Honor Reclaimed

"Paula, honey, she knows we sleep together."

"Yes, but if we disappear into the bedroom in the middle of the afternoon, she's going to know we have sex."

"Oh, I'm sure that never occurred to her before." Savard smiled. "We'll do it in the shower, then."

Stark's breath caught. "Oh man. Now we're going to have to."

"What's the matter," Savard asked, pressing even closer, the bare skin of her stomach sliding over Stark's, "did that just make you wet?",

Stark blushed. "It made everything...happen." She glanced down, half expecting to see her sudden excitement apparent through her bathing suit. "Just thinking about you touching me makes me so excited, I want to.. .you know. Come."

Savard groaned. "That's it. We're going in the house."

"Yeah," Stark muttered, standing and lifting her towel at the same time. "Maybe we can sneak by your mother."

Chapter Twenty-five

Wednesday, September 26

C am pulled up a chair and regarded the three women seated around the dining-room table that now served as their conference area. Savard, she noted, looked tired, but not haunted. There was a clarity in her blue eyes that had been missing ten days ago. Some of the improvement, Cam surmised, was due to the fact that Stark showed no evidence of anthrax. Neither did Blair, and Cam knew just how much that meant in terms of her own peace of mind and ability to concentrate. She wouldn't feel completely comfortable until the sixty-day incubation period had passed, but Blair was taking the medication prescribed by Captain Andrews, and at this point she was perfectly healthy.

"Good to see you back, Savard. Are you up to speed yet?"

"Getting there, Commander. And thank you. It's good to be back." She and Stark had taken a night flight and then rented a car, arriving just after dawn. Paula had gone immediately to the main house, and she had sought out Felicia, who briefed her quickly over doughnuts and coffee. Just before the seven a.m. briefing, Valerie had come in through the back door. They hadn't had time to do more than nod to one another.

"We've got our full complement of people back now," Cam said. "So let's hear where we are." She looked first at Valerie. "What do we have on the worldwide situation? Anything to tie in to our four UNSUBs?"

"Nothing specific. Everything points to bin Laden as the mastermind of the WTC attack, although it looks like the terrorists responsible were assembled from an assortment of cells—some from Germany, some from the Middle East, and some who had been living here for at least several years. There's nothing that points to a direct American connection."

"On the other hand," Savard interjected, "there is plenty of evidence to suggest that terrorist groups throughout Europe, the Middle East, and elsewhere have begun to collaborate with one another, putting aside their philosophical differences in favor of combined strength. It's not much of a stretch to imagine that something like that could've happened here."

"It works in theory, I agree," Cam said flatly, "but we need facts. What have we turned up on the domestic front?"

Felicia passed out file folders.

Cam opened the top one, as did everyone else at the table. A computer image of a clean-shaven, white, middle-aged male with a buzz cut was on top. His face was square-jawed, with broad cheekbones and a short, relatively shapeless nose—an average face that reflected the melting-pot characteristics of many Americans of far-distant European descent. She looked up, waiting.

"This is August Kreis," Felicia said, "the Webmaster of the neo-Nazi Sheriff's Posse Comitatus group based in Ulysses, Pennsylvania. On September 11, while the World Trade Center towers stood burning, he posted a message praising the 'Islamic freedom fighters' and calling the attacks 'the first shots in a racial holy war that will topple the US government.'"

"Crazy bastard," Savard muttered.

Cam nodded. "I know who he is. He and his 'brothers' routinely get a mention in our internal security reports. So far, I gather he's come up clean for anything related to the attacks?"

"He's been on the FBI watch list for years," Savard said. "There's nothing to connect him to the WTC, other than the timing of his statement. As far as that goes, he either made a very good guess as to who was behind the attacks or he actually knew something. Unfortunately, no one can prove prior knowledge. But if his group knew, other patriot groups did too."

"What we've got," Felicia picked up the thread, "is a loose association of neo-Nazis, skinheads, white separatists, Christian Patriots, neo-Confederates—and the list goes on and on—who have slowly formed a coalition of paramilitary organizations in this country. They share intelligence and feed each other's fanaticism. And they don't give each other up. Code of silence and all that."

"We're looking into all of these organizations for something that connects to these four men," Savard said. "The problem is, our intelligence on these groups is scattered among all the various agencies. We're literally reduced to combing through internal memos from FBI field offices and interagency communiques trying to put the picture together."

"Have you put Foster into the mix as well?" Cam asked.

The agents nodded.

"And?" Cam leaned forward, still believing the answer would be found with him.

"Foster is a cipher," Felicia said, reading from another file folder. "Twenty-nine years old—six years of government service. Nothing exemplary or problematic about his career. His passport, which is reviewed routinely by our agency, showed three trips to Europe other than for assignment-related travel. Each time to Paris, all three trips in the last five months."

Cam narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. "Girlfriend over there? Boyfriend?"

"No sign of any serious romantic relationship here or abroad. And he appears to be heterosexual."

"Savard, pull up the postings of Egret's travel schedule for the last twelve months." It was common practice for the White House press department to post the first family's schedule on the White House Web site as well as in briefings to the press corps, sometimes months in advance. It made the Secret Service's job more difficult, because it provided advance information to anyone who might be a threat, but it was part of the open communication policy that was at least paid lip service on Capitol Hill.

"Got it," Savard said after a minute of clicking through files on her laptop.

"How far in advance was her trip to Paris posted?"

Savard scrolled through data, then raised her eyes from the screen, a look of consternation creasing her face. "Just under six months ago— right before Foster's trips started."

"I'll see what our field agents have to say about the temperature in Paris," Valerie said quietly as everyone at the table grew still. "It's not normally a hot area for terrorist cells, but now? Who knows."

"Nothing happened in Paris last month," Felicia pointed out, referring to Blair's recent goodwill visit to the French capital.

"No," Cam said, her tone hard-edged. "Nothing that we know about." She stood abruptly and crossed the room to the windows overlooking the dune path. She balled her fists and shoved them into her pants pockets, because she wanted to break something. Foster could have been coordinating the attack on Blair for months, probably had been, right under her nose. She'd worked with the man, trusted Blair's life to him every day, and the entire time he had been plotting to assassinate her. If she had him in front of her now, she would kill him all over again. She turned back to the team, her expression carefully neutral, and sat down again.

"Pull his vouchers from last month. Maybe he got sloppy and included something that wasn't job-related in Paris. A cab ride, phone calls, anything at all. Track it all down."

Felicia nodded and made a note. "We've pretty much exhausted the deep background check on him, Commander. He's the first of two children, both boys. His father, now deceased, was a Navy fighter pilot in Vietnam. Mother a housewife. Raised in North Carolina, educated in the South as well. No criminal record, no reprimands in his file, no red flags anywhere." With a grimace, she closed the slim file. "Like I said, the all-American boy."

"You're missing something," Cam said quietly, with no hint of criticism. "Because he's not the all-American boy. All-American boys may be the privileged class, and they may sometimes be racists and homophobes, but they still don't associate with terrorists. And they don't try to assassinate the president's daughter." She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. She thought about Foster, the perfect Secret Service agent. Smart, well-bred, a patriot. And somehow twisted and misguided. What was it that turned a man into something like that. "How old was he when his father died?"

"Uh..." Felicia scrambled with the paperwork.

Savard spoke first. "Almost nine."

"Start there."

"Commander?" Felicia asked uncertainly.

Cam opened her eyes and sat forward. "Find out what, or who; made Foster the man he became." She stood. "Keep looking at the patriot groups. Look back through Egret's files—maybe one of these guys, or one of these groups, sent her a threatening message in the past. Hell, maybe she turned one of these guys down for a date. Get me something."

"Yes, ma'am," Felicia said smartly, echoed by Savard.

When Cam left the room, Savard turned to Valerie. "I'd like you to work on the Paris end of things. Your people have a far deeper reach internationally than we do."

"Certainly."

Savard hesitated, then said, "I'm glad you're working with us, despite the bad blood between your agency and mine. You just need to understand that for us"—she indicated Felicia with a sweep of her hand—"this is personal."

"I understand perfectly, Agent Savard," Valerie replied. "It's very personal for me too."

"Good," Savard said, resuming command with the feeling that her world had settled into place. "Then let's get to work."

*

Stark shot to her feet when Cam walked into the kitchen. She'd been waiting for her, knowing that Cam had gone to brief the investigative team. Her coffee sat growing cold in front of her. She'd been rehearsing her speech and had forgotten to drink it.

"Commander, when you have time, I'd like to discuss the transition—"

"You've got Hara and Wozinski.. .and me, of course." Cam walked to the stove and put her palm on the coffeepot. It was warm. As she grabbed a ceramic mug from a stack on the dish drainer and poured herself a cup, she said, "Plus six of Whitley's private forces. All ex-military police, all very good." She turned and rested her back against the counter, sipping her coffee. "Good to have you back, Stark."

"Thank you, Commander. Is there anything in particular I should know?"

