Above All Honor

Chapter One

"I don’t want this assignment."

"You don’t have a choice."

"With all due respect, sir, I am a senior agent, and I should have some say regarding my assignments."

He studied her silently. She was thinner than the last time he had seen her, and there was a new hardness in her dark eyes. She stared at him in thinly disguised challenge, the anger simmering very near the surface. The folder on his desk held her service record. It was flawless, exemplary in every way. It told the crucial facts, and none of the story. No one had ever known the whole story, and now they never would. Because she wasn’t talking, and no one really wanted her to. What everyone wanted was to get on with business as usual, and it was his job to see that that happened.

"You’ve been selected by the Security committee. They think you’re the best one to head up the detail. Their decision is not negotiable."

"It’s a goddamned baby-sitting assignment. Any rookie could do it," she seethed through clenched teeth. She was skirting the edge of insubordination. She knew it, and she didn’t care. There wasn’t a thing anyone could do to her that could hurt her any longer. Except maybe bury her in a bullshit detail like this. She needed a field assignment -- something that would consume her energy; something that would exhaust her mind; something that would obliterate her memories.

"Is it the injury? Do they think I’m not fit for active duty?" she demanded.

"Are you?"

"Absolutely. I’ve been released from rehab, and I’m done with the mandatory psych eval."

"Good. I’m glad to hear it. You start tomorrow. I suggest you review the available reports from the current commander before you leave for New York."

"Damn it, Stewart! You know I don’t deserve this!"

"This has nothing to do with you, Agent Roberts. That will be all."

Assistant Director Stewart Carlisle watched the tall, trim agent as she turned away, stiff with rage. He had no doubt she would give her best; she always did. What he wondered was where she would put her anger.

**********

"Booth seven is free," the firearms supervisor informed her.

She nodded, grabbing a pair of protective earmufflers as she walked through the small office to the long corridor that opened into the individual firing stations. She wore a gray tee-shirt and navy sweatpants from her two-hour workout at the gym, and the back of her shirt was still wet with sweat. The small bag she carried held her service automatic and ammunition. She looked neither right nor left as she strode rapidly toward the narrow glass enclosure.

There was a row of buttons that allowed her to set the target type and distance. She began with a medium range standard human form and fired off a clip at an easy pace, alternating between clusters in the mid-torso and head. As she rhythmically squeezed the trigger her mind slowly emptied of emotion, until all she felt was the recoil of her weapon and the measured beating of her heart. When she was no longer aware of her anger over an assignment that she perceived as an undeserved demotion, she moved the target fifty feet further away. Accuracy demanded even greater concentration, and as she began to fire in faster, tighter bursts the ever present vestiges of longing and loss began to fade. By the time she had moved the smallest target to its farthest distance, she felt absolutely nothing.

**********

Fresh from the shower, she walked naked across the carpeted living room to the bar. The apartment was on the twenty-first floor, and the floor to ceiling windows were uncovered, exposing the night skyline of Washington, D.C. The view was breathtaking. She poured an inch of single malt scotch into a heavy crystal rock glass and leaned against the bar, staring at the city lights mingling with the stars. There had been a time when this vision had moved her with its piercing beauty. There had been many nights when she had allowed the tensions of the day to drift away into that great expanse of flickering light, feeling the world settle back into some kind of order. It was often the last thing she saw before she slipped into bed, but then she hadn’t been alone.

She reached for the gray silk robe from the back of a chair as a knock sounded at the door. She had a flight to New York in five hours, and a meeting with her new team at eight a.m. She still needed to review the dossier that had been delivered by courier that evening. She didn’t have much time, and she knew she wouldn’t sleep.

She glanced at the clock as she crossed to the door. It was one a.m. Her visitor was punctual; she always was. She opened the door to admit a woman in her mid-thirties, casually dressed in a beige linen suit, a silk shirt open to expose the swell of her breasts, and low-heeled soft tan boots. The woman greeted her with a familiar smile, brushing her blond hair back with a long elegant hand.

"Hi."

"Hello. Can I get you something to drink?"

"That depends," the blond replied as she slipped her jacket off and laid it carefully across the back of a couch that faced the windows. "Are you in the mood for talking tonight?"

"I don’t have much time."

"Then I’ll have that drink another time," her guest replied softly. "Sit down in front of the windows."

The woman in grey dimmed the lights as she moved around to the sofa as directed. The room was in near darkness except for the shadows etched in the moonlight. She sipped her scotch and watched the stars revolve around her. She had been here before, but not quite like this. She was barely aware of the gentle tug that loosened the belt at her waist, or the soft parting of the silk that covered her. At the first light touch of fingers against her skin, she shivered involuntarily. Eventually the strokes along her taut abdomen and up the insides of her thighs became firmer, more insistent, demanding her attention. She arched toward the woman kneeling before her in the dark, tightening almost painfully as warm lips encircled her. Slow practiced caresses of a velvet smooth tongue swept the images from her consciousness, eclipsing thought with near painful pleasure. A groan escaped her as she dropped her head back against the couch, allowing the slowly building pressure to take her outside herself, beyond thought, past memory. The pounding of her heart grew loud in her ears as her breath came in short gasps, almost sobs. She struggled to contain the exquisite, piercing throbbing in her clit, and failed. When the explosion began, ripping at her control, she slipped one hand into the soft blond hair, moaning deep in her throat. Trembling, helpless, for a few moments she was mercifully unaware.

**********

She walked the blonde to the door, handing her a sealed envelope that rested on the table just inside the foyer.

"I’ll be away for a while. I don’t know how long."

"Will I see you again?"

"I don’t know."

The blonde studied the tall dark-haired stranger she had met countless times in the dark hours of the night - in this room, in elegant hotel suites - in rooms that might be anywhere, or nowhere at all. She knew virtually nothing of the other woman's life, except what she gleaned from the confessions of her body. She knew the hard, lean muscles and the angry red scar on her thigh. She knew the soft, sensitive places that left her gasping when touched. She wondered whose name she called when she came into the silence. She had never tried to find out, and she did not want to know now. Strangely, it was something else she wanted altogether. She wanted to leave something of herself.

Breaking every rule, the blonde said softly, "My name is Claire."

"Claire," the dark-eyed stranger whispered, the expression in her intense gaze unfathomable. She kissed her for the first time, a brief tender meeting of lips that spoke a greeting, or perhaps a good-bye. Then, breaking every rule, she said, "My name is Cameron."

When the door closed, leaving them to their own separate lives, the lingering memory of that kiss was all that remained between them.
 
 

Chapter Two

At six a.m. United States Secret Service Agent Cameron Roberts boarded a small jet bound for New York City. She wore her ID badge clipped to the pocket of her dark blue gabardine suit. She carried an overnight bag with a change of clothes, and her computer. The rest of her belongings would follow on a separate flight, and would be delivered to her new apartment in the Gramercy Park Hotel later that day by some member of her team. After four hours of deep sleep, undisturbed by dreams, she felt fresh and ready to work. That she didn’t like her assignment was now a moot point. She had a job to do, and that was all that mattered.

The flight was only partially full. It was Saturday morning, and only a few government employees were traveling. She took a seat across the aisle from a burly blond man with a badge that displayed FBI in bold letters. She saw him study her own badge as she sat down. Female agents were no longer rare, but she still drew attention. She was used to it.

"Investigative division?" he questioned as the plane taxied down the runway.

She nearly said 'yes', then stopped herself quickly. With a shake of her head, she replied, "Protective."

"Anybody important?" he asked curiously.

"Aren’t they all?"

He couldn’t tell if she was joking, so he stifled a laugh. And they said FBI agents were humorless!

She opened a laptop computer, subtly angling the screen away from him. He took the hint and opened a newspaper as she entered her password.

She entered the link to the USSS personnel division and brought up the bios on her new team. Nothing out of the ordinary. Four men and four women in addition to herself, all with more than five years experience in the field. All college educated, as were almost all agents except the rare few who came through military channels or some other unusual route. All had advanced emergency medical training, as had she, and all were expert marksman. Two of the men and one woman were married; there was one Hispanic and two black agents. She fixed a name to each face and exited the site.

Entering the protected password, she brought up the encrypted file she had downloaded last night.

___

Field Report, Fri 12/26, 21:30
Submitted by USSS Agent in Charge Daniel Ryan
 

Subject: Blair Jane Powell
DOB: 12/31/1972
Residence: 310 Gramercy Park, PH
New York City, 10021
Phone: (212) 295-0566

Marital Status: Single
Education: Washington Friends High School, Wash. D.C.
                Paris Institute of Fine Arts
Occupation: Artist
Business address: NA
Business Agent: Diane Bleeker

Code Name: Egret
Physical Description: WF, 5’8", 120 lbs.
Hair: Blonde, Eyes: Blue.
Distinguishing marks: 2 cm scar right eyebrow, 3cm tattoo
    right posterior shoulder ( purple and blue labyris)

Medical Conditions: None
Allergies: None

Significant relationships: (SEE ATTACHED REPORTS)
Romantic: Current - unverified
               Last known - classified, FYEO file

Summary: Standard twenty-four hour rotating shift surveillance. Subject schedule fluid, frequently unverifiable. Communication link: Team commander only per subject request. On-person com links refused.
___

The file was bare bones minimum, and Cam wondered what her predecessor wasn’t willing to commit to hard copy. She’d find out soon enough. He was meeting her at the airport for a debriefing.

She sipped her coffee and slipped the thin folder that held the Eyes Only report on Egret’s last known lover from her briefcase. She read it carefully, her expression betraying nothing. According to this, until eighteen months ago, the President’s daughter had been having an affair with the wife of the French Ambassador. For obvious reasons, the relationship had been kept under deep cover, although rumors had floated in the security community for years about the sexual leanings of Blair Powell. Part of Cam’s job was to see that those rumors remained just that. Her job would be doubly hard if the subject refused to cooperate.

She wondered briefly if her appointment as commander of the security detail assigned to Ms. Powell hadn’t been due to her own sexual preferences. It wasn’t a matter of record, of course, but no one really believed that any one in the government’s employ had any secrets. She had been careful, but certainly not paranoid, about her personal life. After the events of a year ago, she doubted there was much her superiors didn’t know. Speculation was futile, and pointless. She knew for certain she didn’t care.

She fed the file recounting the details of Blair Powell’s love life into the shredder at the front of the plane as she exited.

**********

"Sorry to transition on the run," Daniel Ryan remarked as they settled into a booth in the airport cafeteria. "I have to catch the next flight out."

"No problem," Cam replied neutrally.

"Mac Phillips, who will basically be your aide, has the apartment building plans, evac routes, and hospital info ready to review with you as soon as you arrive. Your NYPD liason is Lieutenant Marcia Landers; she’s Hostage Rescue. She usually interfaces with the police patrol division commander, Lieutenant Chuck Thayer, if Egret is travelling to some public function. Both good people. Otherwise, we cover her internally."

"Uh huh," Cam said casually. Everything he was telling her could have easily been relayed by anyone on the team. She was waiting for him to get to the point of this private meeting.

He watched her watching him. Her rep was that she was a real straight arrow, by-the-book agent. She’d have to be to get this post. She certainly looked the part. Her short dark hair was perfectly trimmed, neat around her ears, collar length in back; her suit was without a wrinkle, and perfectly tailored to her tight, trim build; she didn’t display a hint of nerves, or anything else - assessing him with intense, piercing gray eyes. Her bio said she’d been in the investigative unit for twelve years. Why she’d been reassigned to the protective division was anybody’s guess. Beyond that scant information, she was a cipher. He couldn’t find anyone who had inside knowledge about her, and no one had heard even a whisper that she was anything other than an obsessively dedicated agent. He met her gaze and made a decision.

"Can we talk off the record here?"

"Go ahead," Cam responded.

