover, and where is Roberts? She also saw a society reporter for the Baltimore Herald with whom she’d once had a brief fling. They had been great in bed, but their professional ideologies had been so different they couldn’t carry on a conversation for more than five minutes. Looking quickly away, Dana ducked into the back seat behind Hara.

  “Jesus,” Dana muttered. “Nice reception.”

  “Welcome to my world.” Blair Powell, dressed in dark slacks, black boots, and a burgundy blouse beneath a long black leather duster, occupied the opposite seat. She’d pulled her hair back somehow, taming the thick curls, and Dana realized how different she looked with it worn this way. The wild earthy look had been replaced by cool sophisticate. Both looks were sexy.

  Dana met Blair’s eyes. “Is that normal?”

  “It didn’t used to be, but…” Blair glanced out the window at the reporters straggling back to the news vans. “For the last few months it has been.”

  “What about the man on the street? Are you bothered by people wanting to talk to you?”

  “Not really. Unless they notice my entourage,” Blair grinned at Hara, “they don’t even recognize me.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  Blair’s eyebrows rose. There wasn’t anything flirtatious in Dana Barnett’s tone, although Blair had caught the barest flicker of interest from her a time or two. The reporter’s compliment seemed to be genuine. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Dana removed a small digital recorder from the pocket of her leather jacket and showed it to Blair. “Do you mind? I’ll only use it while I’m actually interviewing you.”

  “Where do the cards go when you’re done with them?” Blair asked.

  Dana had half expected Blair to refuse outright, and the question took her by surprise. Most of the people she interviewed were eager for exposure. “I keep them locked in a safe. No one ever hears them except me.”

  Blair was silent for a moment. “It’s all right with me, but I have a feeling there’s a protocol for this sort of thing.” She glanced at Hara, who appeared relaxed but alert sitting next to Dana. “Do you know, Patrice?”

  “No, ma’am, but I would suggest clearing it with the chief and the commander.”

  “Why don’t we assume it’s all right for now.” Blair saw the small red light come on at the end of the device. “By the way, Dana, are you a lesbian?”

  Dana laughed and looked at the tape recorder in her hand. “For the record? Yes.”

  “Not that it matters, of course,” Blair added.

  “Considering that your marriage won’t be legal, why are you doing it?” Dana asked.

  “Because it should be legal, and because I don’t need anyone’s permission to promise my life to Cam.”

  “How does your father feel about it?”

  “You should probably ask him about that.”

  “I’d love to,” Dana said, “but I’m not sure I could get past Ms. Washburn to ask him.”

  “He’ll be coming to the wedding. You can ask him then.”

  Dana sat up straight. “The president is coming?”

  “That’s not official,” Blair said, “so you’ll need to wait until the White House officially announces it. Unless you want Lucinda on your tail.”

  “Are you kidding?” Dana said. “As soon as that word goes out, the number of reporters in Colorado will triple. You’re damn right I’ll keep it quiet.”

  The SUV pulled over to the curb and slowed to a stop. Hara shifted toward the door, again blocking the interior as someone on the outside opened it. Dana craned her neck to see around Hara and saw Stark guarding the door again. Then a drop-dead gorgeous blonde in a Fifth Avenue wardrobe climbed in and settled next to Blair Powell. She kissed Blair on the cheek, then set her gaze on Dana.

  “Blair, honey, whatever have you picked up?”

  “Diane, this is Dana Barnett, the reporter I told you about,” Blair said dryly.

  “Hello, Dana,” Diane said, savoring the name as if it were a fine wine.

  Dana felt a pleasant anticipatory rush. The blonde’s smoky voice was like liquid heat pouring over her. She leaned across the space between them with her hand outstretched. “I think I’m going to like shopping after all.”

  “Oh, my dear, you have no idea,” Diane purred as she took Dana’s hand.

  Blair shook her head. “Diane.”

  “I’m just being sociable.” Diane leisurely crossed her legs. “I told you, I don’t intend to touch.”

  Dana laughed. “Do I get a vote?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Diane replied.

  “This assignment gets more difficult all the time,” Dana said, and sat back to enjoy the ride.

  “I’m sorry, Deputy Director, but I think we’ve got a problem.” The balding, barrel-chested man with the military bearing didn’t sound particularly apologetic, although he’d been nothing but distantly polite since Cam and Savard had arrived at
the high-security federal detention center. They’d been shown into his office after minimal delay and he had appeared genuinely surprised when she gave him Early’s name. Now he withdrew a folder from a pile on his desk, opened it, and studied a list. Then, his expression grave, he said, “Martin Early is in the process of being transferred to another facility. I’m afraid you won’t be able to interview him here.”