"Business as usual. Except no one is given this location. Not FBI, not Secret Service, not the White House security chief. They have one number. Mine. And that's the way it's going to stay. Anyone needs transportation on or off the island, come to me. I'll arrange it."

"Yes, ma'am."

"It's not about not trusting you, Stark. It's about limiting any access to her."

"I understand that." Stark weighed her words carefully. "The team needs to know that only one person will be giving the orders, Commander."

A moment passed. Cam lifted a shoulder. "And that would be you."

"Thank you."

"Just know that if she's ever in danger, it will be me standing in front of her."

Stark shook her head. "Only if I'm down. You owe it to her not to be the one. Respectfully, ma'am."

Again Cam was silent, her gaze distant. Then she refocused on Stark. "All right, Chief. From now on, I'd like you to sit in on the investigative briefings."

"I'll be there."

"Diane is here, in case you haven't seen her yet. She and Blair have stayed pretty close to the house, and so far it's not been a problem. The beach is secure, but they need to be accompanied. Blair doesn't like it, but—"

From the kitchen doorway, Blair finished, "She doesn't have anything to say about it. Per usual." In a baggy faded blue FBI T-shirt and red-checked boxers that came to mid-thigh, she padded barefoot across the kitchen, paused to squeeze Stark's arm in way of greeting, and made for the coffeepot. She put her palm in the center of Cam's chest and leaned into her for a quick kiss. "Good morning, darling."

Cam grinned. "Hi."

"Please feel free to keep talking about me," Blair said after pouring her coffee. "I'm used to it."

Cam slung an arm around Blair's shoulders, "I think we're probably done with that now."

"Uh-huh." Blair smiled at Stark. "You have a sunburn. Did you have fun?"

"Uh..."

"You are allowed to have fun, Paula," Blair said. "Yon were on vacation."

"It was good. It was great."

"How's Renee?"

Stark glanced at Cam. "She's good. She's fine."

"I think everyone's getting their legs back under them," Cam said mildly. She kissed Blair's temple. "I've got some calls to make. Can I interest you in a walk after that?"

"Sure. I won't be long." Blair waited until Cam had left the room. "Sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable asking about Renee in front of Cam."

Stark shook her head. "No, it's okay. I'm just getting used to the commander.. .well, not exactly being the commander."

Blair laughed. "Paula. Cam will always be Cam, no matter what you call her."

"Yeah, I know."

"Is that a big problem for you?"

"No, not really. It would be silly of me not to take advantage of everything she knows."

"That's a very mature view," Blair said with a grin.

Stark grinned back. "Yeah, I thought so too. But you know, wherever you're going to be, she's going to be. And, well...she's always going to have a say in how we protect you."

"Well," Blair set her mug down on the counter behind her, "I'm glad it's you that took her place."

"Thank you very much. I'm honored."

"I know. I don't understand it, I never have, and I never will. But I believe you." Blair sighed. "Is Renee really doing okay?"

"I think so. She's not having nightmares, at least she hasn't the last few nights,"

"How about you?"

Stark looked puzzled. "Me?"

"I was kind of thinking of the anthrax thing," Blair said mildly.

"Oh. That." Stark took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I don't think about it."

Blair grinned. "Me neither. But I feel okay. You?"

"Fine. Have you heard anything more about Fazio?"

"He's still hospitalized, but responding to therapy. He's going to be okay."

"Man, that's good," Stark said.

"Mac is doing well too. In fact, Cam spoke with him this morning, and he told her they're releasing him in two days."

Starks face lit up. "Yeah? It won't be long before we have the whole team togeth..." She fell silent, thinking about Cynthia. And Foster. She met Blair's gaze. "Nothing will ever be the same again, will it?"

"No," Blair said quietly. "But things never are. We'll all be okay." On her way out of the kitchen, she patted Stark's shoulder. "I'll be going for a walk on the beach with my lover in approximately half an hour, Chief. If you'd like to follow me."

Stark hid her smile. "Yes, ma'am."

Chapter Twenty-Six

Thursday, September 27

I can't believe you held on to the ace of trump until now," Blair said, tossing down her cards in disgust. "Honestly, Paula, do you think I'm a mind reader?"

"Uh...I thought I was supposed to wait until I could take more points." Stark's face was a study in consternation.

"Not from me. Not when I'm your partner." Blair stood abruptly, her chair nearly tipping over as she pushed it back. Everyone at the table flinched. "What exactly do you all do at that training facility of yours when you have spare time? Because God knows, every last one of you is a lousy card player."

"Well," Stark replied with a completely straight face, "we spend a lot of time cleaning our guns."

Blair's eyes narrowed as Diane and Hara tried desperately not to laugh. "You just might become the security chief with the shortest tenure ever."

"Maybe we could work out hand signals or something—"

"Never mind," Blair said through her teeth. "I'm going for a walk."

"Blair, honey," Diane pointed out, "it's midnight. And it's raining."

"I know it's raining. It's been raining for four days. I'm going for a walk." Blair turned on her heel and stalked from the living room.

With a sigh, Diane stood and said to Stark, "I'm going with her."

"Us too," Stark said with equanimity as she and Hara rose.

Diane caught up with Blair on the path to the beach and huddled close to her in the whipping wind and rain. She held the umbrella ineffectually above their heads, where it did little to keep the pelting water from their faces. "God, this is awful."

"Go back, then." Blair shook water from her eyes. "Damned rain."

"What has got you so cranky?"

"I'm not cranky."

"Oh yes, you are, and you're taking it out on poor Stark. One of the sweetest spookies you've ever had. And I've seen them all."

"I'm not—" She broke off as the umbrella turned itself inside out and nearly set sail. She grabbed it from Diane's hand. "Give me that, before it gets away and kills one of them back there."

"You must be horny."

Blair forced the umbrella closed and shoved it under her arm. "Diane. You're my best friend. But if you don't shut up, I'm going to drown you."

Diane pushed water off her face with both hands. "Then you'd better hurry."

"In case you haven't noticed, Cam has been holed up in the guesthouse for almost three days straight." Blair stomped down to the water's edge, her sneakers filling with ice-cold water. The sky was a solid inky black, storm clouds obscuring the stars. She hugged herself, and when she felt Diane's arms close around her waist from behind, she welcomed her warmth. "When she works like this, she doesn't sleep, and she doesn't eat, and she subsists on coffee. She gets headaches that she thinks I don't know about. She's pissing me off."

"Now I get it. You act the same whether you're worried or homy, and the solution is the same too. You just need Cam in bed."

Blair laughed. "That would be a good place to start." She turned her back to the water and the punishing wind and threaded an arm around Diane's waist. "How about you? Are you suffering from lack of company as well? I don't see you spending much time in your own bed at night."

"Valerie usually calls me when they're wrapping up and I... visit."

"Then you're doing better than me. By the time Cam gets home, she usually falls facedown into bed and gets up again three hours later."

"Well, I haven't had a chance to get used to Valerie yet, so I'm not letting her get a lot of sleep."

"I have a feeling that action's probably mutual." Blair steered a path across the darkened beach, noting the shadowy outlines of her two security agents backlit by the lights of the house. She raised her voice to be heard over the sounds of surf and rain. "Go back inside. We're on our way up."

"I'm going to leave you here," Diane said as she reached the point where the path branched to the guesthouse. "I think tonight, I'll surprise her."

"See if you can send mine home before dawn," Blair grumbled as she continued toward the main house.

*

"I hope you don't mind," Diane said quietly as Valerie slipped into the darkened room. "I let myself in through the back."

Valerie crossed to the bed, her eyes gradually adjusting to the absence of light. She leaned over, tracing the ghostly shape beneath the white sheets with her hand, moving from soft cotton to even softer skin. She combed her fingers through silken strands, her thumb brushing Diane's cheek. She found her mouth effortlessly, as if drawn to her by an invisible force. Soft lips, impossibly warm, enticingly yielding. Her fingers trembled as Diane kissed them. "Oh no. I don't mind at all."

Diane sat up in bed, smoothing her palms over Valerie's shoulders, down her chest, softly outlining her breasts before settling onto the buttons of her blouse. "Let me help you."

Valerie unzipped her slacks and pushed them off as Diane freed her from the rest of her clothing. She slid under the sheets and stretched out facing Diane, supporting her head in her open hand. Lightly, she traced the faint ridge of Diane's collarbone to the hollow at the base of her throat. She placed a soft kiss there. "I'm so glad you're here."

"You've been working terribly hard. All of you."

"There's so much to do, and every day that passes feels like just so much opportunity lost." She sighed as Diane slipped one leg between hers, drawing their bodies closer together. She kissed her, smoothing her palm down the center of Diane's back to cup her buttocks. "Mmm, I love the way you feel. Your skin is so soft." She parted her lips and gently nipped at Diane's nipple, teasing it with tongue and teeth. "And I love that little mole you have on your breast. So sexy."

Diana arched her back, enjoying the pull of Valerie's mouth on her flesh. She laughed as Valerie traced her tongue around the small birthmark. "I hated that when I was young, I can remember trying to talk Blair and Tanner into getting matching tattoos, so I could cover it up."