"Every day for the last six months I woke up wondering who I had pissed off to get this assignment," he said with a shake of his head. "Egret is practically impossible to protect because she doesn’t want us around. She’s had eleven years of practice misleading us, evading us, and generally humiliating us when it comes to surveillance. She’s like Jeckyl and Hyde. At public functions, she’s fine - cooperative, even friendly. Privately, she does everything she can to make our job hell. She refuses to discuss her schedule with anyone except the team commander. Congratulations. Then she changes plans without telling anyone. We almost never have time to adjust vehicle placement or equipment, so we have to shadow her on foot, which in New York City is a nightmare. She absolutely refuses to wear a microphone or any other tracking device, even on direct instruction from the President." He handed her two photographs. "Then there’s this."

She studied the shots side be side. The first was a standard publicity picture, a close up of Blair Powell at the opening of the Reagan Library earlier that year. As usual, she looked poised and confidant. Her blonde hair was swept back from her face, held with a silver clasp at the base of her neck. Her makeup was understated and flawless, serving only to accentuate the natural elegance of her sculpted face and clear, smooth skin. Her designer dress highlighted her sleek form, complimenting both her athleticism and her subtle softness. She was, in a word, beautiful.

The second photo was a candid taken when the subject was unaware. It was grainy, suggesting it had been taken from a unit with a telephoto lens. The details, however, were clear. The woman in the photo wore tight faded jeans and a white cotton tank top. Her breasts, firm and well-shaped, were clearly evident beneath the thin material and unencumbered by a brassiere. The clothes displayed her long legs, sleek torso, and toned limbs with brazen explicitness. Her collar length blonde hair hung free around her face, mildly curly, looking as if she had simply run her hands through it in lieu of a comb. She wore no make-up, and didn’t look like she needed any. She exuded an energy that was palpable even in the poor photo. She projected the sensuality of a jungle cat, and looked about as dangerous. She bore almost no resemblance to the contained, refined woman in the first shot.

Cam handed him the photographs silently. It was his show.

"No one in the general public recognizes her like that, and sometimes it even takes us a minute or two. In that time, she can disappear in the crowd, walk into a restaurant unnoticed, get into a cab without a fuss. That’s why it’s so easy for her to lose us. No one points a finger at her, or runs after her trying to get an autograph."

"But you and your operatives still know what she looks like," Cam pointed out. "You can find her." That was obvious, and she wondered when he would get to the real issue.

He nodded agreement. "Sure we can. Most of the time. The problem is, we also need to protect her privacy, as well as her reputation." He ignored the slight lift in Cam’s eyebrow at that line of bullshit. Blair Powell had no privacy. They both knew it was the President’s image they needed to keep untarnished. Any scandal regarding his daughter reflected on his parenting skills, and ultimately on his character.

Blowing out a breath, he cut to the chase. "She’s a lesbian. In certain situations, if we call attention to her, that’s going to get out. She knows it, and she uses it."

"How so?"

"She frequents some of the gay bars. It’s hard for me to put agents in there, even when they’re undercover. I never know when she’s going to duck into one. Plus, I don’t exactly want to announce to everyone there that Blair Powell just walked in. She picks up women - women we have absolutely no way of identifying in the moment. We have no way to know where they might go, no way to put agents in place in advance. We are constantly running in second place hoping to God she doesn’t get herself into trouble before we can get there."

"Is she promiscuous?" Cam asked evenly.

"She does better with women than I ever did," he remarked in frustration. "She doesn’t have a steady girlfriend. I wish to hell she did. Then maybe we could keep track of her. She doesn’t exactly sleep around, but she doesn’t go long without sex either."

"What are you trying to tell me here, Agent Ryan?" Cameron asked, tired of skirting the edges of the issue. "In addition to the fact that we have an uncooperative, high profile subject with a very problematic lifestyle?"

"She’s an angry animal in a cage, and you’re the new zookeeper. She’s been trying to escape for years, and when she does, someone is going to get hurt."

Cameron inclined her head in agreement. Blair Powell had lived with constant surveillance since her father had been elected Vice President for two terms, and governor of New York before that. Now that he was a newly seated President, she had at least three more years of even closer monitoring. She was a prisoner in all but name, and Cameron doubted anyone could tolerate that for long. The political pressure to hide her sexuality must make it even worse. If she had the luxury of empathizing with the First Daughter, she would have felt deeply for her predicament. But Blair Powell’s happiness was not her responsibility, and she couldn’t waste time or objectivity worrying about it.

"Some one may indeed get hurt," she responded. "I intend to see that it’s not her."
 
 

Chapter Three

"Agent Roberts?" a handsome Brad Pitt look-alike inquired as Cam stepped off the elevator on the eighth floor of a brownstone apartment building that faced the south side of Gramercy Park. He extended his hand with a disarming smile. "I’m Mac Phillips. The others are inside the command post. Welcome to the Aerie."

She took his outstretched hand, smiling at the play on eagle’s nest. "Cameron Roberts. What's on for this morning?"

She accompanied him into a large loft space that had been sectioned into work cubicles and equipment stations by shoulder high particle-board partitions. Their surveillance center occupied the entire floor directly below Blair Powell’s penthouse suite. A small conference room enclosed by glass filled the far corner. As they approached the group of people seated within, Phillips consulted a printout in his hand.

"Intro and weekly briefing now. You are scheduled to meet with Egret at eleven in the penthouse." He caught her faint expression of surprise and shrugged. "She won’t talk to any of us. She says if she must discuss her plans, it will only be once, and with the team commander."

"It’s her prerogative," Cam remarked. As she walked, she was making careful note of the banks of video monitors, multi-cassette recorders, computer simulators, and a large grid of New York City, digitally indexed and showing up-to-the minute placement of police vehicles. It was the same array of equipment used to monitor the White House and surrounds, and with the same reason. The President was vulnerable through his family. To avoid the appearance of that vulnerability, the First Family needed to be shown living as normal a life as possible, not shuttled about by armed guards. Hence, their protection needed to be provided at a distance, with as little visibility as possible. The semblance of freedom was a ruse they all conspired to perpetuate - everyone, apparently, except Blair Powell.

"Good morning, people," she said briskly as she strode to the head of the oblong table. She glanced at each face, making brief eye contact with everyone. "You have one hour to tell me everything I need to know about this operation, and everything you don’t think I need to know as well. Let’s get started."

At the end of an hour during which Cam listened, questioned, and issued a few directives, the agents who constituted her team sensed there was a new game in town. Everyone present took their responsibility seriously, for the sake of their future employment if for no other reason, and each had felt the frustration voiced earlier by the departing team commander. That dissatisfaction was heightened by the fact that they disliked Blair Powell, although none of them would ever say so, even to each other. Over the six months since Andrew Powell had been President, the obstructive, uncooperative attitude of his daughter had subtly undermined the confidence of the operatives. An hour with Cameron Roberts provided them with the first jolt of optimism they’d felt in weeks.

**********

"Allow me to summarize," Cam said as she stood and walked to the window looking down on the postage-sized private park that formed the heart of Gramercy Park. As she watched an elderly woman unlock the gate that surrounded the park, she spoke, her back to the room, but her voice clearly audible. "Ms. Powell resents our intrusion into her life; she resents our presence in every public and private moment of her day. She undoubtedly resents our observation of her personal liaisons and romantic encounters. I, for one, don’t blame her."

She turned to the group with a small shrug. "The fact that Ms. Powell does not welcome our presence is immaterial. Our job is to see that she is able to carry on her life with the maximum degree of security possible. No matter where she is, or what she’s doing. She has decided to make this a game. We have to play, and we have to win. We don’t get to throw up our hands and call foul if she changes the rules. There are no rain outs. We can’t expect her to help us win; we have to do that for ourselves."

She smiled faintly as she took her seat again. Now she understood at least one of the reasons she had been given this assignment. "Remember she is an uncooperative subject. Don’t expect her to smile and say good morning; don’t expect her to make your job easy. She has made it clear she does not want us around. She is not going to invite us along. We will switch from protective surveillance methods to investigative tactics. If she can’t see you, it will be harder for her to lose you. If you need to follow her to protect her, then you’ve got to fit in where she travels. You have to function essentially undercover."

She looked pointedly at each of her operatives, seeing them as Blair Powell must see them. Ivy league starched, polished and presentable. About as obvious as the proverbial bulls in the china shop.

"Except at scheduled public functions where Ms. Powell is acting in some official capacity, no suits, no ties, no skirts. Street clothes, preferably something appropriate for the type of locales she is known to frequent."

She saw the slight stiffening of a few shoulders, and continued unperturbed. It was time to stop circling the primary problem. "For you men, I think a slightly longer hair length would be helpful for starters. It's time for you to stop looking like tourists, or cops." She sipped the last of her coffee, gathering her papers with one hand. "A little research might also be in order. I want a summary of every gay bar and restaurant in New York City. Hours of operation, type of clientele, traffic patterns in the area, etc. Start with the ones you know she’s been to. Have it on my desk before the day is out. Know your subject, ladies and gentlemen, and you have won the first point."

Everyone relaxed slightly as she pulled open the door to the conference room. She paused at the sill, turning back casually.

"By the way Mac, does she know about the video equipment inside her apartment?"

He looked at her in surprise. How had she noticed that on a quick walk through the monitoring section?

"I doubt it," he said quietly. If she were aware of the micro-cameras mounted in the ceiling of her loft, she would hardly be walking around nude the way she did.

"Turn them off," Cam said flatly. "Video the elevator, the building exits, fire escapes, and garage only. On my responsibility."

With that she was gone, leaving them to wonder where one got the balls to countermand a direct order from the White House Chief of Staff.
 

**********
 

At precisely eleven am, Cam keyed the elevator to the penthouse, exiting in a small foyer opposite a carved oak door set into the rich wood panels. The wallpaper on the other two walls adjoining the lift was a cream fabric, intricately patterned and luxuriously textured. The effect was warm and sensual. Cam rang the bell beside the door.

Blair Powell opened the door a moment later. Her hair was wet from the shower, casually finger-combed and falling freely around her face. She wore a loosely belted blue silk robe that came to just above her knees. Her legs were bare, and Cam knew she was naked beneath the thin material. The front gaped enough to reveal the soft inner curves of both breasts. There was a trace of jasmine floating in the air. Cam was assaulted with the seething sensuality she had sensed in the photograph earlier. She kept her gaze carefully at eye level.

"I’m Agent Roberts, Ms. Powell. I’ll come back when you’re ready, " she said neutrally. "If you would just call the command room-"

"I won’t be available later," Blair interrupted, appraising the current commander assigned with her care. This one was somewhat of a surprise. She wore the requisite suit, a little better cut than most. You couldn’t see a hint of a bulge from the shoulder holster. Her hair was short, and fashionably styled in a roguishly faux-masculine cut. The double-breasted jacket was open to expose a fine white linen shirt that hugged a well developed chest and trim waist. The belted trousers were streamlined to the tightly muscled thighs. Blair found her startlingly attractive in an understated butch fashion. The Commander was either unimpeachably heterosexual or exactly what she appeared to be - a lesbian who didn’t care who knew it. Blair was intrigued.

"It’s now or next week," she continued, enjoying her control. There was no way the new commander could wait even a few hours to discuss her schedule.

"Now would be fine," Cam acquiesced graciously. She didn’t want a power struggle over trivial issues. She had no need to prove herself that way.

Blair stepped slightly aside, motioning Cam into the high-ceilinged open loft space. She smiled as Cam carefully avoided brushing against her. All business, she thought to herself.

"Do you have a first name, Agent Roberts?" Blair asked as she crossed to the kitchen area. A breakfast bar flanked by tall stools separated the cooking space from the large living room. She leaned down to pull two cups from the shelves under the island, quite aware that the movement afforded a clear view into her dressing gown.

"Cameron," Cam replied, keeping her face and voice expressionless. Her mind registered the striking perfection of the young woman’s body, an image of her soft, pink-nippled breasts indelibly implanted in her memory. She was being taunted, that much was clear. What she didn’t know was why.

Blair straightened slowly, searching for a reaction in the handsome agent's face. She was curious to find none.

"Cameron," she breathed huskily, "that’s nice. You can call me Blair."

Cameron continued unperturbed, "I’ll try not to take too much of your time, Ms. Powell. If we could just review your plans for the week, I can leave you to your day."