  “Where’s he going?” Cam asked calmly, although she already knew the answer.

  The prison director shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. With some of these guys, we’re just providing holding services. Bed and board.”

  Meaning, Cam thought, some other agency was in charge. Since the Patriot Act—designed to broaden the ability to investigate foreign terrorism—had been enacted the month before, the jurisdiction over and civil liberties of suspected domestic terrorists had become a bit cloudy. Could be coincidence that the detainee she wanted to interrogate was suddenly bound for destinations unknown, but she doubted it. And now was not the time to discover where in the tangled lines of intelligence the message had gotten out that she was interested. “I’d like to speak to whoever is in charge of his transfer.”

  The prison director glanced at his watch. “I imagine they’re about ready to leave.”

  Cam stood. “Please relay the message that they should wait. And have one of your people take us to them.”

  “All right,” he said dubiously. “I’ll send the message, but these boys don’t necessarily listen.”

  “I think they will this time,” Cam said pleasantly. Federal agents recognized chain of command even if they didn’t always play nice with other divisions. She motioned to Renee and they followed the guard who came in to escort them. He led them to the ground floor and through a myriad of hallways to the rear of the prison. Outside, a small parking lot was enclosed by twelve-foot-high concrete walls topped with razor wire, infrared cameras, and motion detectors. Two black SUVs and an unmarked black transport van idled in the lot. A young, clean-cut man in a well-fitting blue suit, white shirt, tie, and shiny black dress shoes stood outside the lead vehicle, his arms folded across his chest. He didn’t look happy. Cam walked over to him.

  “I’m Deputy Director Cameron Roberts from the OHS,” she said, extending her credentials. She did not offer her hand. She tilted her head toward the windowless van. “Do you have Martin Early in there?”

  “I’m not at liberty to disclose that, ma’am.”

  “Can I see your ID, please.” Cam took his badge holder. It said Federal Bureau of Corrections, but she suspected he was DOD. “Agent Tomlinson, I need to interview Mr. Early on a matter of urgency. I’d like you to delay the transfer until I’m done.”

  “I can’t do that, ma’am, without a direct order from my superiors. I’m sure you understand.”

  He was stonewalling, as any good agent would. It might take hours to unravel the jurisdictional issues, and even that might not gain her access to the detainee. She was going to have to pull rank, and a parking lot was not the place to do it. “Where’s your destination?”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m not at liberty to disclose that information.”

  “I understand,” Cam said evenly. She could feel Renee tense beside her. Her number one was short on patience; they all were these days. But a brawl between agencies, especially with a midlevel agent like this, wasn’t going to get them anywhere. “We’ll be coming with you.” She turned to Renee. “Radio our driver and tell them to come around and pick us up.”

  Agent Tomlinson’s eyebrows climbed above his expensive sunglasses. “I don’t have clearance for that, ma’am.”

  Cam smiled. “That’s quite all right. I do.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Wait a minute,” Diane said to Blair and Dana as she dug in her purse. “I’ve got a call.”

  The group slowed, and Dana noticed their three shadows take up position in front and behind them again. Over the last few hours, she’d almost gotten used to Hara, Wozinski, and Stark hovering just outside her direct field of vision. When she had first started walking down Fifth Avenue with Blair and Diane, she’d been acutely aware of being followed. Spending time in combat zones had made her highly vigilant and hypersensitive to anyone encroaching on her personal space, and when that someone was the size of Greg Wozinski, she was doubly uncomfortable. In fact, after twenty minutes of having him behind her—close behind her—she was irritable and jumpy. She had no idea how Blair Powell tolerated this kind of violation of her privacy twenty-four hours a day.

  “Hi,” Diane said brightly when she answered the phone, “where are you? Really? You’re finally free…? No, stay there—we’re right around the corner. We’ll meet you and buy you a drink.” Diane dropped the phone back into her purse. “That was Emory. I told her we’d join her at her hotel.”

  “Great,” Blair replied. “I think anything else we have to do, we can do by phone before we leave this weekend.”