"That would have been a shame," Valerie murmured, edging down on the bed. She sucked lightly on the now-turgid thimble of tissue before continuing lower, rubbing her cheek over Diane's stomach.

"I love your mouth. God, what you do to me." Diane gathered Valerie's hair in her hand, tugging gently as Valerie teased at her navel. Dreamily, she recounted, "The two of them were always the daring ones.. .mmm, that's so nice..." She shifted her legs restlessly as Valerie worked lower. "But they...chickened out."

"I'm glad." Valerie danced her fingers over Diane's thighs and flicked her tongue through the silky curls that lay between them. "I can't quite see you with a heart.. .or a butterfly.. .tattooed on your breast."

"Oh, we weren't going to do anything as...mundane as that. We were...thinking of the school mascot...a mountain li—" Diane was brought back from her sensuous haze as Valerie abruptly sat up. "Darling? What is it? What's wrong?"

"What? Oh.. .nothing." Valerie found Diane's hand and brought it to her lips. She kissed her knuckles. "I'm sorry. Forgive me. I need to get up."

Diane pushed herself up in bed, leaning on her elbows. "Now?"

"Something I have to check." Even as she spoke, Valerie was slipping into her slacks. "I'm sorry. God. I'm sorry."

"Tell me that you're at least suffering a little bit. Because if I'm the only one that's wet and—"

"No. God, no." Valerie sat on the edge of the bed again and curved a hand behind Diane's head, pulling the other woman roughly against her. She covered her mouth with hers, her tongue seeking entrance, and when welcomed, swirling demandingly inside. "Believe me, I'm dying. I've been wanting you all night."

"Good. Then go, and do whatever it is that you need to do. Because when you make love to me, I'm not sharing you with anything." Diane gently pushed her away. "Do you mind if I stay here?"

"I might be a while." Valerie kissed her again. "But I'd like it if you waited. It might be nothing."

"Then I'll be waiting."

"I'll come back as soon as I can." Valerie framed her face and kissed her forehead.

"Careful, I just might hold you to that."

"You do that."

Then Valerie was gone, and Diane curled into the warm space her body had just occupied. She closed her eyes, contenting herself with the scent of her hair on the pillow.

*

Blair awakened to the insistent ringing of the cell phone. She sat up in bed and leaned across her sleeping lover, fumbling on the bedside table amidst the beeper, the gun, and the radio for the phone.

"God damn it," she cursed, finally finding the small object at the same time as Cam roused.

"I'm awake," Cam muttered groggily, extending her hand.

"No, you're not. And whatever it is," Blair said irritably as she flipped open the phone, "it can wait until morning. They can just call back then." She snapped it closed and dropped it onto the floor on her side of the bed.

"Blair, who was that?" Cam asked quietly, alert now.

Blair circled Cam's shoulders and pulled her down against her body. "No one. Go back to sleep."

"You do realize that was my phone."

"Be quiet, Cameron, and go to sleep."

"It might've been Lucinda, or the president."

"I don't care if it was the pope. You need some sleep."

Cam kissed Blair's cheek, then heaved herself up and over her body. She stretched an arm down and felt around on the floor until she found her phone, then rolled back into bed. She opened it and pushed recall.

"You just won't quit, will you," Blair said.

"Roberts," Cam said when the phone was answered. "No, I accidentally disconnected it. What's up?"

"Disconnected it, my ass," Blair muttered. "I'll disconnect it."

Cam instinctively curled her body around the phone, fearing that Blair would snatch it from her grasp and toss it across the room. "I'm sorry- Repeat that?" As she listened, Cam swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. She walked to the chair where she'd left her clothes and grabbed her pants in one hand, awkwardly stepping into them as she held the phone between her ear and shoulder. "I'll be right there."

Blair sprang from the bed, naked, and stalked over to Cam. "It's four thirty in the morning. You didn't come in until two. What's so important?"

"Valerie has a lead." Cam kissed her quickly. "Do you think you could find me a clean shirt while I wash up?"

"How's your headache?"

"What?"

"The headache, Cam."

"It's fine."

Blair found a clean shirt in the top dresser drawer, pulled off the protective plastic, and shook it out as she walked into the bathroom. She held it out to Cam with one hand and opened the medicine cabinet with the other. She extracted the aspirin bottle. "Take two of these before you go back over there. And promise me that you'll catch some sleep later on today."

Cam shrugged into her shirt, dry swallowed the aspirins, and kissed Blair again. "Promise. I love you."

"Yeah, yeah." Blair snatched her robe from the bathroom door and walked with her through the house, knowing she wasn't going to be able to sleep. She contemplated waking Diane for company, and then realized that she was at the guesthouse too. Feeling abandoned and out of sorts, she contemplated another walk. It was pitch black and still storming. She contented herself with making coffee, and as she watched the pot brew, heard footsteps behind her. Turning, she saw Stark in the doorway. "Do you have the night shift or can't you sleep either?"

"Night shift."

"Good. Go get the cards. I'm going to teach you how to play pinochle."

Cam walked into the dining room, which was lit by three desk lights and the computer monitors. The overhead chandelier had been turned down to a soft glow. Felicia and Valerie each sat at a keyboard. "What's up?"

Valerie pointed to the printer, where a page was just sliding out. "Grab that, Cameron. See what you think."

"Where's Savard?" Cam asked as she extracted the page.

"Asleep at the main house. I thought we could call her if this turns out to be anything," Felicia said. "I just thought..."

"No, you're right. Somebody might as will get some sleep." Cam frowned at the image from the color laser printer. It looked like a patch from a military uniform, but she didn't recognize the insignia. The resolution was poor and some of the markings indistinct. But what was very clear were the two crossed rifles above the American flag in the upper portion of the shield-shaped design. "What is this?"

"It's a shoulder patch," Valerie said. "We copied it from a web site image and blew it up. That's the tattoo those four guys had on their arms, don't you think?"

"Certainly looks like it." Cam pulled a chair out and sat down, placing the paper carefully on the table next to her. "Where is it from?"

Valerie slid a foot away from the computer monitor and pointed to the screen. "NCMA—North Carolina Military Academy. David Foster was a student there from the age of nine until he graduated at the age of seventeen."

"What's that site?"

Felicia answered, "It's the home page for the school. The commandant is in full uniform, and we pulled the patch off the picture of him."

Cam was quiet for several moments, then she stood and walked closer to the computer, squinting at the images. "We need to know everything there is to know about that place. How long has that guy been the commandant?"

"Checking," Felicia muttered. "Twenty-seven years."

"Then we need to know everything on him too. Starting with his name."

"General Thomas Matheson."

"A real general?" Cam asked. "Because sometimes these guys bestow their own ranks that don't come from any recognized branch of the Armed Forces."

"We don't know that yet," Valerie said. "We're about to start running him through databases now."

"You'd better wake Savard. That's her area," Cam said. "I'll make some coffee. The next thing you need to do is get the student records from the years that Foster was there. Let's see if we can pull some faces that match our dead guys."

"We'll have to...extract...that information from their internal computer systems," Felicia said carefully.

"Fine. Hack into them, Davis. Just don't let them know."

"Yes, ma'am," Felicia said smartly, a small smile of anticipation softening her elegantly remote features.

As Felicia turned to the keyboard, her fingers already flying, Cam signaled for Valerie to accompany her to the kitchen. "Nice job with that. How'd you tip to it?"

Valerie recalled the sensation of Diane's skin beneath her lips, the scent of her, and her heart raced. "Just luck. Someone mentioned getting a tattoo of a school mascot, which made me think of school crests." She opened the cabinet door and passed the coffee canister to Cam. She crossed her arms over her chest, belatedly realizing that she'd forgotten her underwear in her haste to dress earlier.

Cam followed her motion and hastily averted her gaze. "It's the first lead we've had, and it's solid."

"You're thinking that Foster met these men, or at least one of them, at school and then later reconnected with them?"

"Seems like a good possibility."

"God," Valerie murmured. "Why?"

"That's something we may never understand. I'll be happy just to know how."

"If this really turns out to be true," Valerie said, "it's going to be a media nightmare. We can't let this get out."

"I imagine that's why you're here, isn't it?" Cam spoke without rancor, watching Valerie's face. "To control the flow of information?"

"Even the CIA can't do that, Cameron. You know that."

"But the CIA is very good at making embarrassing situations disappear, when it's necessary."

Valerie said nothing. She couldn't refute what they both knew to be true.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Friday, September 28

C am found Blair working on a canvas as the last rays of a cloud-dampened sun faded on the horizon. She'd tied a rolled red bandanna around her forehead to hold her hair out of the way. She wore loose khaki chinos and one of her favorite Grateful Dead T-shirts, paint-stained and holey. A slash of iridescent blue crossed her right forearm where she'd evidently brushed against the corner of her palette when reaching for something. Cam kissed the back of her neck.

"You look terrific."