Blair stared at her, anger seething in her blue eyes. "Don’t patronize me, Agent Roberts. We both know you won’t be leaving me to anything at all."

Cam nodded assent. "Forgive me, I didn’t mean it that way. Of course, I can’t. But I can make my presence and that of my people as unintrusive as possible."

Blair was surprised by her conciliatory approach. That was a new tactic. Usually they tried to bully her with threats of unfavorable reports to her father, as if she were an unruly child in school. Either that or they promised her privacy while tightening the net around her. She had absolutely no reason to believe this one, despite the sincerity in her intense gray eyes. She walked around the island carrying the coffee until she was next to Cam. She reached to put the cups on the counter, brushing close to Cam as she did.

Cam didn’t flinch at the contact, although her body registered the pressure of Blair’s breasts against her arm and the heat of a naked thigh against her leg. She was annoyed by the twitch of arousal that occurred entirely involuntarily. She consciously kept her breathing light and steady. She knows about the video cameras. Putting the team commander in an embarrassing position on tape might conceivably benefit her at some point, or it just might be her idea of a game. Either way, Cam pitied Daniel Ryan. Blair Powell was a powerfully desirable woman, and if such attractions still interested her, it might become a problem. Blair had no way of knowing that despite the reflex arousal she provoked, Cam was completely immune to sexual allure.

Blair deliberately pressed closer, and Cam allowed the moment of contact to linger long enough to make it clear she was aware of it, and undisturbed by it. She’d gotten quite a lot of practice in the last six months saying no to attractive women. Then she stepped away, reaching into her inside jacket pocket for the computer log Mac had provided her.

"The schedule?" she said softly.

Blair stared at her, color rising to her face. She had just been rebuked, subtly, but very definitely. Rejection from women was a new and unwelcome experience. She’d never been as blatantly provocative with Daniel Ryan, but she had sensed his discomfort whenever they were alone, and she knew she had an effect on him. Something about Cameron Roberts’ cool, aloof manner made her want to crack that perfect self-control. If she must have a jailer, she wanted it to be one she commanded.

"Yes, let’s get that over with," she responded with irritation, taking her coffee and moving into the sitting area.

Cam followed, noting the large work area in the far corner of the loft. Easels stood open with canvasses mounted on them and other works leaned against every surface. Sunlight streamed through the skylight, illuminating the uncovered surfaces. From the brief glimpse she got, it appeared that Blair Powell deserved her reputation as a genuine artist. Cam took a seat across from Blair on one of two facing leather sofas. Blair tucked her legs under her as she curled gracefully into the cushions. Cam noted abstractly that she was much more beautiful in her unconscious moments than when she used her considerable sexual power as a weapon. In the next instant her mind had returned to the work at hand.

"I have you at a gallery opening tomorrow, dinner at the White House New Year’s Eve, and attending the Macy’s parade here in New York City with the mayor the next day," Cam read from the schedule. She looked to Blair for confirmation.

"Busy week," Blair muttered. "That seems to be it," she said tersely.

Cam regarded her thoughtfully. She would have hated such intrusion, but there was nothing to be done about it. The fact that Blair Powell did not choose this life - it wasn’t her after all who had run for public office - was beside the point. And the hard part was yet to come.

"What about your personal plans," Cam asked, her eyes on Blair’s face. She would not apologize for what she needed to do. Cam wanted it clear that she would not compromise her own responsibility or Blair’s safety because of Blair’s dislike for the situation.

"I don’t have any," Blair responded lightly.

Cam leaned back, tossing the schedule aside. She smiled faintly. "I need to know anything you have scheduled - dinner plans, a date for drinks, that sort of thing. If you don’t know, I’ll need you to tell me as things come up. All you have to do is check in with the command post -"

"I know all this, Agent Roberts," Blair said testily.

"Yes, but apparently you’re not fond of the routine."

"Would you be?"

"That’s not the point. You are the daughter of the President of the United States. You don’t need me to tell you what that means. Please let us do ours jobs, and I promise you we will be as discreet as we can be."

"Do you expect me to tell you when I plan on a sexual liaison too?" she asked bluntly.

"I don’t need to know what you’re doing so much as where you’re doing it," Cam responded smoothly. She knew Blair was trying to get her to back off, and she could not relent now. "It would be preferable if you would inform us when you planned to spend the night somewhere other than here, for example."

"And what if I don’t know where I’ll be spending the night?"

"Then I’ll improvise."

"You’re a lot more direct than your predecessors. Aren’t you afraid I’ll complain about you and you’ll end up guarding some minor foreign diplomat on their tour of the capitol?" Her tone was caustic, but she studied Cam with guarded respect. The new commander was in a class of her own. Impossible to shock, and clearly not intimidated by her. A refreshing change, but much more of a challenge than the others.

Cam laughed. "Ms. Powell, some people would consider that a plum assignment!"

"Compared to this you mean?"

Cam stood, refusing to be provoked. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Powell. Please call me at any time if there is anything you wish to discuss. I would like to review your itinerary each day. Let the command room know when it will be convenient for you to meet with me."

"Oh, absolutely," Blair responded with a smile, her tone implying just how little that request meant to her. She remained seated as Cam left the room, thinking how attractive her tight, graceful body might be under other circumstances.
 
 

Chapter Four

Mac Philips looked up as his new boss walked into the command center. He raised an eyebrow slightly in inquiry. She seemed pensive but displayed none of the thinly veiled discomfort Ryan tried to hide after one of his encounters with Egret. But then Mac didn’t expect her to reveal anything. He couldn’t remember the last time he had met anyone quite so impenetrable. He had a feeling this was going to be a "need to know" operation. He found he liked her unspoken respect for Egret’s position, and her basic assumption that they were there to protect her, not have an easy time. He was getting tired of the undercurrent of dissatisfaction and criticism that had been the daily fare around there for the last few months. If she could turn that around, he was all for her.

"Anything unexpected?" he asked as she joined him.

"Not so far. The public functions are as outlined. For the gallery opening tomorrow, I’ll be inside with two others. Have two people with the car outside. That means the afternoon and evening shift will split the extra duty."

He made a note. "Right."

"We can use some of the White House detail for the dinner on New Year’s Eve. Have one team stay here to meet her plane when she returns for the parade. All of that is standard, and in the future you can draw up the duty rosters. Just be sure I get a hard copy of who will be where."

"Done," he responded. He waited, wondering how she was going to deal with the real problem.

"Ms. Powell will not confirm any personal plans, which puts us in a reactive mode. I do not want her to get away from us, especially not now. I have a feeling she’ll be testing our new command. She is going to move, you can be sure of that. Keep a car accessible in case she grabs a cab, and have someone ready for foot pursuit, preferably a woman. If she goes to a gay bar, it might be easier if we have a woman on the inside."

"We’ve had lousy luck so far," Mac remarked. "Half the time we lose her in transit."

Can stood, stretching her cramped shoulders. "That is no longer acceptable. I’m going home. Page me the minute she steps out her door."

"Until what time?" Mac asked as he prepared to make a note.

"Any time," she said with finality. "If she isn’t in her apartment, I want to know about it."

"Yes, ma’am," Mac responded crisply. He watched her glance once around the room, assuring herself that all was in order, before she left. He had a feeling Egret was in for a surprise, and he was looking forward to seeing it.

**********

Cam stripped as she walked through her new apartment to the shower, eager to wash the effects of her flight and the first day of her new assignment from her body and her mind. The cool spray refreshed her, but did little to dispel the disquiet left from her meeting with Blair Powell.

It was not just the young woman's confrontational manner that had affected her. She was angry at herself for the physical response, however unwelcome, that the woman had provoked in her. She had been aware of an insistent pulse of stimulation long after she left the apartment. It may have been unbidden, but she felt betrayed by her own body. With an irritated shake of her head, she pulled on shorts and a tee-shirt. She could hardly be expected to control her involuntary nervous system! And here in New York there was no discrete way to relieve it. She would just have to run off the lingering remnants of arousal.

**********

Blair Powell looked down onto the busy streets below as Cam ran lightly down the steps of her brownstone and began her jog toward Central Park. She was very quickly swallowed by the crowds. An afterimage of her lean form lingered in Blair’s mind as she reached for her phone. It occurred to her that the agents downstairs might be listening, but she no longer cared. She dialed a number from memory.

"Hey, you," she said with a smile in her voice, "How come you’re working on a Saturday? ... Right! You’re still trying to be the youngest assistant director! ... Of course I need a favor! .... Background check - a Cameron Roberts. This might be a tough one. She’s secret service.... Yes, I know how much you’re sacrificing! Just get me whatever you can. ... Call me as soon as you have something, okay? And hey - I know I owe you, really .... Not in this lifetime you won’t!"

As she replaced the receiver, she contemplated calling downstairs to advise them of her change in plans. But then again, why alter the routine now. She slipped into a dark brown leather jacket as she left her apartment.

**********

The pager clipped to the waist band of the small pack Cam wore beeped just as she completed the first lap around the Central Park Resevoir. She dug out her cell phone, punching numbers with barely a break in stride.

"Roberts."

"Egret’s on the move."

"Do we know her destination?"

"No, ma’am."

"Are we covering?"

"So far. She’s on foot and we have her in visual."

"Good. Don’t attempt to make contact. Just stay with her. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. And Fielding?"

"Yes ma’am?"

"Tell them not to lose her."

"Yes ma’am."

Please god, don’t let us fuck up the first day, Agent John Fielding thought as he relayed his chief’s instructions to the two agents in pursuit.

**********

"Where is she?" Cam asked without preamble.

"At the Soho gym," Fielding replied with obvious relief.

"Do you have visual confirmation of that?"

"Yes ma’am. Paula Stark is inside."

Cam relaxed. "Good. I’m going to shower and change. If she moves before I check in, call me."

Twenty minutes later she sat across the street from the Soho gym watching the entrance. A metallic blue Ford diagonally opposite her held two secret service agents doing the same thing. She didn’t think they were aware of her. She wasn’t watching them. She trusted her agents for this type of routine surveillance. She was there because she wanted to get a sense of Blair Powell. She wanted to know where she ate, where she shopped, where she went for entertainment, and where she spent her evenings. Then she would begin to feel she could protect her.

Four hours later she was beginning to fill in some of the blanks. From a distance she had observed Blair dine with an exotic appearing dark-haired woman in a small Italian restaurant in the west Village. From there the two women had walked a few blocks to a neighborhood gay bar for a nightcap. They had taken their time, window shopping, stopping off at a bookstore, purchasing espresso from a curbside stand. They were in the bar now, and so was one of her agents. She didn’t really care if Blair saw him. Their presence should be anticipated. Cam simply told him to keep his distance and not to intrude upon them. Cam was considering calling it a night. It didn’t look like this was anything more than an evening out for Blair Powell, and the team assigned to shadow her seemed to have things under control. She was reaching for her radio to check out when she spotted Blair’s companion hurry from the bar and hail a cab. She was instantly alert.

"Young - this is Roberts. Do you have Egret in visual?"

"Negative. She’s in the restroom."

Cam switched channels. "Stark - get into that bathroom."

"I’m on it," the female agent replied as she exited the car parked just down the street from the small corner bar.

The moments passed slowly until Cam’s earpiece crackled to life.

"She’s not in here, Chief," Stark announced.

"Recheck the entire bar. If she’s not inside, start a sweep of the surrounding area. She’s on foot, at least for now." Cam punched in the numbers of the command center on her cell phone as she spoke. "Fielding, give me the addresses of all gay bars in a twenty block radius - start with known locales first."

While she waited for the computer to produce the information, she considered the situation. Blair had intentionally evaded them, which was not all that hard to do since they weren’t guarding her with the manpower a criminal surveillance would demand. That was because Blair was supposed to be a friendly protectee. Now that she was out of their range she was at potential risk for kidnapping, or if documented in some compromising circumstance, for blackmail. The fact that she was not easily identifiable as the President’s daughter was the only thing they had going for them. It was going to be a long tense night until they found her.

"I’ve got that list for you, Chief," Fielding said as he came on line.