  Dana whispered a prayer of thanks. She’d actually had a pretty good time watching Blair and Diane shop. Just the same, the art of shopping was an acquired taste, and one she had yet to develop. When she had to attend a formal function, she went with basic black and white, figuring that would always work. Plus, black traveled well and tended not to show wrinkles even after hours, sometimes days, in a suitcase. She’d used the time between fittings and discussions to informally interview Blair Powell. A good reporter didn’t need to ask questions to learn about her subject. Mostly, she just had to listen. And watch. She’d discovered quite a bit in the last few hours, almost none of which would ever make it into her article.

  Diane Bleeker, she soon ascertained, was a lot more than Blair’s close friend. Diane was a little bit in love with Blair Powell, and a whole lot protective, and the feelings seemed mutual in a completely appropriate manner. Both women were effortlessly affectionate with one another in a way that Dana had never experienced with any woman. She was envious and intrigued by their relationship and more than a little turned on. Maybe her arousal stemmed from the sheer force of being surrounded by such powerful pheromones. Or maybe she had just gone too long without the singular pleasure of losing herself in a woman. Whatever the cause, her nerves were pleasantly on edge.

  They set off walking again and within a few minutes had reached the Plaza. Dana noticed a few heads turn as they made their way through the lobby toward the hotel lounge and bar. Perhaps, as Blair had said, if Blair were by herself on the street, she might go unnoticed, but three women flanked by an entourage in suits scanning the surroundings were pretty hard to miss. Blair kept her eyes straight ahead, and Dana could almost feel the shield she had erected around herself. She wondered about the cost of maintaining that kind of barrier, and thought perhaps it explained why Blair seemed so intimate with those few she let close.

  “She’s over there,” Diane remarked, pointing to a seating area in the corner with several sofas and a low table.

  Dana glanced idly to where Diane indicated and nearly stumbled as her gaze honed in on the woman seated there. Blair and Diane, both blond, both beautiful, exuded a sense of brilliance and heat, and being around them was much like basking in the noon sun. The woman who awaited them made Dana think of midnight on the deck of a sailboat when the sky was black velvet sprinkled with diamonds and the breeze promised forbidden pleasures. The petite woman’s shoulder-length ebony hair framed a face rendered unforgettable not by perfection but by the bold mouth and deep-set dark eyes. Her complexion held hints of the Mediterranean, adding to her undeniable allure.

  “Emory,” Blair and Diane exclaimed simultaneously. The three hugged, and then Blair indicated Dana, who stood slightly outside the group, unable to take her eyes off the brunette. “Dana Barnett, Emory Constantine.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Dana said, extending her hand. Dr. Emory Constantine’s chin barely came to Dana’s shoulder, and Dana had the irrational thought that they’d fit very well together in bed. Just as quickly, she banished the imag
e and prayed Emory didn’t read minds. After all, she was supposed to be here getting Emory’s story too. Now she wouldn’t have to wait until they all gathered in Colorado to get started.

  “Hello.” Emory’s voice was warm and mellow. Her gaze lingered on Dana’s for a few seconds before she turned to Blair and Diane again.

  Wozinski, Hara, and Stark triangulated positions behind the grouping of sofas, and Dana realized that she stood midway between the perimeter formed by the agents and the inner circle of the three friends. She had often found herself caught between conflicting worlds—democracy and dictatorship, order and chaos, life and death. Despite being used to navigating the limbo of shifting landscapes, she had never felt as much an outsider as she did at this moment, nor been as aware of the desire to be connected. Watching Blair and Diane draw Emory into the fold of their affection, she experienced a pang of loneliness that settled in her chest and made it hard for her to breathe.

  Everyone sat down, and Dana found herself next to Emory on a love seat across from Blair and Diane. A waitress appeared out of nowhere and took their orders for drinks. Dana didn’t drink much, but she ordered a beer while everyone else ordered wine. She rarely thought about her working-class upbringing, but right at this moment, surrounded by elegance and beauty, she felt the difference. Emory’s streamlined black skirt, she noticed, glided up her slender thighs when she crossed her legs. The slight whisper of pantyhose sliding over the surface of Emory’s skin made Dana’s stomach knot. She caught the barest trace of perfume, an aromatic scent that made her think of shadowed glades and sunlight dappling through a thick leafy canopy. She had the nearly irresistible urge to press her face to Emory’s neck.

  “Thank God,” Dana muttered when the waitress brought their drinks. She took a long swallow of her beer and tried to distract herself from the altogether enthralling presence of Emory Constantine only inches away.

  “So you’re really going to take time off,” Blair said to Emory. “I hope you’re planning to come with us when we leave on Monday.”