Blair grinned. "I'm a mess. Don't come too close, I'll ruin your suit."

Obediently, Cam stayed still as Blair moved a few feet away.

"Did you eat anything at all today?" Blair asked distractedly, her focus wandering back to the painting and a problem area she had been trying to correct.

"We had pizza."

"Mmm. That's right. Stark got us some too."

"Can I interrupt you for just a few more minutes?"

There was something in the tone of Cam's voice that immediately captured Blair's attention. She set her sable brush aside and picked up the rag she used to clean her hands. Turning her back to the painting and putting it from her mind, her expression cautious, she said, "What's the matter?"

"Nothing." Cam took her hand, ignoring her vigorous protests about paint stains, and led her toward the bedroom. Once inside, she closed the door. "We've identified the members of the assault team who hit the Aerie."

Blair took a quick breath and backed away. "Who are they? Do I know them?"

Cam took one step forward and, when Blair backed up yet again, she stopped moving and shook her head. "No, as far as we can tell, they have nothing to do with you personally. We cross-referenced their names with every bit of information in your security files. Nothing turned up. You've never met them. They never communicated with you. They've never been known to make a statement about you, your father, or anything remotely political."

"Then why?"

"It doesn't matter," Cam said, wishing that she could keep all of this from Blair. Pointing out that the assault had nothing to do with her as an individual, but only with what she represented, was like telling Blair she'd always been right. That who she was wasn't important, and all that mattered was what people saw when they looked at her. Just saying the words turned her stomach, but Blair did not want or need her protection. Not from this. "It wasn't about you. They came after you to make a statement."

"But Foster, Foster knew me." Blair couldn't hide the horror in her voice. A man she knew—a man who had sat beside her countless times in the car, walked with her on the streets, been there in the shadows as her guardian—had intended to murder her. Face-to-face. It couldn't be more personal. "Where did they come from?"

"We don't have the entire picture yet," Cam said gently. "We identified the men through tattoos that led us to the military academy that they attended as boys. Foster was part of their group." With Valerie, Felicia, and Savard working nonstop all day, they'd been able to access school records, interdepartmental memos, letters to families, interscholastic sports records, and applications to colleges—all manner of personal and academic information that had allowed them to profile the suspects. Eventually, they found the photo archives, and they'd found the faces.

"Tell me their names."

"Blair..."

"Tell me. I want them to be real. Not some ghosts, not some monsters without names or faces."

Cam took a breath and recited the names. She wanted to hold her. God, she ached to shield her. She was afraid to go near her, and that was the hardest part of all. "We think they might have been groomed for the patriot organization while they were at the school."

"You can't be serious. As boys? Recruiting boys to become assassins?"

"We don't know that they were trained from adolescence to be assassins," Cam admitted, "but they may have been indoctrinated into a way of thinking that made that next step possible. Don't forget the Hitler Youth and how effective they were in recruiting for the Reich."

Blair shook her head. It should have been inconceivable, but in her heart she knew it was a terrible reality. "Why did you come to that conclusion?"

"It's too much of a coincidence that all four of them have nothing in the public record to identify them. They don't even have driver's licenses." Cam wouldn't have believed the men actually existed if she hadn't seen their autopsy photos. "This, or something like this, was planned well before they reached adulthood."

Blair sat on the edge of the bed, her legs shaking. "It's horrible. I.. .What were they doing all this time? Why didn't anyone know this was going on?"

"With the exception of Foster, they've been living normal lives as ordinary citizens, doing nothing that would call attention to themselves. Ordinary jobs, no debt, no criminal records, nothing to make them stand out." Carefully, Cam crossed the room, watching Blair's face. She squatted down in front of her and rested her hands lightly on Blair's thighs. "None of them has ever been fingerprinted or photographed for any reason, even a credit card. They've never held a government or industry job where a security check would have been needed."

"But that could just be coincidence. It doesn't mean anything was planned," Blair insisted.

"If that were the whole picture, I'd agree with you, but it's not. We haven't been able to find applications to military academies for any of the four—-not West Point, not the Naval Academy, not the Air Force Academy—even though they surely would have been prime candidates. Well over ninety percent of graduates from NCMA go on to careers in the Armed Forces, and almost one hundred percent apply. Foster went into government service, but these men.. .It's as if they've been purposefully flying under the radar, just waiting." "Waiting to be called to do something like this?" "That's what we think." Cam eased up onto the bed next to Blair and loosely settled an arm around her waist. Blair didn't break her rigid pose, but she accepted Cam's touch. "They probably received all of their assault training at one of the paramilitary camps."

"Like a sleeper cell, only made up of Americans instead of... whoever?" Blair closed her eyes for a second. When she opened them, they were filled with pain. "This can't be. This doesn't happen here."

Cam didn't need to point out that what happened on September 11 didn't happen here either, because she knew they were both thinking it. "I'm sorry."

"What now?" Blair asked.

"We still have work to do. These men are dead, and they can't help us with much more. Hopefully, the commandant of the school they attended will have the rest of the answers. He's proving almost as hard to uncover as these guys were, even though we know his name and what he looks like."

"What happens if he's the one who...planned everything?" "Then he'll be arrested." Cam wasn't actually so sure what would happen to him, but she knew one thing with absolute certainty. She wanted the opportunity to bring him to justice. And her idea of justice was not delivering him to the FBI or the Justice Department, where he could cut a deal for leniency in exchange for information. In all likelihood, that was what the people in power would want, but their agenda was not hers. Her only interest now was Blair's present and future safety.

*

"I think I've got something," Savard called from the dining room, her voice tight with anticipation.

Cam levered herself off the couch where she'd been trying to take a nap, rubbed at her eyes, which felt gritty and dry, and shook her head to clear the cobwebs. "What did you find?"

"I've been sifting through Matheson's tax records. He paid a hefty inheritance tax fifteen years ago when his father died."

Cam peered at the screen, frowning at what appeared to be scanned copies of old documents. "You think he's bankrolling terrorists?"

Savard shook her head. "No. I traced back his parents, and then their parents. Matheson's grandfather held a deed for what looks like half a mountain in Tennessee."

"You don't say." Cam smiled. "And Matheson inherited the property. Do you have the precise coordinates for it yet?"

"It's almost midnight on a Friday night, Commander. No one's going to be available at the hall of records in Memphis."

"I'll bet their computer networks are running, because the law enforcement agencies will need access."

"Then we need Felicia for the extraction," Savard said, bowing to Felicia's skill as a computer cracker.

Cam checked her watch and grimaced. "She's only been asleep a couple hours, but I guess we'll need to wa-—"

"I might have a contact who can get the location for us a little faster," Valerie said. "I'll make a call."

"All right," Cam said. "And while you're at it, you might request a satellite image for us. You've got something up there with infrared capability, don't you?"

Valerie smiled. "I have no idea what's orbiting the Earth, Cameron. But I'm certain we have some sort of helpful toy up there. I'll see what I can do."

Savard waited until Valerie left the room to make her call. "You think there's a paramilitary compound on his property?"

"Don't you?"

"Yeah. I do. What are we going to do when we find out where it is?"

"I imagine it'll be out of our hands then." Cam kept her face carefully neutral.

"That's not how I want to see it go down." Savard regarded her steadily. "These guys may not have planned what happened at the World Trade Center, but they knew about it. And they sure as hell intended to kill Blair. I want to be there when they go down."

"Yes. So do I."

*

Blair was still awake when Cam came in shortly after four a.m., lying in bed in the dark with only the light from the vanity in the adjacent bathroom for illumination. "What's happening?"

Cam undressed quickly and slid into bed, reaching for Blair's hand. She threaded her fingers lightly through Blair's. "Valerie, Savard, and I need to go to Washington."

Blair rugged her hand free. "When?"

"Today. Later this morning."

"Why?"

"We're meeting with Lucinda and your father. Probably a few other people as well."

"About what?"

"We've located a compound in the Tennessee mountains. We've got satellite images of a number of buildings and vehicles. We suspect that's where the men who made the attempt on your life came from."

"It's just a briefing, right?"

"I should be back tonight."

"I want to come with you."

"That's not a good idea," Cam said quietly. "We've established excellent security here. We have no way of knowing how deep this may go—who in DC may be a part of it. Foster was on the inside. Maybe there are others. Unless you want to stay in the White House for another few weeks..."

"You know I don't."

"Then this is the safest place for you. The three of us will drive to Boston and get a flight from there."

"And just why do you need to go in person?" Blair sat up and snapped on the bedside light. She pulled the sheet to her waist, drew her knees up, and folded her arms around them, drawing in on herself. "What are you going to do in DC? Plan the big operation? Strategize about how you're going to apprehend these guys?" When Cam said nothing, Blair went on, her voice harsh, "You're not a commando, Cameron. That's why we have Special Forces. You're not getting involved in this."

"I'm just consulting."

"Oh," Blair said derisively, "don't you dare give me that line. I know you. Consulting, my ass. Tell me you're not going with the strike team. Tell me that's not your plan."