"Go," she said. There were six potentials in the immediate area. "Get Mac Phillips in to co-ordinate the teams. I’m going to check out the ones at the top of the list."

"Got it. Good luck," he signed off.

Right, Cam muttered to herself as she locked her car and joined the crowds on the ever busy streets of Greenwich Village. An hour later she paid her third cover charge of the evening and thanked a leather-clad bouncer for a particularly garish skull and cross bones stamped on her hand. She was in a loft on a dingy block just off Houston in a massive bar that was dimly lit with recessed red lights. The interior space was divided into several levels, with at least two bars, dance floors scattered at random, and what appeared to be a warren of smaller rooms in the rear. It was women only and predominately but not exclusively a leather bar. Cam bought a beer and began to wander through the crowded main room. Toward the rear, twisting halls led off to other rooms, all of them full. She glanced into each of the smaller areas she passed, noting that the overt sexual activity increased the deeper she went into the building. At one point she had to move sideways along the wall to pass two women with their hands inside each others clothing, oblivious to those passing by or standing in the shadows observing their heated encounter.

As soon as she pushed her way into the dark bar at the end of the long hallway, Cam saw her. She was leaning against the bar, facing the room. Cam turned her back, stepping behind several women grouped along the wall. She whispered her location and instructions to the other agents before returning her gaze to Blair Powell. The President’s daughter had been joined by another woman, who pressed close against her in the crowded space. The stranger whispered urgently into Blair’s ear. Blair gazed past her into the seething crowd of bodies on the small dance floor, not answering.

Cam observed the women impassively. Blair looked remote, as if her mind were elsewhere. The leatherclad woman with her was obviously trying to interest her in something a little more intimate. As she leaned to kiss Blair’s neck, she ran a hand up the inside of Blair’s bluejeaned thigh, and would have pressed her hand to the triangle between Blair's legs if Blair hadn’t gripped her wrist, pushing her hand away at the last second. Throughout the entire time, Blair’s face barely registered a response.

It was clear to Cam that no one knew or cared who Blair was. Everyone was absorbed in their own pursuit of sex, or whatever particular thrill they were seeking. Cam needed to be sure Blair remained anonymous, and she wasn’t entirely sure how to do that. Calling attention to her by trying to remove her against her will certainly wasn’t the best course of action. Cam resigned herself to watching for the time being. That proved to be more difficult than she anticipated.

Blair’s companion was not easily diverted, and continued her insistent caresses. She had essentially trapped Blair against the bar with an arm on either side of her while she straddled Blair’s leg between her own. Blair turned her face away as the woman persisted in kissing her neck, one hand now inside Blair's shirt, fondling her breast. Blair did not seem particularly affected by the activity, but her ardent suitor apparently was. As Cam watched, the other woman began to ride Blair's leg harder, her motions jerky and tense. Can had no doubt the woman was poised to orgasm right there at the bar.

Blair could feel the woman’s heat through the material of their clothing, and heard the shaky moans as her companion pressed her damp crotch against Blair's thigh. It hadn’t been Blair’s intention to let her go that far, not until her eyes swept across the room and met those of Cameron Roberts. She was momentarily stunned. The agent leaned against the opposite wall, dressed in jeans, a white cotton shirt, and boots. She looked completely at home, and was easily one of the sexiest women in the room. The fact that Blair found the Secret Service agent attractive infuriated her, especially since she knew Cam was only there to watch her. Well, let her watch, she thought angrily to herself. She kept her eyes on Cam’s face as she cupped the woman’s buttocks in her hands, squeezing the taut muscles in small tight circles, lifting her leg hard into the other woman's crotch.

"Let me have it, baby," she whispered in her companion's ear, pumping her own hips now. "You want to, don’t you?"

"Oh Jesus, yes," the stranger panted against her neck. "Oh fuck, unhh – I need to come –" She was so far gone all she sought was that elusive instant of bone melting release. "Oh, god, yeah ---"

Cam’s gaze never strayed from the sexual display. Her faced revealed no emotion, nor did Blair’s, as Blair’s partner in the drama shuddered into climax against Blair’s body. Cam might have been embarrassed to witness the encounter had she sensed a shred of intimacy in it. It was erotic, of that there was no doubt. She knew she was wet, but the physical arousal did not penetrate her consciousness. She wasn’t the only one watching, although the interest of the others was of a different nature.

As the woman's spasms subsided, Blair extracted herself from her spent partner’s embrace, grasping her drink from the bar and pushing her way into the crowd. She did not look back at the woman sagging against the counter, gasping for breath. She did not acknowledge the occasional appreciative comments her performance had elicited. She took her time crossing to Cam.

"Enjoy the show, Agent Roberts?" she asked as she stepped to Cam’s side. The press of the crowds brought her within inches of Cam’s body. She could make out a light sheen of sweat on Cam's skin in the soft red glow of the lights.

Cam's eyes were impossible to read as she returned Blair’s gaze. "I have a car outside when you’re ready to leave," was all she said. She had no intention of involving herself in a conscious way in Blair Powell’s personal affairs. She might have to witness them, if Blair continued with this kind of public encounter, but she didn’t have to be a participant.

"And if I decide to walk home?"

"As you wish," Cam replied.

"I’m not sure I’ve had enough entertainment yet," she said pointedly.

Cam shrugged. "The car will be there no matter how late you stay."

"And will you be?"

"Yes."

Blair sipped her manhattan, the only drink she’d had all evening. She might like to walk on the wild side, but she wasn’t a fool. She tried to gauge the agent’s attitude from her expression and the tone of her voice, and found she couldn’t. Cameron leaned relaxed against the wall, her tone friendly, her face composed. To anyone watching, they might be any two women in the first exploratory stages of a typical bar encounter. Except Blair knew they weren’t, and as much as Agent Roberts made it appear that she had some choice in the rest of the evening, the truth was that the moment they found her, her freedom had ended. She set her glass on the nearest table.

"You don’t make it as my choice for an escort," she said bitterly. "I’m going home."

Cam followed Blair out to the street at a discreet distance, and once she saw her climb into the car with two of her agents, she headed tiredly toward home herself. As she walked, she tried not to replay the image of a strange woman surrendering to passion in Blair Powell’s cold embrace.
 
 

Chapter Five

Mac was surprised to see Cameron walk in at seven a.m. on Sunday morning. The report from the night watch said it was she who had picked up Egret’s trail and tracked her down in the late hours of the night. Interestingly, there was no report on the surveillance inside the bar. Roberts would have to do that herself. He nodded hello as she poured coffee and joined him at the large central work station.

"How long have you been on this detail, Mac?" she asked conversationally.

"Since the beginning of the President’s term," he replied.

"Have things been this out of hand the entire time?"

He held his breath for a second, trying to judge who he might potentially offend that mattered. He couldn’t think of anyone. "Worse. At least last night we found her. There’s been a half dozen nights, and one whole weekend, when we didn’t know where she was."

"Christ," Cam muttered. "How in hell did you keep that quiet?"

Mac shrugged. "Egret’s not stupid. She knew we’d have to hit the panic button if she were completely out of contact, so she called in every few hours, randomly, from pay phones, to prove she was okay. We ran around like assholes the whole time trying to find her."

"No repercussions?"

"Egret’s got a lot of pull with her old man. If someone complains about her, and it gets back to him, it better be serious, or you’re looking for a new job. And he doesn’t seem to think a little joy riding is too serious."

"I do," Cam said flatly. "And since we’re not going to get any help from above, we’ll have to stay tight on her, but not get in her way. She’s most likely to run if we crowd her."

"I think everyone understands the plan," he replied.

"See that they do."

"Yes, ma’am."

**********

At three p.m., Blair emerged from the apartment building and climbed into the back of the nondescript black car waiting at the curb for her. Cameron Roberts was inside. Blair was dressed for the gallery opening in a simple black dress that spoke of taste and understated elegance. The thin straps accentuated the toned muscles of her shoulders and arms, while the scooped neck revealed just a hint of cleavage. This was a pre-publicized event, and the presence of the secret service was expected. Blair noted that Agent Roberts looked well-attired for the gathering in a gray silk suit and monochromatic shirt, beautifully tailored and fashionably cut. This was one public servant who did not buy her clothes off the rack.

The guest list was a mixture of all the important art collectors in the city and quite a few of the artists as well. Cam had photos of all of them, and invitations would be required for admission to the Soho gallery. Nevertheless, this was the most dangerous situation for Blair - a public function, advertised in advance. At the very least, there would be a curious crowd gathered outside. Cam planned on being inside with two other agents, while the second team waited in the car.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Powell," Cam remarked as they traveled.

"Agent Roberts, we meet again. Are you to be my date today?" she asked mildly.

"I was planning on coming in after you were inside. It’s not the best idea for me to be too easily identified. For those times we’d prefer none of us be recognized."

Blair laughed with just a hint of bitterness. "Times like last night, you mean. When it might be embarrassing."

"For those times when you might like as much privacy as possible," Cam amended quietly.

Blair stared at her. "You’d like me to think you care?"

Cam shrugged lightly, a small smile flickering at the corner of her mouth. "The happier you are, the happier I’m going to be."

Blair laughed again, this time with no restraint. "You are honest at least, although I’m not sure how far that will get you."

"It’s the only card I have to play," Cam said seriously.

Blair surveyed her coolly. "Your approach is certainly novel. I’m used to strong-armed tactics – 'behave or else'. No one has tried the humble 'I’m just here to look after you' routine before. I suppose you think I’ll fall for that and suddenly bare my – soul—for you?"

Her tone was mockingly suggestive, and her frank survey of Cam’s body left little question of her intent. She shifted slightly on the leather seat, baring an expanse of smooth, well-muscled thigh.

Cam smiled, unperturbed. No matter how attractive Blair Powell was, and she was damned attractive, Cam had no intention of being sidetracked. "If I can do my job without getting in your way, I will. As much as that is possible, I’ll see that that happens. There’ll be times when it’s impossible. I’ll apologize in advance for that."

"But you won’t bend the rules – not even as a favor?" Blair questioned softly, her tone heavy with innuendo.

"No," Cam stated flatly. She bent her head slightly as a voice in her ear appraised her of their location. Looking up she caught the surprise in Blair’s eyes before her elegant features set into an expression of arrogant dismissal.

"We’re almost there," Cam informed her. "One of the agents will walk you in."

"I know the drill," Blair snapped, irritated at the agent’s implacable demeanor. Maybe she was wrong; maybe Roberts was straight after all. But the way she had looked in the bar! God, she was so hot, and seemed so comfortable there. Knowing Cam was watching from across the room while the stranger in leather took her pleasure from Blair’s body had been an incredible turn on for her. More exciting than anything the woman against her was doing. She wanted Cam to feel as unsettled as she had been the night before. So far, she hadn’t been able to crack the agent's cool exterior. If she couldn’t unbalance her in some way, it was going to be very difficult to elude her and her watch dogs.

"Enjoy the opening," Cam said quietly as Blair slid from the limo. Blair did not grace her with a response.

**********

Diane greeted her with an affectionate hug, whispering softly, "Hey, darlin’ – I called you all last evening. Out on the prowl?"

Blair shrugged imperceptibly, aware of the reporters nearby. "For a while."

They moved away from the crowd milling around the small bar which offered the obligatory wine and cheese. Blair smiled at the people she knew as well as those she didn’t. She had so much practice at this she barely registered the faces any longer.

"Get lucky?" Diane probed with the slightest edge in her voice. They had known each other for years, since prep school at Choate, where they had been lovers briefly as teenagers. There had been more than one time Diane wished they still were. There were moments when she caught sight of Blair unexpectedly and her breath would catch with sudden desire. Blair was beautiful, talented, and --most attractively-- emotionally remote. Just the kind of challenge Diane liked in her women. When she looked at the cool, self-contained woman beside her, she barely remembered the eager, open young girl with whom she had first shared love and simple unbridled sexual pleasure. She hadn’t caught a glimpse of her in years.

Blair’s smile was brittle. "Depends on how you define that. I enjoyed her."