"The only thing that's going to happen today is that I'm going to brief the president, Lucinda, and the security chief. That's all." Cam sat up and leaned her shoulder against Blair's.

Despite her anger, Blair found Cam's hand and held it. "What if they don't want to wait? What if they want to go today? Tell me you won't go with them."

Cam was silent.

"Damn you, Cameron."

"I won't be in the first wave. I won't be knocking down any doors."

"I want you to promise me you won't go with them." Blair saw Cam's jaw set. Very gently, she turned Cam's face toward hers. "Make me that promise."

Cam looked into her eyes. "I want to see him in chains. I'd prefer to see him dead, but I won't do it myself. I promise I'll stay far behind the line. I prorrnse you that."

"Why? Why is it so important?"

"Men like him killed my father. And then he almost killed you..." Cam's throat tightened around the words and she turned her face forcefully away, breaking Blair's hold. "I need faces for the monsters too, Blair."

"Oh, Jesus," Blair sighed, wrapping her arm tightly around Cam's shoulders. "I can't stand it when you hurt." She leaned her forehead against the side of Cam's head. "I love you even more than I need you, and that's so much I can't stand it. Please be careful."

Cam turned back, pulling Blair into her arms. She kissed her roughly, urgently, needing to drive the images of flaming cars and automatic gunfire from her mind. She pushed her back onto the bed and followed, covering Blair's body with her own. She let herself drown in her, losing her pain amidst their passion.

*

Valerie held Diane as she slept. She caressed her hair, her back, the curve of her side, remembering the sound of her pleasure. Fixing it in her mind. She could taste her still, sweetly exotic. She'd made love to her until Diane had begged her to stop, laughing and crying as she'd come the last time.

"Let me make love to you," Diane had murmured drowsily, barely able to move.

"Next time," she had whispered, gathering her close against her body.

Diane, sighing with contentment, had curled trustingly into her arms.

Valerie waited fifteen minutes, thirty, forty-—listening to the soft sounds of Diane's breathing, feeling the warm currents of her exhalations drifting over her breasts, counting her heartbeats under her fingertips. When she couldn't wait any longer, she gently kissed Diane's forehead and eased slowly away. She'd had years of practice leaving the arms of women she'd satisfied without waking them. Carefully, she gathered her clothing and the single small valise she'd brought with her.

Two minutes later she stood naked on the rear deck and dressed efficiently in the predawn light. Five minutes later, she was at the ocean's edge and walking briskly away from the house. In fifteen minutes she was three-quarters of a mile away, and the reverberations of the engine on the outboard motor sounded no different than a wave rushing to shore. She climbed into the small craft, and as it pointed away from land and the safe house and the people inside, she did not look back.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Saturday, September 29

P erhaps it was the bed growing cold that woke her, or something in her unconscious that warned her of impending pain. But when Diane rolled onto her side and opened her eyes, she was not surprised to find herself alone. She listened intently for any sound in the quiet house. The baseboard heater hummed quietly. Somewhere far out on the water, a foghorn sounded its mournful call. The house was still—Felicia asleep and Savard in Stark's bed at the main house. Valerie always placed her watch and the gold signet ring she wore on the little finger of her right hand on the bedside table when they made love. There was nothing there now.

Diane strained to hear the shower running in the adjacent bathroom, but she knew that Valerie was gone. The very air had lost its warmth, and loneliness tugged at her heart with new resolve. She lay quietly for a long time, replaying their last moments together. Her body still ached with the memory of desire. She felt Valerie's hands on her, inside her, and remembered the silent promises that had passed between them as they had taken their pleasure in one another. There had been other women who had touched her life, fleetingly, and then had left. She had learned to recognize goodbye in a kiss. That was not what Valerie had said to her as she had claimed her just hours ago.

She had to believe that, or her heart would surely break.

*

"Damn it, Cam," Blair exploded, slamming her phone down on the kitchen counter. "That was Diane. Valerie's gone."

Cam automatically looked at the clock. 5:10 a.m. Almost an hour until sunup. They had gotten out of bed at five because she, Savard, and Valerie were leaving at five thirty to rendezvous with a helicopter that would pick them up at a small private airport on the mainland and take them to DC. They'd finalized the plan before they'd turned in the night before. She, Savard, and Valerie.

God damn it.

Cam looked out the side window and counted the cars underneath the portico. None were missing. Wozinski had been on night shift, and he would have called her if there'd been any activity on the road in front of the house. Tanner's people were patrolling the entire sector of the island and definitely would have noticed a pickup anywhere in the vicinity, even if Valerie had walked from the house under cover of darkness to the road several miles away. She walked through the adjacent mudroom to the back door, opened it, and said to Hara, "Any activity out here?"

Agent Hara, who had been leaning against the deck post facing the guesthouse and the beach beyond, turned. She wore black slacks and running shoes, a navy windbreaker over a dark polo shirt, and an alert but unconcerned expression. "Good morning, Commander. Nothing out of the ordinary. Agent Lawrence walked down to the beach about"— she glanced at her watch—"thirty-five minutes ago."

"Is that her usual time?"

"Any time between four thirty and six," Hara said. "Almost every day."

Cam realized instantly that the pattern had been carefully, deliberately set, but she followed the questions to their logical end for the sake of procedure. "Does Ms. Bleeker ordinarily accompany her?"

"Not usually this early, Commander."

"How long is she usually gone?"

"Forty-five minutes. An hour at the most. In fact, she should be back any time."

"Was she carrying anything today?"

"Not that I noticed, but it was still dark. I observed her exit the building and checked my watch. By then she was partially obscured by the dunes." Hara looked uncomfortable. "Did I miss something, Commander?"

"No. I did." Cam stepped back inside and said to Blair, "They must've picked her up on the water."

"Who?" Blair demanded. "Are you telling me she's been kidnapped or something?"

"I doubt that." The muscles in Cam's shoulders tightened as she fought back the anger. "I'd imagine the Agency retrieved her."

"Why?" Blair paced in a tight circle in the center of the kitchen, growing more furious with each passing moment.

"The number of people who know she's here is very limited, and there's no reason to believe she would be a target for a kidnapping." Cam pulled her cell phone from her belt. "It's more likely this was part of the plan from the beginning."

"I can't believe she did this. Do you know what this is going to do to Diane? God damn it. Son of a bitch." Blair stalked from one side of the room to the other. "What plan are you talking about? Whose plan?"

"The CIA's. We've just identified a key player in the assault on the Aerie. We may have uncovered a potential connection to the terrorists who hit the World Trade Center. I'm sure that's the information Valerie was sent here to get. Now she has it, her job is done, and they've extracted her." Cam shrugged. "They often relocate their field agents precipitously."

"They sent her to spy on you? My father would never allow that."

Cam caught Blair's shoulders and halted her harried journey. "He probably doesn't even know about it."

"That's ridiculous. He's the president. He knows everything."

"Actually, he doesn't, and there's a good reason for it. There are times when he has to be able to disavow knowledge, especially when something may be.. .hazy, legally." Cam blew out a frustrated breath. "But I'm willing to bet Lucinda Washburn knows about it. Because she's the one who protects him."

"I'm calling her. Right now." Blair grabbed her phone from the counter and flipped it open.

Gently, Cam reached out and closed it. "She's not going to tell you. She's not going to tell me. If she knows, she won't admit it. That's how these things are done."

Blair fixed Cam with an incredulous stare. "Why aren't you angry? Don't you feel betrayed?"

"It's not personal," Cam said quietly. She couldn't view it as personal, because she needed to keep her head clear. The operation depended upon it. And even more importantly, so did the lives of her people.

"Bullshit. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. That woman.. .damn it, I hate saying this, but that woman is more to you than just another agent."

"No, she isn't." Cam smiled ruefully. "Claire was, once, but Valerie isn't."

"How you can distinguish between the two of them?"

Cam considered whether it was wise to answer. Discussing her past involvement with another woman with Blair was not generally a wise idea. She knew that Blair trusted her. She also knew that Blair knew that she loved her. But Blair was Blair, and she didn't take any intrusion on their relationship lightly. Cam sighed. It went against her every instinct, but her relationship with Blair was something that she couldn't fit into the logic of the rest of her life. The only course that had ever worked with Blair was honesty, no matter how treacherous the path might appear. "What Claire and I had, what we shared, was in the past. We were different people then, and Claire is gone now."

Blair pulled out a kitchen chair and sank into it, then sat drumming her fingers on the wooden surface as she regarded Cam through narrowed eyes. "Do you ever.. .miss her?"

"Ah, Jesus, Blair," Cam said pleadingly.

"I'm not jealous, I just want to know."

Cam pulled out a second chair and sat facing Blair. She leaned forward and curled her hands around the outside of Blair's knees. She looked directly into Blair's eyes. "Sometimes I'm sad that I'll never see her...Claire...again. But those times are very rare, and they have nothing to do with you and me. It's not about the sex—it wasn't really about that for a long time, even before it ended. It's more like losing a friend."