"Did she enjoy you?" Diane pushed, knowing full well Blair rarely allowed her sexual conquests the pleasure of having her. Which was one of the reasons Diane remained attracted. Like the exquisite one-of-a-kind works of art she brokered, she lusted after the exceptional, the singular, the one thing that no one else had. She wanted to be the one to wrest a cry of passion from those beautiful lips, to break the silence of Blair’s isolation.

A warning flickered in Blair’s blue eyes. There were places where even her oldest friend was not welcome. "She got what she was looking for. She left satisfied."

Yes, but did you? Diane thought, but wisely did not say. She surveyed the room, pleased at the turn out. Whenever she showed Blair’s paintings, there was interest. Some of it, of course, was due to Blair's notoriety, but most of it was due to her genuine talent. The collectors were beginning to buy her work, recognizing its value. It wasn’t a solo showing this time, but Blair was the featured artist.

"Where’s your new Spooky?" Diane asked.

"Directly across the room. She just came in," Blair responded. Cameron was looking casually in their direction without seeming to focus on them. She was good. Blair knew perfectly well that she was the only thing Cameron was looking at. She also knew that the handsome agent saw her only as an assignment, an object to be moved, contained, and controlled on some giant chess board. Blair might be the queen, but she had been stripped of her power. She was ruled by pawns, and she hated it. Especially when her keeper was a woman so attractive Blair felt a twinge of desire every time she saw her. That made her even more eager to escape those intense grey eyes.

"Oh my," Diane murmured, following Blair’s gaze. She took in the lean physique and androgenous features in one swift appraising glance. "She is tantalizing."

Irked at the suggestive tone in Diane’s voice and even more irritated at her own surge of possessiveness, Blair snapped, "Yeah, if she isn’t being paid to watch you."

"I’d almost be willing to pay for that," Diane rejoined, ignoring the edge in Blair’s tone. She had never let friendship stand in the way of her attraction to another woman, and if Blair was interested too, that just intensified the challenge. This one looked like she would take some work. There was a nearly visible barrier around her, her indifference shouting look if you want to, I couldn’t care less. Diane loved bringing those untouchable types to their knees, so to speak.

"You need to mingle, darlin’," Diane said as she moved away, "and so do I if I’m going to sell anything."

Blair watched her lithe blonde friend melt into the throng, wondering how long it would take her to get around to Agent Roberts. She frowned at her own concern, and turned smiling to the director of the Museum of Modern Art, greeting him by name without a hint of her inner disquiet.

**********

"It’s a shame you can’t enjoy the artwork," Diane said softly as she moved next to Cam. "Not that watching Blair is not enjoyable. I’m Diane Bleeker, Blair’s agent."

"How do you do," Cam nodded politely, knowing full well exactly who the sophisticated woman beside her was. "I have managed a glance or two at the works."

"See anything you like," Diane queried teasingly. She didn’t see the point in being coy. She was well beyond that in her life. She allowed one leg to rest gently against Cam’s trousered thigh. It could have been the press of the crowd that brought her so close, but they both knew it wasn’t.

Cam registered the contact, and the heat of Diane’s body so close to her. If she glanced down she knew she would see the creamy expanse of the woman's breasts revealed by the low scoop of her black dress. She didn’t look down. She gazed instead past her, to where Blair stood in conversation with a young man who resembled every stereotype of "struggling young artist" she had ever seen, right down to the rumpled tweed jacket and scraggly beard. She kept her eyes on them as she spoke.

"Actually yes. There’s a series of sketches, nudes, on the far right wall. Charcoal on paper. They’re hers, aren’t they?"

Diane studied her in surprise. She doubted many people had paid the small sketches much attention in the midst of the large oils and other canvasses. But that wasn’t the real reason for her careful answer.

"The artist is Sheila Blake."

"Uh huh," Cam replied with a slight smile. "Ms. Blake’s strokes resemble those of Ms. Powell’s, as does the use of light and shadow. Of course, I’m sure the President’s daughter wouldn’t have cause to be doing female nudes. Are they for sale?"

"Yes," Diane replied, intrigued and immensely attracted.

"And confidential?"

"If the buyer desires. Once the works are consigned to me, the buyer becomes my client."

"The buyer wishes to remain anonymous," Cam stated smoothly, shifting her position slightly to keep Blair in sight.

Diane caught her breath as Cam’s arm unintentionally brushed her breast. She felt her nipple harden painfully, knowing it was visible beneath the shear material of her dress. Was it possible to be this aroused by someone who was practically ignoring you?

"I guarantee it," she managed, her voice husky.

"Thank you."

"Need we discuss price," Diane asked. She was a businesswoman, after all.

"That won’t be necessary."

"Perhaps you’ll allow me to take you to lunch then, to discuss the details."

Cam met her gaze fully for the first time, reading the invitation in them. "Lunch would be fine," she responded. "I’ll call."

"Yes, please do."
 
 

Chapter Six

"Are you awake?"

"Did you get what I need?"

"More or less – I don’t think this is going to make you very happy."

Blair sighed as she pulled her robe around herself and stumbled toward the kitchen and her first cup of coffee. "Tell me."

"She’s not going to be easy to slip away from. Twelve years in the investigative division. Her specialty was tracking Columbian drugs paid for by counterfeit US dollars. Crooks scamming crooks. Apparently she was very good at it."

Blair watched the coffee drip into the pot, her thoughts swiftly calculating. "Why is she suddenly assigned to protection? What aren’t you telling me?"

"There are substantial holes in the information on her. As a matter of record, she was involved in a multi-jurisdictional snafu last year. The secret service had surveillance units watching a drug factory on the outskirts of DC. Apparently the ATF was involved because they thought the same guys were trafficking guns as well as phony money. Unbeknownst to either Federal agency, the DC narcotics unit had an agent under cover with the drug boys. Somehow the Colombians got wind of it, the narcotics detective’s cover was blown, and she was killed in a shoot out. Cameron Roberts was shot trying to warn her off seconds before the whole place went crazy."

Blair’s stomach tightened. "She was shot?"

"In the thigh. That’s not the whole story though."

"What is?"

Her caller hesitated. Even friendship had its limits. "Roberts has a sterling reputation, Blair."

"I don’t intend to sully it," Blair snapped.

"There are rumors – not many, and no one will commit to knowing anything for sure. She’s well-liked by her colleagues-"

"All right! I get your point. You don’t want to tell me, but you will. Because if you don’t I’ll make sure you’re never an Assistant Director."

"Blair!"

"I’m kidding, and you should know that, if you don’t after all these years. Tell me who she is, AJ. She’s got control over my life!"

"Deep sources say the narcotics dick who was killed was her lover."

"Christ!" Blair breathed.

"That may explain the change in assignments. A thing like that can ruin you for field work."

Blair pictured the clear-eyed, focused woman who had tracked her down at the bar with seeming ease two nights before. None of the other agents had been able to find her once she'd slipped into the shadows. Or at least none had ever dared to.

"I don’t think she’s ruined for anything, AJ. She’s ice."

"That would fit."

"What do you mean?"

"There’s one other rumor, buried so deep I’m not even sure it’s her they’re talking about."

Blair sat on the edge of the stool at her breakfast bar, her coffee forgotten. "What is it?"

"You’ve heard of the very hush hush escort service that operates on the hill?"

"You mean the one that provides all kinds of companions- boys, girls, either or both - for senators, dignitaries, and supposedly my father?"

"I don’t know a thing about your father!"

"It doesn’t matter one way or the other to me. He leaves me alone, that’s all I care about. What’s this got to do with Roberts? Is she trying to shut it down?"

"Might be she’s using it."

Blair caught her breath, then laughed derisively. "Your sources haven’t seen Cameron Roberts. Believe me, she does not have to pay for sex!!"

"Maybe she wants to."

"Come again?"

"No strings – no attachment – nothing to lose."

"I forgot you’re a psychologist," Blair commented dryly. She finally sipped her coffee. "So what you’re telling me is that my new keeper has no weaknesses I might exploit to make a little breathing room for myself, huh?"

"None that I could find."

Blair gently replaced the receiver, her annoyance warring with her curiosity. Every one had a secret, and everyone had a weakness – even her. She had just been lucky enough to keep hers hidden all her life. So apparently had Cameron Roberts.

**********

At precisely eleven a.m. a knock sounded at the door. Blair answered, knowing whom it was.

"Always punctual, Agent Roberts?" she queried as she turned away, leaving Cam to follow her into the loft. As she walked she caught her wild blond hair back with a headband fashioned from a black bandana. She pushed sweats and other gear into a nondescript gym bag, ignoring Cam as she packed.

"I thought we might go over the plans for the trip to DC, and New Year’s Eve," Cam suggested, leaning against the back of the couch.

"What’s to review," Blair said dismissively. "You’ll escort me to the airport, another hired guard will pick me up at National and deposit me at the White House, where I will play dutiful daughter, pose for a few photos, and celebrate surviving another year." She glanced at Cam with a shrug. "I’ll tell you when – you be here."

"I would like to have the itinerary in advance so I can brief my team. Shall we plan on departure at 3pm Wednesday?"

Blair finally faced her fully. "I am in the habit of setting my own schedule."

"That’s why I’m here," Cam replied evenly.

"Do you spar, Agent Roberts?" Blair asked suddenly.

"As in hand to hand combat?"

"As in karate?"

Cam hesitated momentarily, at a loss as to where they were headed. Blair Powell did not make casual conversation. "Not exactly. I don’t point spar – I’m a mat stylist. I –"

"Then let’s talk about the travel arrangements after we work out. I was just leaving for the gym. You can use some of my gear."

Cam stared at her. This was not a good idea. She was paid to protect her, not socialize with her. She didn’t care how it might look to others, but she was worried about maintaining a professional distance. Blair was hard enough to handle without adding the confusion of any sort of personal relationship.

Stalling she said, "If you’re going out I need to alert my people---"

Blair grabbed her bag, brushing past Cam. "I’m outta here. You coming or not?"

Cam had no choice. She either went with her or allowed her to leave the building alone and hope one of her agents picked her up before Blair lost them in the crowds on the street. She hurried after her, activating her radio as she went.

"Mac, you there?" she whispered urgently.

"Yeah, boss," Mac answered immediately.

"Egret is flying – get someone downstairs in a car-"

"Roger that – you keeping her company?"

"Affirmative, but I want backup, and make sure everyone is mobile." She shouldered into the elevator just as the doors began to slide closed. Blair leaned against the rear wall watching her with an amused expression on her face. Cam clicked off the radio, clipped it back on her belt and stared at her. She was more annoyed than angry, but she kept her expression neutral.

"You don’t like it, do you?" Blair stated.

"Like what?" Cam asked evenly.

"Not being in control- not knowing what’s going to happen one moment to the next."

"If we’re speaking about my work, you’re right. It’s my job to be in the know – to have control of the situation. That’s what I’m paid to do."

Blair studied her, unable to read anything in her smooth even features or her calm modulated tones. The elevator doors opened into the foyer and she saw two agents waiting near the door. She shook her head impatiently.

"Tell them to leave us alone," she said unexpectedly. There was a hint of something desperate in her voice.

"The gym on Seventh Ave?" Cam responded.

"Yes."

Cam spoke into her radio. "We’re walking to Soho. Follow us in the car."

Cam and Blair stepped out into a brisk clear morning as the two men moved past them into the car that sat idling at the curb. It slowly drifted through traffic behind them as they turned south toward the gym.

Blair glanced at Cam who walked beside her, constantly scanning the street ahead of them and the cars that passed along side.

"Are you really serious about protecting me?" she asked.

"Of course."

"Why?"

"Because you need it, and because I have been asked to do it."

"Would you actually 'take a bullet' for me, as they say?" Blair said mockingly. A muscle clenched in Cam’s jaw, and a storm rose in her gray eyes.

"Yes," she answered curtly. She locked eyes with Blair, searching for some hint of what she was after. She had no doubt there was some point to this. Blair’s blue eyes were defiant, and just as searching.