"And what about Valerie?"

"Valerie..." Cam blew out a breath and shook her head. "Valerie is a woman I don't really know. We're connected, that's true, on a deeper level than just ordinary colleagues, but I don't know what drives her inside. I don't know why she makes the choices she does. I don't know her, and I can't be responsible for her. I have Stark and Savard and Mac and all of the others to think of."

"But you like her. I know you do."

"I do. I understand her, on a lot of levels. She's more like me than any of the others."

Blair wanted to protest, but she knew it was true. Cam would sacrifice almost everything for duty—-not love, not really—but if you didn't know her very well, it would look like that. "Well, I'm really pissed at her. She had no business getting involved with Diane if she knew she was going to be leaving. It's selfish and cruel."

"Maybe she couldn't help it." Cam traced a finger along the tense angle of Blair's jaw. "Baby. Sometimes we fall in love even when we don't want to."

Blair turned her head quickly and kissed Cam's hand. "Don't try to talk me out of being angry."

Cam shook her head again. "I'm not. I know I couldn't. I'm just saying that I've been where she is, and sometimes it's just as hard on the other side. Especially when you can't explain why you're doing what you're doing."

"It drives me crazy the way you all stick together," Blair grumbled.

"If we find out that Valerie isn't working for the Agency, or that the plan all along was to somehow protect the people responsible for what happened at the Aerie, then I will hunt her down to the ends of the earth." Cam's hands tightened on Blair's thighs. "I promise you that."

"What do you mean if she isn't working for the Agency? You mean like a double agent?" Blair dropped her head back with a groan and stared at the ceiling. "This just keeps getting worse. Poor Diane."

Cam said nothing, disgusted with those who professed to share a common goal but whose agenda, ultimately, was only the preservation of their own power. It was a lesson she had learned very early in her life, and one she had temporarily forgotten only because Valerie had been a woman whom she had trusted. It was a mistake she wouldn't make again. She opened her cell phone and punched in Lucinda Washburn's private number.

Blair looked out the kitchen window and saw Diane start down the dune path wearing nothing but a silk blouse, slacks, and low heels. The thermometer mounted outside the window read fifty-three degrees. "Jesus."

She pulled on her jacket, grabbed Cam's from a hook by the back door, and started after her. She crossed the beach beneath a dull gray morning sky, grateful that it had at last stopped raining. The tide was on its way out, and seagulls chattered and picked among the littered shells and abandoned seaweed at the water's edge. She joined her best friend and extended the anorak. "Here, put this on. You're going to get sick."

"Thanks," Diane said quietly, accepting the navy fleece pullover. She shrugged into it without looking away from the ocean. It was too big for her in the shoulders and sleeves, and she wrapped both arms around her waist, automatically pulling her hands inside to warm them. "I'm okay. You don't need to stay."

"Shut up, Diane."

After a minute of silence when it appeared that Diane had taken her advice, Blair snugged an arm around Diane's waist. "This might be the first time in my life I don't know what to say."

"There isn't anything to say." Diane found Blair's hand where it rested on her hip and pulled it inside the sleeve with hers. "Does Cam know why she left?"

"Not really. Do you have any idea?"

"Not a one. I've been going crazy trying to figure out why she did anything she did, including getting involved with me." Diane laughed, a harsh strangled sound. "I'm good, but I doubt it was just the sex."

"Diane..." Blair said.

"I keep thinking I should have sensed something. Seen something in her eyes. God, I should have realized something was wrong when she touched me, shouldn't I?" She turned to Blair, her eyes clouded with pain. "How could I love her so damn much and not know her?"

"I want to kill her," Blair muttered. She'd never seen Diane so defenseless. "I swear to God, I do."

"I love you for that." Diane smiled tiredly and gave Blair's hand a little shake. "But it's not necessary for both of us to be turned inside out by this. She'll have an explanation, and I'll either be able to live with it or I won't."

"You mean you're actually going to give her a chance to explain?" Blair snorted. "Personally, I'd throttle her the second she showed her face."

Diane laughed, and this time there was the smallest hint of pleasure in it. "It seems to me there were a few times that you had the same feelings about Cam. Especially at the beginning, when she did things that made you more than a little crazy."

"She never left me in the middle of the night without an explanation."

"No, she didn't," Diane said with a sigh. "But then, Valerie isn't Cam, and I'm not you."

"Oh, please don't be reasonable. Jesus. Aren't you furious with her? You certainly should be," Blair said with indignation.

"I am angry. I'm angry that she didn't trust me enough to tell me she had to leave, but"-—-Diane held up a hand to forestall another outburst from Blair-—"she warned me at the beginning that she wasn't always free to do what she wanted." She looked back out to the water, her expressidn pensive. "There's an explanation."

"Do you really trust her?" Blair's voice was less accusatory now than curious.

"I do," Diane said softly, tracing her thumb in small circles over the top of Blair's hand. "Last night we made love. I can't tell you what it was like, why it was different than anything I've ever experienced. But nothing has ever touched me as deeply as what passed between us. She told me in every way that she could that she loved me. Do you know what I mean?"

Blair sighed. "Yes. I know. I know there are things that I believe because if they weren't true, Cam would never touch me the way she does. And I wouldn't let her."

"Yes. You and I.. .we know what it's like to make love and never be touched. But it's not like that with them, is it. They get inside." Diane turned back to Blair, not expecting an answer. "If that's not reason enough to trust, then I'm never going to have one."

"If she hurts you," Blair said in total seriousness, "I'm going to hurt her back."

Diane smiled and put both arms around Blair's shoulders. She hugged her, rubbing her cold cheek against Blair's, welcoming the warmth. "I know you would, and I love you for that. But before you make up your mind that she's guilty, let's just wait."

"How long?" Blair stroked her hand over Diane's back, knowing she was in pain and hating the helplessness of not being able to assuage it.

"I don't know. I've never been in this situation before." Diane stepped away, sliding her grip down Blair's arms until she clasped both hands. "I just know that I love her, and I have to believe that she has her reasons."

Blair held back her misgivings, because if she was right not to trust Valerie, time would prove it. If she was wrong, voicing her distrust now would only add to Diane's unhappiness. Instead, she nodded. "Well, you've always had better luck at reading women than me."

"Except for Cam," Diane said with a laugh.

"She would be the exception to all things in my life."

"Thank you."

"For what?" Blair asked.

"For being on my side."

"Oh, sweetie, always." Blair tugged Diane's hand. "Come on. Let's go inside, have some breakfast, and complain about our girlfriends together."

"Wonderful." Diane caught her lip, nearly ambushed by a swell of tears. "That's just exactly what I need."

Blair held fast to Diane's hand as they walked toward the house, her gaze fixed on Cam, who stood on the back deck watching them approach. There were things about her lover she would never truly understand—the fierce drive for justice, the sense of honor that motivated her every decision—and sometimes, like the woman beside her, she just had to trust her heart.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

S tark sat on the side of the bed watching Savard dress, uneasiness coiling in the pit of her stomach like a viper poised to strike. Her fingers cramped as she clenched her hands tightly around the edge of the mattress. The covers were thrown back, exposing the crumpled sheets where they had spent the last few hours curled around one another. How quickly life could move from sated comfort to uncertainty. A litany of entreaties rushed through her mind, but she spoke none aloud.

I don't want you to go. I have a really bad feeling about this. You 're not even really recovered from getting shot, and I know you 're still a little shaky from what happened on 9/11. You 're not yourself. You 're not at your best. You're tired, I know you're tired. That's when you get hurt. Jesus, I don't want you to go.

"I'll probably be back tonight," Savard said, tucking a black polo shirt into jeans only a shade lighter. She picked up her holster from the dresser, automatically checked her weapon, and hooked it to her belt on her right hip. She reached for the FBI flak jacket that she'd left over the back of the chair when she'd selected the clothes from the closet. She pulled it on and swept her right hand beneath the garment to reach her gun, assuring herself that nothing impaired her draw. "If I'm delayed, I'll call."

"Okay." You 're not dressing for a meeting.

Savard turned and looked at Stark from across the room. "Sweetie, don't worry."

"I'm not. Just, you know, be careful."

"I can feel you worrying from over here." Savard crossed the room and gently placed both hands on Stark's shoulders, then bent low to look into her face. "I'll probably spend the entire day debriefing. You know how slowly things happen once the bosses get involved."

Stark nodded. "Well, in case anything.,.interesting happens, you'll...be fine."

"Paula," Savard said gently, settling into Stark's lap and wrapping both arms around her shoulders. "This is my job. Just like yours is to take care of Blair. I know what that means. I know when you walk out the door with her what that means. If I let myself think about it, it would eat me up."

"You're right," Stark mumbled, burying her face in the angle between Savard's neck and shoulder, embracing her. "I just love you."