"You’ve had some practice at that, haven’t you," Blair probed. Finally a swift intake of breath and a slight falter in Cam’s step rewarded her as the question struck home. She does have a weak spot, she thought triumphantly. When Cam failed to answer, Blair pushed.

"It’s a matter of record, you know."

"Then you know all there is to know," Cam replied stiffly. She fought to keep the image of Janet’s face from her mind.

"Really?"

"As you said – it’s a matter of record."

Blair laughed. "We all know how accurate the records are, don’t we, Agent Roberts?"

**********

Their destination was not the expected polished urban health club where Blair practiced yoga and aerobics. Blair led them swiftly past the entrance to the gym and turned down an adjacent alley. Cam groaned inwardly when Blair grabbed her arm and directed her up a flight of narrow littered stairs to a huge room on the third floor of a rundown tenement building.

The clientele was mostly male. There were worn punching bags hung from chains scattered about, men in torn tee shirts or no shirts at all pounding at them. Heavily- muscled lifters grunted and sweated at the free weight benches tucked into every conceivable corner. Two elevated boxing rings dominated the center of the space, one currently occupied by a pair of fighters making a serious effort to score off each other. Cam was willing to bet there were half a dozen felons in the room, any one of whom probably knew exactly who Blair Powell was.

"Have you been here before?" she asked as she weaved her way around bodies, following Blair toward the rear.

"Three times a week for eighteen months."

Cam was furious. No one had told her about this place – she had no background on the members, no idea of the physical layout, and no prayer of guarding Blair effectively. How in hell had this been overlooked?

As if reading her mind, Blair commented, "They don’t know about it."

"How?"

Blair grinned, an altogether spontaneous and disarming grin. Or it might have been if Cam hadn’t been so angry. "They think I’m at my therapist’s office around the corner most of the time."

"Back door?"

"Uh huh."

Cam didn’t ask her why. There was no need to. She knew why. Pointing out the danger would be meaningless. Blair obviously cared less for her safety than for her freedom, and that was probably the result of having people like herself constantly shadowing her for the last fifteen years of her life. What mattered to Cam now was that something similar not happen again.

"Here we are," Blair announced, pulling back the curtain to a small cramped dressing room not much bigger than a walk-in closet. A shower stall and toilet were visible behind a rickety screen in the back. Blair tossed her bag down and in one fluid motion pulled off her shirt. She caught Cam off guard and laughed knowingly as Cam’s eyes flickered once to her breasts before she quickly looked away.

"You can grab sweats and a tee shirt from my bag. There’s plenty," Blair informed her as she continued to strip. She watched Cam unabashedly as she changed. She knew Cam was aware of her scrutiny, although she gave no sign of it. Cam had the kind of body Blair expected – lean and hard-muscled, a tightly coiled machine. She imagined making those muscles quiver with desire, watching Cam's rigid control break with need. The power of the image stirred a flush of arousal so keen it made her gasp. If Cam heard, she gave no sign of it. She reached for a pair of sweats without hurrying.

Blair looked at the ten inch scar that ran down the outside of Cam’s right thigh. It was still fresh enough that it hadn’t lost the redness. As Cam pulled the pants up, Blair asked, "Is your leg okay?"

"Yes, it is."

Cam pulled on a tee shirt that said 'Ernie’s Gym'. She faced Blair, who stood appraising her. The President’s daughter wore a sleeveless tee, torn off a couple of inches below her high firm breasts, and baggy sweats. Sleek well-toned muscles defined her arms and legs. Her exposed midriff was taut, and she sported a small gold ring in her navel. Untamed blond strands escaped from the black headband, wilding around her face. Her blue eyes glinted with brazen sensuality. She was a beautiful animal.

"I take it this is Ernie’s?" Cam remarked dryly, refusing to be distracted by Blair’s open seduction. The time when the promise of a body like that might have interested her was past. The price of possession was too high.

"This is Ernie’s," Blair rejoined, pushing the curtain aside. She wasn’t perturbed by Cam’s rebuff. She would have been disappointed had it been easy. What bothered her was the undeniable throbbing in her own body. Desire was a weakness, one she exploited in others, but avoided personally. There were too many ways in which other people controlled her. She would not allow another.

**********

Cam’s head snapped back as a kick landed along her jaw.

"Are you sure you don’t want a helmet," Blair called, a hint of laughter in her voice. She moved lightly on the canvas, her gloved hands at chest level. Cam faced her, wearing no gloves or other protective gear.

"No thanks," Cam responded, gauging the reach of Blair’s legs with respect. When the next kick came she stepped off the line of the trajectory and deflected it with a forearm. She expected a follow-up punch, and she blocked that as well. She stepped back once again to a middle range, trying to get a feel for Blair’s tactics. Blair moved lightly on the canvass, agile and supple. Blair was a kickboxer, and used her feet as weapons in the ring. Cam was trained for the street. Blair attacked relentlessly, mixing kicks, double kicks and strikes with considerable skill. Some scored, although none would have done damage had they been full force.

Cam deflected, blocked and redirected her opponent’s efforts. She was trained to immobilize and neutralize, and those techniques were not designed for sparring. She knew she couldn’t defend this way for long – there was a good chance Blair would make serious contact with one of her kicks. As a sweeping round house kick approached her head, Cam stepped forward into Blair’s body, so close to her that the kick lost its force. She trapped Blair’s leg with her near arm, grasped the shoulder of Blair's shirt with her other hand, and swept Blair’s remaining leg out from under her. Cam held onto her to break her fall, following her down to the mat, and pinned her face down with a shoulder pin.

"Son of a bitch!" Blair muttered as she struggled briefly to lift her torso off the canvass. She stopped when the pressure on her shoulder increased slightly. She wasn’t damaged, but she was effectively immobilized.

"If you tap the mat, I’ll release you," Cam said softly into her ear. "But you must promise not to punch me as you get up. Rules of war."

Blair laughed as she slapped the mat. She rolled over and found Cam kneeling beside her, a half smile on her face.

"You okay?" Cam asked.

"Dandy. I suppose you’ll do that again if we start over?"

"I told you I didn’t spar," Cam said as they both got to their feet. "You’d annihilate me."

"No, I don’t think so," Blair replied softly, stripping off her gloves. "You mind showing me that technique?"

Cam glanced outside the ring, realizing they had drawn quite a crowd. She wasn’t sure this was a good time for a lesson, especially when she had no one inside the building. She couldn’t very well survey the people around them if she was flat on her back. Blair followed her gaze, her smile disappearing in irritation.

"They don’t know me," she said flatly.

Cam saw the resentment in her eyes, and shook her head slightly. "You can’t know that."

"I know," Blair insisted. "I always know." She took a deep breath, then added in a whisper, "please."

Cam swept the group leaning on the ropes one more time. "All right."

She demonstrated at half- speed several times while Blair watched intently. Then she launched a kick toward Blair’s head, ready to pull back if Blair failed to execute the technique. Blair quickly countered and took Cam down soundly to the cheers of the onlookers. Cam found herself on her back with Blair above her, Blair's bent forearm pressed to Cam’s neck. Blair pressed her knee between Cam’s legs and leaned forward until their faces were nearly touching. Her lips were a breath away.

"If you don’t slap the mat, I can make this feel a whole lot better," Blair whispered.

Cam gasped as Blair rocked her thigh against Cam’s pelvis. For a second all she felt was the fire, igniting instantly into a consuming ache. She caught back a moan, shook her head to clear it, and in one upward thrust, dislodged Blair from on top of her. She was on her feet quickly, and in the next instant had vaulted over the ropes and out of the ring.

"She’s too much for you, huh girl?" a burly man next to her said good-naturedly.

"You got that right," Cam responded lightly. She waited as Blair climbed down, then followed her into the dressing room.

"I need to shower," Blair informed her, pulling off her clothes. Cam struggled to quell the remnants of unwanted desire.

"I’ll wait outside."

"What are you afraid of, Agent Roberts?" Blair taunted lightly as she stood naked before her. "I felt you, you know."

"Take your time," Cam said evenly as she stepped out through the curtain. Blair’s laughter followed her even as the throbbing in her pelvis reminded her of her own weakness.
 
 

Chapter Seven

Cam slammed the office door hard enough that the glass enclosure rattled. Six agents sat slumped around the table, staring at their pens. Cam stood at the end of the table, breathing heavily, trying to contain her anger.

"How many of you have been on this detail longer than six months?" she asked at length, her words clipped. There was a moment of silence, then Mac cleared his throat.

"All of us, ma’am."

"All of you." She looked them over one at a time. "All of you."

"Yes ma’am," he responded.

"Obviously none of you are capable of this assignment, nor worthy of it. Blair Powell – the daughter of the President of the United States -has been criminally unprotected for months, and not one of you reported it? Even if I could overlook your lack of responsibility to her – which I can’t – it is impossible to excuse your silence regarding the potential danger to national security. Were she kidnapped it would threaten the presidency." Leaning forward, both hands flat on the table, she said succinctly, "I want a request for transfer from every one of you on my desk in one hour."

As Cam turned toward the door, Paula Stark stood abruptly. "Commander!"

"Yes?" Cam questioned.

"I don’t want a transfer, ma’am. I want this detail."

"Really? And why is that?"

Stark took a deep breath. "Because she is my responsibility, and because I can do what no one else can. I’ve spent months following her through half the gay bars in this city. I am recognized, and I’m accepted. I can go where most of the others can’t. You need an inside person, and that’s me."

Cam regarded her silently.

Paula met Cam’s penetrating gaze. "I should have filed a report sooner. We lose her regularly, and it’s always because we’re never informed of her route, or she changes it, or she intentionally lies to us. We’re all frustrated – but that’s no excuse."

"You’re right. That’s no excuse for what you all have been participating in. Regardless of Ms. Powell’s duplicity, it is your sworn duty to guard her. If you don’t have what it takes, you don’t belong here. I don’t want anyone on this team who doesn’t want to be here." She looked over the group. "I’ll see that there are no repercussions if you request transfer now, but I guarantee I will see you posted to an embassy in Somalia if you fuck up on my detail."

An hour later, Mac knocked on the door to Cam’s eight by ten office.

"Comander?"

Cam studied his boyishly handsome face. His blue eyes were serious.

"Are you staying or leaving, Mac?"

"I’m staying if you want me. Two men want transfers – they’re bringing the paperwork. I’m sorry I fucked up. If you don’t trust me…"

Cam stopped him with a raised hand. "I need a good coordinator, Mac. We have an uncooperative target – nothing is going to change that. We are going to have to be able to readjust personnel, vehicle placement, even motor routes at a moment’s notice. I need to be with her – consistently, persistently – until she figures out that we are not going away."

She saw the look of disbelief he quickly tried to hide. She laughed, the tension easing from her shoulders for the first time since she left the gym. "Yeah, I know. I’m dreaming. You’ll be the desk jockey most of the time we’re here, and the communication center when we’re not. Are you in or not?"

He favored her with a brilliant smile. "I’m in."

"Good – then find me replacements for the two who are leaving. I don’t even want to see the files until you’ve been through them. And Mac – we both know what the problem has been. If there’s even a hint of homophobia, I don’t want them on this assignment. Blair Powell’s lifestyle is not our concern, and shouldn’t affect the way we do the job. I want that clear."

"Yes ma’am. I understand."

"Good. We’ll brief for the trip to Washington at 0700."

As soon as her second in command closed the door, Cam leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to think about her response to Blair’s blatant sexual overture at the gym, but she had to. She could not afford to be distracted, and there was no denying the effect Blair had on her. Fortunately, it was purely physical, and they would be in Washington in two days. She could satisfy the insistent demands of her body then.

**********

Cam was the last one on the plane. The cabin space was small, and Blair sat alone near the rear. Three other agents had boarded earlier and occupied the area just behind the cockpit. Cam nodded to them as she moved toward the rear, finally settling in the seat across the aisle from Blair. She stretched her legs into the aisle and pulled a stack of memos from her briefcase.