"Mmm, and I love you." Savard eased her palm beneath Stark's chin and tilted her face up. She kissed her, taking her time, although she had very little to spare. She knew the commander was waiting for her, but she owed Paula this one moment. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that every goodbye could be the last, and she wanted to be certain to say everything that she felt in her heart. She let her mouth slide over Stark's, soft and warm, before she slipped her tongue inside for a final slow caress. "I'll call you later."

"Talk to you soon," Stark said, forcing a smile as she reluctantly let her go.

*

Blair and Diane reached the back porch just in time for Blair to hear Cam's final words.

"...want in on it. We've earned it Fine. Yes. Thank you." She closed the phone abruptly just as Blair reached her. "Hey." She kissed her. "I've only got a minute. Sorry."

"Who was that?" Blair asked.

Diane squeezed Blair's hand, "I'm going to go inside and take a shower."

Blair didn't answer, still studying Cam, as she repeated, "Who was that?"

"Stewart Carlisle," Cam said, naming her immediate superior.

"And he's going to do what? Make sure you get your shot at these guys?" Blair grasped the front of Cam's leather flight jacket and gave her a shake. "You promised me. You promised me that you'd stay out of this. Cameron, God damn it. You promised."

"I know. I meant it." Cam covered Blair's hands with hers, not resisting. "I do mean it. I said I'd stay in the back lines, and I will. I swear."

Blair yanked her forward and kissed her hard. She felt her lips bruise and knew Cam's would be sore too, but she didn't care. If she couldn't keep her from going, couldn't keep her from danger, she would make her feel what there was to lose if she put herself at risk. This love, this life they had made, that was what she wanted Cam to remember when she had to make a choice between her desire to see justice done and her own safety.

Cam let herself be taken, helpless before Blair's onslaught. She was breathless from the force of Blair's demanding mouth. She wasn't aware of being pushed until her back smacked up against the deck post and Blair pressed into her. She finally jerked her head away from the kiss, but she couldn't escape the havoc Blair's hands played on her body. "Jesus. I have to be able to think sometime today, baby. Give me a break."

"I want you to think," Blair muttered, her mouth on Cam's neck. "You think about me today, Cameron. You think about making me love you, about making me need you. And you get your ass back here in one piece."

"I never think of anyone but you," Cam said before she claimed her mouth with as much ferocity as Blair had taken hers. After another hungry moment, she pulled away. "I love you."

"Yeah, yeah." Resting her forehead on Cam's shoulder, Blair tenderly smoothed her hands over the front of Cam's leather jacket, then inside to gently caress her chest. "Like that's the answer to everything."

"Isn't if?" Cam smiled and kissed her forehead. "Be back soon, baby." Then she slipped from Blair's embrace and strode down the stairs and around the building, out of sight.

Blair leaned against the post, watching the sunrise over the ocean. It was so indescribable, so heartbreakingly beautiiul. Like love. Before the moment was lost, she hurried inside, dropping her jacket on the floor along the way, and set a fresh canvas on the easel. Her gaze on the sunrise, her heart with Cam, she began to paint.

*

Savard heard the clump-clump-clump of rotors whirring before the black dot on the horizon became distinguishable as an MH-6 Little Bird—an Army Special Ops light assault helicopter. It was one of the smallest attack aircraft in the Army's arsenal, used primarily for insertion and extraction operations. Ordinarily, it carried six combat troops on its external platforms, but currently the ramps were unoccupied. She glanced at Cam. "Interesting form of transportation to a debriefing, Commander."

"There's been a slight change in plans," Cam said, her eyes on the descending aircraft. "It seems there is some degree of urgency since we have a breakdown in the integrity of our team and our intel may not be secure."

Breakdown in the integrity of our team. Savard played that phrase around in her mind. She deciphered it to mean that someone higher up knew that Valerie was gone, and that she had most likely informed the CIA not only of the location of the paramilitary camp but also of the evidence pointing to Matheson's terrorist link. Our intel may not be secure. And someone with a lot of pull was obviously worried that someone else would get to the party first. Her vote would be the Department of Defense. They could mobilize this kind of action pretty damn fast.

"It's rather unusual, isn't it," Savard said quietly, "to deploy the military against civilians? I would think it would fall to us in the FBI to take these guys down."

"Ordinarily it would be your people," Cam replied just as quietly. "But these aren't ordinary times. And after the kind of standoff that happened at Waco, with all the publicity that went with it, I expect even the White House is willing to bend the rules to get this done quickly, quietly, and efficiently."

"And...we're going along?" Savard couldn't quite keep the excitement out of her voice.

Cam smiled with grim satisfaction. "We are."

"Uh, if you don't mind me asking, how...?"

"I made some calls."

"Son of a bitch. I mean, thank you, Commander." Savard grinned. I'll just bet it was a few calls—probably starting with the chief of staff. Her eyes glinted with anticipation. Her whispered words were lost in the roar of the engine as the attack helicopter settled amidst a cloud of dust and debris. Here we come, you bastards.

Heads down, Savard and Cam ran across the tarmac as the door of the helicopter swung open. As soon as they climbed into the body, an Army officer in combat garb with lieutenant's bars on his shoulders crouched down in front of them. The helicopter began to ascend.

"Which one of you is Roberts?" he shouted, handing them headsets to muffle the motor and to allow them to speak to one another in flight.

"I am," Cam yelled back, situating the headgear and flicking the transmitter switch. She grabbed a strap that hung from the ceiling to steady herself and pointed to Savard. "Special Agent Savard, FBI."

The lieutenant nodded to both of them. "We'll refuel in Virginia and rendezvous with the other aircraft, then proceed directly to the target. We've been advised that you are to be considered embedded members of the team. You all will be in the strike zone."

"Understood," Cam replied.

"There're vests under the benches. Do you require assault rifles?"

"We're armed," Cam said. "We'll be fine, Lieutenant."

He studied her face for a moment, then nodded as if satisfied. "Enjoy the ride." Then he settled back on his heels, one hand curled around another hanging strap, closed his eyes, and appeared to go to sleep.

Savard glanced at Cam, raised her eyebrows, and grinned. She mouthed the words, Let's rock 'n roll.

Cam grinned and nodded back.

*

Blair stepped out onto the deck carrying two cups of coffee. She handed one to Stark.

"Thank you," Stark said, taking the mug. The sun was up, but the air was still chilled, and although it usually didn't bother her, this morning she was cold. She shivered inside her regulation-issue nylon jacket.

"Hell of a morning so far," Blair said.

"Yeah. How's Diane?"

"She's okay. She's willing to believe there's a good reason for what Valerie did, at least for now."

"I'm sure there's a reason," Stark grunted. "How good it is depends on whose team you play for."

"Well, she never really was part of this team."

"Maybe not officially, but we trusted her. Felicia's pretty steamed. They worked pretty close on this one."

"Do you know what's happening?"

"Not for sure. No."

"Would you tell me if you did?"

Stark met Blair's seeking gaze. "The reason that I think Commander Roberts has been so successful heading this detail is because she never kept you in the dark. Yes, I would tell you."

Blair smiled softly. "You don't think it's because I've fallen in love with her and will do anything she says?"

A second passed while Stark struggled to compose her features, but finally she surrendered and laughed. "Uh, no, that had never crossed my mind."

"Well, just so you don't think that I'm always so easy."

"I think there's nothing easy about the position you're in," Stark said seriously. "And the only thing I want to do is make it as uncomplicated for you as possible."

Blair leaned her hip against the railing, her expression contemplative as she considered Stark's uncomplicated honesty and essential goodness. "You know, I owe you an apology."

Stark looked confused. "I'm sorry?"

"For that night in Colorado."

"No, you don't," Stark said. "Everything that happened that night was mutual."

"You're not blushing. I don't even know how to interpret that."

"Let's just say I'm not embarrassed about something that will always be very special."

To her consternation, Blair found herself blushing. "Well. Thank you."

"Renee doesn't know."

Blair smiled. "And she never will unless you tell her."

"She doesn't seem to care about the past all that much."

"Smart woman."

"Yeah," Stark said with a sigh. She sipped her coffee and studied the empty beach. "I feel bad because sometimes I wish she weren't an FBI agent."

"That makes sense to me. I bet there's times she wishes you weren't a Secret Service agent, either."

Stark nodded. "She said something like that this morning."

"And I don't imagine either one of you is planning on retiring."

"No. Not likely." Stark straightened, shaking off the melancholy. They'd strayed far beyond the boundaries dictated by their professional relationship long ago, and although she welcomed the friendship, she also had a job to do. "So, we should discuss your agenda for the day."

"My agenda?" Blair grimaced. "Anything that will keep my mind off where the hell my lover is and what trouble she's getting herself into."

"I'm sure the commander will be fine," Stark said with absolute certainty. "Anyhow, they're probably spending the whole day meeting with one committee after another."

Blair narrowed her eyes. "You don't really believe that, do you?"

"I wouldn't," she admitted, "except I can't see anyone staging any kind of action so quickly. It takes too much planning, and there's going to be too many people who want to be in charge." Stark shook her head. "I'm sure they'll be meeting with the president's security advisers and maybe the head of the Intelligence committee. That's it."