"Do you have plans for tonight, Agent Roberts?" Blair asked. She liked the semi-casual look of Cam’s pressed khaki chinos and matching blazer over a cotton broadcloth shirt. The only way she liked her better was in the tight faded jeans she wore when she was off-duty. Blair remembered very well how good Cam looked in those. In fact, every time she thought about that night in the bar she wanted nothing more than to get her hands inside those jeans. For the moment at least, that seemed unlikely.

Cam smiled, shaking her head slightly. "No plans. Happy Birthday, by the way."

Blair flushed slightly, then reminded herself the agent was only being polite, like most of the people in her life. She leaned forward, lowering her voice as she spoke. "Why thank you. I don’t suppose a birthday kiss is in the offing?"

Cam glanced at her, aware of how attractive she was, then back at the papers before her. "No."

They did not speak for the rest of the flight.

Cam accompanied Blair across the drive to the private entrance to the White House. She stopped at the door as a guard opened it for Blair.

"I’ll see you in the morning, Ms. Powell," she said. The door swung shut with no response from the President’s daughter. The White House Security staff would be responsible for her welfare from this point until she was ready to leave the next day. Cam was looking forward to a day off, and a relaxing evening.
 
 

chapter eight

Cam stretched out on the couch with a drink and watched the traffic below on Pennsylvania Avenue. From her highrise apartment she could see the White House in the distance. She wondered fleetingly how Blair was faring, then put the thought from her mind. Tonight she did not have to worry about her. She reached for the phone and dialed a number from memory.

"This is number 38913," she said as a female voice answered. "I’d like to confirm my arrangement for tonight." She waited for a moment as her client ID number was verified. "Yes – eleven o-’clock at—" She hesitated as her beeper went off. "Just a second," she added, checking the number. It was the White House. "I’ll have to call back. It may be later. Yes, keep it open – I’ll take care of the time. Thank you."

She pushed the other line, keeping the scrambler engaged. "Roberts," she said tersely when the phone was picked up.

"Commander? It’s Mac – I’m sorry to bother you, but I thought you’d want a call."

"Mac?" she said in surprise. "What are you doing there? What’s going on?"

"I’m not supposed to be here. She’s gone, Commander. They lost her an hour ago. The commander here didn’t want anyone to know, so when it started getting late a buddy of mine called me on the sly."

"Goddamn it," she cursed. "Who else knows?"

"Just the inside team here. They haven’t a clue where to look."

She understood his message. "Right – we can’t very well call out our own people. We’re not even supposed to know about this. There are a few places I can check. Listen Mac, there’s a floating club – it travels around from one venue to another all over the city. Very trendy, only people in the know have the address. Find it for me. I’ll call you in an hour."

She interrupted his protests. "I don’t know how you’ll find it, but I’m sure you will."

Two hours later he called her with the address. Cam arrived at the warehouse close to midnight. She had been to every gay bar she knew of, and several Mac had come up with. It was New Year’s Eve. The bars were packed with exuberant men and women in various stages of intoxication and undress. She hadn’t found her. For all she knew, Blair was tucked away in bed somewhere with a girlfriend they didn’t know about. Cam hoped so.

It was worse than she expected. Wall to wall people, jostling bodies, smoke hanging in clouds below the dim spotlights, the air heavy with sex and booze. Cam pushed her way into the shadowy depths of the long room, hoping that each blonde she saw would be Blair.

Blair watched her drawing closer. She stood leaning against the wall in the narrow passageway leading to semi-private alcoves and niches which women were using for quick assignations and frantic couplings. She had been watching a young tough in tight black leather pants swagger about at the bar, trying to impress her friends with her bravado. Blair thought she might be fun to toy with. It was always so satisfying to humble the butches, and she made a bet with herself that she could make this one beg. She was about to go over when she caught sight of Cam. Taller by a head than most of the women, she cut a swath through the crowd like a sleek cutter through the sea. In a light windbreaker, dark polo shirt, the signature faded jeans and boots, she should have looked ordinary, but she was easily the sexiest woman in view. She moved with certainty and grace, lithe and powerful, a hunter searching its prey. It was only the darkness in the hall that gave Blair the advantage. As Cam moved closer, Blair’s pulse quickened. This time the hunted would have the hunter.

Cam stepped through the archway into the hall just as the countdown to midnight began. People were crushing in around her, searching for that elusive partner to claim at the dawn of a new year. Blair caught her by the arm and spun her against the wall, pressing into her, her hands around Cam's waist. Cam was momentarily stunned. Blair’s breasts were soft against her chest, her breath hot on Cam's neck, Blair's thigh tight into her crotch. Cam hadn’t been close to a woman this way in a year and her body surged with reawakened sensation. She caught her breath as a stab of desire pierced her. Her clit swelled, hard and ready in an instant.

"Happy New Year, Commander," Blair breathed into her ear, grasping Cam’s head and pulling her down into a kiss. Cam gasped in surprise as Blair pushed into her, fusing their bodies in the press of the milling crowd.

Can groaned as Blair's searching tongue invaded her mouth, adding heat to the fire that raged through her. Cam kissed Blair back, she couldn’t help it. For an instant she forgot who she was, or where she was. All she knew was the pounding in her head, and the ache in her belly, the throbbing in her clit driving her quickly toward climax. Blair pushed her hand between Cam’s legs.

"Oh Jesus!" Cam gasped, pulling her mouth away so abruptly her head banged against the wall. Her legs were trembling. She grasped Blair’s hand, dragging it away from her body. "No, goddamn it! That’s enough!"

"Are you crazy?" Blair exclaimed, her voice thick with her own urgent need. "You’re so hot I can feel you through your jeans! You’re almost there – let me do what I know you want!"

That moment was all Cam needed to find her control. She pushed Blair back a step, breaking their contact.

"I want to get you out of here."

Blair’s eyes blazed dangerously. She had come close to humiliating herself. The fire in Cam’s body had ignited her own, and she had been very close to coming herself. She throbbed still. "Go fuck yourself, Agent Roberts!"

As she tried to walk away, Cam grasped her arm. "Ms. Powell – please!"

"Leave me alone. No one knows I’m here."

"I know."

"Then pretend you don’t," Blair snapped, trying to escape into the crowd. She couldn’t move very quickly through the mass of revelers, and Cam stayed right beside her.

"I can’t," Cam stated with finality.

Blair turned to face her, her body rigid with fury. "Then do your job, but stay out of my way!"

Cam nodded, accepting the slight concession. She let Blair move ahead of her, wishing she could reach Mac for backup. The best she could do was stay close to Blair until she settled for the night, and then call for another team.

Which is how she came to find herself on the phone in the lobby of the Franklin Hotel at two am. "Mac?"

"Yeah, Commander. Tell me you got her – please."

"Send two of our people, not the White House detail- to the Franklin Hotel on the parkway. I’ll wait 'til they get here. She’s in Room 1302, and I think she’ll be here for the night. I need someone in the room across from hers – I’ve booked it- and a car downstairs. And Mac, keep this quiet for God’s sake. If the White House press corps catches on to her little foray, they’ll be all over us."

"Any info on who she’s with?" Mac asked hesitantly.

"No," Cam said curtly. Except that she was young, recklessly beautiful in an androgynous way, and had followed Blair without hesitation when Blair walked up to her, kissed her by way of introduction, and said, "I’m leaving. You coming?"

Cam had followed them the few blocks to the hotel at a discrete distance, hanging back in the shadows every time Blair stopped to grope and fondle her leather clad conquest. Blair never looked in Cam’s direction, but she had to know Cam was there, watching the display. If the seduction was meant to anger Cam, it did, but probably not for the reasons Blair intended. Cam was infuriated at the risk Blair was taking by picking up a stranger and checking into a hotel a few blocks from the White House. It was dangerous on more levels than she could count. Blair Powell was beautiful, bright, and talented. She didn’t need to waste herself on one-night stands. It was physically hazardous, politically suicidal, and willfully self-destructive. Cam came close to breaking up their little tryst at one point, but she reminded herself that Blair Powell had every right to do what she was doing, and any effort to intervene would only make her more reckless. The last thing she had seen was Blair backing her girlfriend up against the door to their room as she fumbled to fit her card in the lock behind them, kissing her with an intensity that echoed in Cam’s body. The door finally swung open and they disappeared breathlessly inside.

"Boss –you still there?" Mac’s voice interrupted her reminiscences.

"Yes," she retorted, her voice thick with the memory.

"I’ll have someone there in five minutes."

"Good."

**********

Cam was still seething when she stepped off the elevator into the foyer in front of her apartment. She stopped in surprise when she saw the stately blond put a book aside and smile in her direction.

"My god!" Cam exclaimed. "I didn’t mean for you to wait out here in the hallway!"

Her visitor stood, sliding the book into a stylish leather bag. "I know, but my evening was already planned, and it’s safe enough. I know I’m presuming, and I can leave if you like. But you did book the whole night."

"No," Cam said as she unlocked her door. "Come in." She hit the dimmer switch inside the door, giving them just enough light to maneuver by. She turned to the woman who stepped inside after her. "I’m sorry-"

"Don’t be," the blonde said, touching Cam’s cheek lightly. She felt the tremor, and the heat. She knew the signs.

"You need some attention," she whispered throatily. Without waiting for an answer, she pushed Cam gently back against the door as she worked loose the buttons on Cam's fly. She heard the swift intake of breath, a wordless assent. She leaned one arm along the wall beside Cam’s still form and reached into her jeans.

Cam grasped the handle for support, closing her eyes. She was aching, had been since the bar, and her body had never quieted. The first touch was excruciating.

"Oh god," she groaned, praying she could stay standing. The strokes were certain, commanding, relentless, and she heard herself moaning. She pushed back against the wall, rigid with the effort to control the mounting pressure as her hips bucked forward into the waiting hand.

"I’m losing it," she gasped, clenching her jaw until it ached. She cried out as the explosion spread through her, her head rocking from side to side with the pulsations. When it subsided she was amazed she was still upright.

"Oh, Christ," she gasped breathlessly. "I didn’t mean for that to happen so fast."

"I don’t think it was up to you," her companion laughed softly, moving away discreetly so Cam could regain her composure. The arousal certainly had nothing to do with her, which she suspected was most often the case.

"Will you have that drink now?" Cam asked dryly as she fumbled with the buttons on her jeans. Her hands were trembling.

"I would definitely like that," the blond said with a smile.

Cam moved over to the bar and poured them both a drink, then settled on the sofa in front of the floor to ceiling windows. They sat in silence in the near darkness for a few moments, each privy to her own thoughts.

"Does it bother you?" Cam said at length. "The lack of reciprocation?" When her guest failed to answer, she added quietly, "I’m sorry. That was inappropriate, and none of my business."

"No, it’s all right," came the soft reply. "I don’t expect any reciprocation, and most of the time I wouldn’t want it."

It was Cam’s turn to be quiet. As many times as they had met, they had never talked of anything personal. She had never wanted to know. She had no idea why she was asking now.

"You should know this is by my choice, and there is absolutely no abuse involved," the woman added.

Cam nodded – she knew all the details of the operation, right down to how often all the employees had health exams. What she didn’t know was who they were, or what they felt. Both of them kept their identities, and their secrets, hidden. It was a business arrangement, with a veneer of civility, and so far it had worked for both of them.

"So sometimes you would like it to go both ways?" Cam asked.

"I certainly wouldn’t throw you out of bed," her companion replied gently, her laughter making light of her statement.

"I’m not asking for that – I can’t, I haven’t-" Cam struggled with the words. How to explain that she didn't feel any desire for women, that the thought of wanting someone terrified her. It was too much, too close – and then to lose it. She swallowed the ache, battling the old pain.

The blonde stopped her with a hand on her thigh. "I don’t need you to make love to me. If it makes you feel any better, I enjoy what we do. Rather a lot. Exactly as it is."

Cam nodded in acceptance, placing her drink beside her on the table. She stood, reaching out her hand.

"Let’s move to the bedroom," she said, hoping eventually to sleep.
 
 

chapter nine

Mac looked up as his boss and the First Daughter boarded the plane. The air seemed decidedly chilly. Blair stalked down the aisle and threw herself across the seats at the rear. Cam took the first seat inside the cabin, leaned back, and closed her eyes. Mac figured she hadn’t gotten much sleep. None of them had. Between tracking Blair down, then shadowing the hotel the rest of the night, half the team had worked on the one night they all expected to have off. Blair hadn’t emerged to return to the White House until eight a.m., and that made it all the harder to get her past the press corps without announcing she had been out all night. She looked exactly like she had been out all night, and up all night screwing.

Cam had been called as soon as Blair stepped out of her hotel room, and she had been waiting for Blair at the side entrance of the White House. She didn’t look all that much better than Blair, although her attire was impeccable as usual. Neither of them acknowledged the other as Cam ushered Blair in through the service entrance and down the labyrinth of service halls to the family living quarters. The limo ride to the airport an hour later had been just as frosty.

When the plane landed in New York forty minutes later, Cam escorted Blair to the waiting car and climbed into the back with her. In an hour Blair was due to meet with the Mayor and emcee the New Year’s Day Parade.

"Where to, Ms. Powell?" Cam asked perfunctorily. Since Blair’s disappearance the night before and her late arrival this morning, their entire schedule had been changed. Cam had no idea of Blair’s plans, and being at such a disadvantage infuriated her.

For once Blair appeared subdued. "I need to go home and change."

Cam nodded, passed the message along to the driver and the car following them, and settled back against the seat. She clamped down on her anger. She wouldn’t give Blair the satisfaction of knowing how unsettling the interlude in the bar had been for her. The hours she had spent with Claire satisfying her body had not erased the memory of Blair’s mouth on hers, nor the demanding promise of Blair’s hands claiming her. It was not a sensation she welcomed, and the faint bruises around Blair’s lips only served to remind her that Blair had been up all night satisfying her needs with a stranger. Don’t be a fool, she thought in disgust. Anyone will do, as long as she’s in charge. You just happened to be handy!

**********

When they pulled up in front of Blair’s apartment, Cam sent Mac for coffee, while she waited in the limo. She closed her eyes and thought of nothing. When the door opened, she looked up and then averted her eyes as Blair Powell slid into the rear seat across from her. The woman who sat across from her looked nothing like the woman Cam had followed into a Washington gay bar the night before. That woman had been wild, untamed and untamable. Blair was a predator, all the more deadly because she was irresistible. She was beautiful in the way of the wild animals, and Cam had felt her power even as she tried to deny it. This woman was elegant, refined, and bore no resemblance to the creature she had been the night before, with the one exception being that she was just as unapproachable.

The ferocious hunger in Blair's eyes had been replaced by a glacial stillness. If there were thoughts behind the ice blue wall, they no longer showed. Her tailored coat was open to reveal a fitted suit, the jacket unbuttoned to reveal the flimsy silk camisole beneath. The skirt slid up as she crossed her legs. Cam found her every bit as attractive in this guise as she had been the previous night. She felt no safer, aware of the pounding of her own heart.

In defense, Cam decided to focus on the job at hand. This was one of the most dangerous kind of outings for Blair, with her in the public eye and visible to large crowds. When they arrived at the central viewing area, where the mayor and Blair would be commenting on the passing parade, Cam was greeted by the mayor's chief of security, a serious looking red head in her early 40s.

"I'm Marge Pierce," the red head said, extending her hand while openly appraising Cam.

Cam nodded in response as she returned the firm grip. "Cameron Roberts."

Cam surveyed the podium where Blair would be seated. She frowned slightly, noting that the rear of the platform was open on the side where the trucks and vans carrying the sound equipment and other video paraphernalia were parked. Anyone could approach from that direction and she motioned for Mac to station several of their people behind the stand. Pierce noted the maneuver, and quickly dispatched two of her own staff to join the secret service agents.

Blair watched in amusement as the two security chiefs surreptitiously checked each other out, the way two dogs would while surveying common territory. She was pretty sure that Marge Pierce was a lesbian, and from the way Pierce had looked at Cameron Roberts, Blair was even more convinced. For a brief instant she felt a flair of jealousy. There was no doubt that Roberts was one of the most arresting women she had ever seen, and she didn't doubt that there were plenty of women looking for her attention. The fact that it bothered her even for a second irritated her enormously. She turned her back on their activities, focusing on the mayor and his entourage. She certainly had no intention of allowing Cameron Roberts to occupy anymore of her thoughts than necessary.

She forced herself not to think about the fact that each time she had wrung a cry from her young leather-clad conquest the night before, some part of her wished it were Roberts responding under her hands. She had been keenly aware that the body writhing beneath her was not the lean tight body she had glimpsed at the gym and held against her own for just a fleeting moment in the bar. The desire in Cameron's body when Blair had pressed up against her had been breathtaking. Whether Roberts acknowledged it or not, Blair knew the height of her arousal. Frustratingly, that lightening response was what Blair couldn't put from her mind. That swift intake of breath against her ear as her palm pressed against Cameron's crotch had fired her own excitement in a way that no one had been able to do in longer than she could remember. Even thinking of it now stirred her.

Blair could do this sort of event without conscious thought. Since the time she had been an adolescent, she had been in the public limelight. She smiled at the appropriate times, she made the appropriate complementary remarks about the performers, and she was altogether gracious and presentable. To make things even better, the camera loved her. In any lighting, her face looked as if it had been sculpted on a Grecian coin. Because of her personality and her appearance, she was frequently asked to preside at such events. She did it because she had to, and because she cared about her father's image. Nevertheless, each appearance took its toll. She was aware of the men around her staring at her, and the thinly veiled looks of barely disguised lust. She would not have tolerated it under any other circumstance. Had it happened on the street, where she was not as immediately recognizable, she would have made it very clear she was not interested. As it was, she was the unwilling participant in the charade. It only demeaned her in her own eyes and heightened her anger. She never quite got used to it. Only at night, when she shed her public persona and grasped what little she could of her own life, did she feel genuine. For some strange reason that afternoon, she was acutely aware of Cameron Roberts standing just behind her out of the line of sight of the camera. Cam's presence reminded Blair of who she really was. The knowledge that Cameron knew the truth about her somehow made the entire event more bearable.

Blair didn't relax until they were in the limo again on their way back to her apartment. Cameron sat across from her in silence. However, it was not the heavy awkward silence of the earlier ride from the airport, but rather a comfortable regathering of energy after the stress of the afternoon. Blair had to admit that she had felt safe. Despite all the years of these kinds of experiences, she never quite got over the feeling of being vulnerable. There was something about Cameron Roberts' presence that allowed her to forget for the moment that millions of eyes were upon her. It wasn't that the dozens of others who had preceded Roberts didn't take their job seriously, but Blair had always known it was the job and not her they were working for. What made Cameron Roberts so compelling and at the same time so irritating, was that when she focused on you, you knew you had been seen.

"Come upstairs, Agent Roberts," she said as the limo glided to a stop in front of the brown stone. "We can go over the schedule for the rest of the week."

Cameron hid her surprise at the invitation. "All right," she said as she pushed open the door and stepped out. She glanced quickly up and down the street as she extended her hand to Blair. It was an automatic gesture, and she did it without thought. Blair hesitated for just a second and then took the offered hand in hers. The grip was firm and cool. Blair ignored the tingling in her fingers.

The other members of the team escorted them to the private elevator to Blair's penthouse, departing to take the second elevator to the control room one floor below. As the elevator door opened on the upper-most floor, Cam stepped out first and automatically glanced toward Blair's door. In one swift moment her gun was drawn. She turned abruptly toward Blair who had stepped out of the elevator after her. Cam grasped her around the waist, and pushed her forcefully back into the elevator.

"Stay behind me," she ordered as she slapped the lobby button. "Mac!" She said urgently into her microphone. "Seal the building. Have team one meet us at the elevator. We need to evacuate Egret."

"What's going on?" Blair demanded anxiously.

Cam held up one hand to silence her, still speaking to her chief assistant. "There's a package outside Egret's apartment door. Call the bomb squad."

The elevator door slid open and four other agents surrounded them. Cam led the way directly in front of Blair as the group hustled the startled woman across the lobby floor and into a waiting car. Within seconds they were hurrying through the late New Year's Day traffic.

"Clear the civilians from the building," Cam said as she listened to what was happening in the command room on her radio. "Keep them altogether for questioning. I want a list of every person who was in the building within the last week. I'll advise you when we reach the safe house."

The safe house turned out to be a large suite on a top floor of one of the more exclusive hotels in New York City. As soon as they entered, Cam was in communication with Mac once again. Meanwhile, Blair was left to pace in silence in the sitting room. The instant Cam hung up the phone, Blair confronted her.

"Do you mind telling me what the hell is going on?"

"Someone left you a present. Until we find out what, and who, you are not safe at home."

"And I suppose you think I'm going to stay here?" Blair asked incredulously.

"I don't have time to argue with you. Your safety, not your comfort, is what matters at the moment. Once I have some idea of what was in the box, and how someone was able to gain access to the penthouse without our video surveillance cameras picking them up, I can give you some idea of when you can return. The entire security system will need to be revamped, and your apartment needs to be swept."

"What about my work?" Blair asked intently. She couldn't quite keep the tremors from her voice. "All of my work is in my loft. It's protected from fire, but not from a horde of careless Secret Service agents tramping through my apartment."

Cam recalled the stacks of canvases and works in progress that filled over half of Blair's loft space. She realized that the work was irreplaceable, and quite possibly priceless. What she saw in Blair's eyes however was not concern for the material loss, but for the loss of her creations. For an artist to lose their work was the equivalent of anyone else losing a body part.

Cam nodded. "I understand. I'll talk to Mac and make sure that everyone is aware of what's in your apartment. We have to look at everything. There could be almost anything hidden almost anywhere. If someone was able to penetrate our security to leave something outside your door, we have to assume they had access to your apartment as well. I'm sorry. It's the best I can do."

Blair searched Cam's eyes, and found sincerity as well as empathy in the depths of her dark gray eyes. "Thank you," she whispered softly.

"As soon as we have things under control, I'll have someone bring your clothes. Is there anything else you want?"

Blair laughed sarcastically. "A different face? Can you have someone bring me one day of anonymity?"

"How about pizza and a six pack of Corona?"

Blair laughed in spite of herself. "If that's the best you can do Agent Roberts, you are a lousy date. However, considering the limited resources at hand, I'll take it."
 
 

chapter ten

As it turned out, it was six hours before Cam was satisfied that there was no immediate danger at the apartment building. The plain brown package left in front of Blair's door did not contain a bomb. The dogs sent in to investigate were completely uninterested, and there wasn't anything to excite them in Blair's apartment either. A half a dozen agents had scoured the loft and found no evidence of tampering.

Mac was on his way over with the package and supplies for a few days stay. Cam estimated it would take that long to change all of the locks on the building, recheck all the security clearances of the cleaning crews, maintenance men, and inhabitants of the other apartments, and to review all of the transient visitors to the building for the last week. She hadn't told Blair of the timetable yet, and wasn't looking forward to doing it. Until they had a better idea of exactly what had happened, she couldn't let Blair leave the safe house. Cam already had Mac arranging around the clock coverage. She intended to stay on site for at least the next several days. The suite had two bedrooms, a large sitting area, a bar, and wide screen TV. They would be cramped, but they would all have to manage.

A knock at the door brought her to attention. She crossed the width of the room quickly, reaching into her jacket to release the snap on her shoulder holster. She relaxed as Mac announced his arrival.

"What have you got for me?" she asked immediately.

Mac hefted a shoe-box sized parcel in his hands. "I've got this. Bomb boys and evidence techs are done with it."

"Excellent." She indicated that he join her at the table in the sitting area. Blair appeared at the door of the master bedroom just as Cam was reaching for the parcel. Cam looked over her at her and their eyes met. She read the question that Blair could not bring herself to ask.

"Join us, please," Cam said quietly.

Mac looked at her quickly in surprise. Cam met his gaze steadily but said nothing. Once Blair took the seat to Cam's right, Cam carefully examined the exterior of the package. The only address was Blair’s name written in block letters with black magic marker. The paper appeared to be ordinary packing paper sealed with sco