"Dial the White House on your secure line," Blair said.

Stark blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I want to talk to Lucinda, and I know that no one is supposed to know where we are. So scramble it for me."

"Uh, that's probably not the best idea—"

Blair laughed. "This is where you get to be reminded what a pain in the ass it is being my security chief. Because I can call anyone I want to anytime, anyplace. So if you don't want me to use the phone in the living room—"

"Just one minute, Ms. Powell," Stark said formally, opening her phone. She rapidly punched a series of numbers and held it out to Blair. "There you go."

"Thank you," Blair said sweetly. As Stark started to walk down the steps, apparently to give her privacy, Blair added, "There's no need to go. This involves you too. Hello, Luce? It's Blair."

"Blair. Everything all right?"

"No problem. Well, unless you take into consideration that I'm in hiding because my lover doesn't trust anyone, including you."

"I think for the time being it's reasonable to allow Commander Roberts to make those decisions. The president has every confidence in her."

"Uh-huh. Everyone thinks she's superhuman. That's sort of why I'm calling. All this confidence everyone has in her. Where exactly is my lover?" She gripped the railing as she waited for the answer and heard only a faint buzz in the background.

"I'm afraid I don't have an answer on that at the moment. I can assure you, however—"

"Is it that you don't want to tell me or you can't tell me?"

"Both, and by now, you should know the reasons why."

Blair thought she heard a sigh, but she couldn't be certain, and it would certainly be out of character. Before she could demand more information, Lucinda spoke again.

"If you call me back in approximately two hours, I may have more to tell you. That's the best I can do, Blair."

Blair looked at her watch. "Don't go anywhere. I'll call back in exactly two hours." She hung up and looked at Stark, whose face was a study in barely suppressed anxiety. "I don't think they're in a meeting."

Chapter Thirty

T he helicopter set down in a small unpaved landing zone in the middle of a forested area where three other Little Birds, fully equipped with combat troops, waited on the ground. A fuel truck bounced across the rutted field, and when the lieutenant jumped down to supervise the refueling, Cam reached beneath the narrow bench and extracted one of the protective vests. She tossed it to Savard and released another from its restraining clip for herself.

"We let the commandos sweep the front line. I imagine there are more men like the four who hit the Aerie in this camp. You weren't there that morning, but these guys are well trained and very well armed."

"You and your team handled them pretty well, Commander." Savard's eyes glittered with a dangerous combination of adrenaline and anger. "Without body armor."

"We were lucky." She didn't think there would ever come a day when she didn't see Foster with his service weapon leveled at Blair's chest. She pushed the image from her mind. She wanted justice. Even more, she wanted retribution. But not at a price that Blair would ultimately have to pay. "We're here to see that these men don't get away with treason and terrorism. We're here to see it, not do it."

"I'm going in with my weapon drawn." Savard's gaze lost focus as she remembered the very earth tremble beneath her feet as the Towers came down. "They'll never be able to pay enough for what they did, no matter how small a part they had in it."

"If you've got something to prove, Agent," Cam said quietly, "this isn't the place for it. We bring up the rear, once the area has been cleared. That's an order."

"Yes, ma'am," Savard said smartly.

A clean-shaven redhead of about forty clambered into the helicopter. "I'm Major Simons, in charge of this operation. We'll be airborne in five minutes."

Cam held out her hand. "Cameron Roberts, Secret Service." She indicated Savard. "Renee Savard, FBI."

"Agents," the major nodded. "Flight time is thirty-five minutes. We're working off satellite photographs, but we've got a pretty good picture of the layout. We're going to put down right outside their front gate. I would imagine there'll be sentries posted, if the vehicles we've been able to identify there are any indication of their organization. If I didn't know better, I'd think it was a U.S. Army installation."

"Weekends are when these guys like to play soldiers. There may be a full complement of personnel down there." Cam presumed the strike had been organized so quickly precisely because it was Saturday and Matheson and most of the officers were likely to be present. "Do you have any idea of the numbers?"

Simons shook his head. "A flyby is too risky, because this place is well away from any commercial or tourist routes. Any kind of aircraft would be suspicious. The latest satellite reconnaissance images suggest thirty to forty individuals."

Cam's head count of the troops on the Little Birds put their number at somewhere around twenty-four. Pretty good odds. "If he's there, we need their commanding officer alive."

The major's eyes were flat black disks, devoid of expression. "Then I guess he'd better not put up a fight."

"Do you have any idea where the command center is?"

"Nope. Except for the fact that there's only one main structure right in the center of the compound. That's probably the headquarters, with a lot of little buildings around the perimeter that are most likely sleeping quarters. I would imagine your man's going to be at the big house."

"Most likely." Cam regarded him steadily. She had a feeling that Matheson would not surrender easily, and that if given the opportunity, he would organize his troops for a firefight. If that happened, casualties could be high. She had no doubt that in the end, the special forces would prevail, but she didn't want to see U.S. troops killed, nor did she want to see Matheson die. He had information that was vital to future security. And as much as she might like to extract justice from him personally, she had a greater goal in mind. He had to be taken quickly in the first wave. "What's the chance you can put our bird right down on his front porch?"

Major Simons studied her, then flicked his gaze to Savard. "Why don't I ride with you two and we'll see what we can do about that." He crab-walked to the door and jumped down to the ground, turning to look back inside once he landed. "Let me brief the team leaders, and then I'll be back with the rest of our team."

"Commander," Savard said when Simons was out of earshot, "what happened to our rear-action orders?"

"I figure as long as we're standing behind him and his men, that's the rear." Cam watched the soldiers confer. "And our agenda is slightly different than theirs. I want Matheson alive so we can put him in a room—a very small room—so we can question him. I don't care how long it -takes, but he'll stay there until he breaks. I want to know who else we have to worry about in the future. Which of my people," she looked at Savard, "or your people, are like Foster—working beside us every day and just waiting for orders to move against us."

"I want to be in there with you," Savard said fiercely.

Simons walked toward them with three Delta Force commandos.

"Stay by my side when we land," Cam said.

"Yes, ma'am." Of one thing Savard was certain. She wasn't going to let anything happen to Cameron Roberts.

*

When Diane turned off the shower, she heard her cell phone ringing. She'd left it on the bathroom counter with her cosmetics bag. She stepped out, grasped a bath sheet in one hand, and picked up her phone with the other. She did not recognize the number and thought about letting it go to voicemail. On the final ring, something told her to answer, and she flipped it open. "Diane Bleeker."

"I'm on a pay phone. I only have a minute."

There was static on the line, but the connection was clear enough for her to hear the unmistakable sound of an airplane taking off. She tried to keep her voice steady as her entire body tingled. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. I wanted to say I'm sorry about this morning."

"Where are you?"

There was no immediate response, but Diane had the sense that she shouldn't speak her name. She waited, her stomach tight with anticipation.

"Dulles." There was the sound of a deep breath, then the hurried words, "Everything was set in motion long before I fell in love with you. The only way I could keep your name out of things was to follow the plan."

Diane tried not to be distracted by the phrase fell in love with you, but the wild beating of her heart made it difficult for her to think. "Where are you going?"

"I can't tell you."

"What do you mean, 'keep me out of things'?" Diane felt the pressure of the seconds ticking away and desperately wanted to understand.

"Who we're personally involved with—it's a matter of security. They'll watch you, Diane. Your privacy will be gone. I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen."

"Then tell me why you did it."

Her voice came through the line muffled, as if by unshed tears. "I couldn't help it. I needed you. I need you."

Diane closed her eyes. She felt their bodies soar together, their breath mingling, their souls surrendering as one. "Then I'm here."

"Do you understand what that means?"

"I do. I don't care."

"I have to go." A beat. Two. "I love you so very much."

The line went silent, but the words echoed in her heart. I love you too.

*

From the air, the access road through the dense green forest looked like a snake slithering through the grass. If she hadn't known it was there, Cam didn't think she would have recognized it for what it was—a single-track dirt road leading five miles into an unpopulated and undeveloped region of the Appalachians that bordered Virginia and Tennessee. As they descended, she focused the binoculars Major Simons had provided her on a tiny patch of tan that stood out amidst the confluence of green. After a few seconds, she nudged Simons's shoulder and pointed, mouthing the words, Fire tower.

He followed her direction and nodded. Then he climbed forward, pointed to the pilot, and spoke into his throat mike. The helicopters veered north to circle around what might be a lookout post. Cam doubted it would make much difference, but minimizing advance notice could only help. She glanced across the aisle to Savard, who looked composed, almost meditative. She almost would have preferred that Savard look a little jumpy. Sun Tzu said that the greatest warriors did not fear death and, therefore, did not hesitate in battle. On this particular day, Cam wanted a little bit of hesitation on Savard's part. If she got hurt, Stark would have a hard time handling it. So would she. She'd just have to see that nothing happened to Savard.

*

Felicia walked out onto the deck. "Do we know anything yet?"

"Holding pattern," Stark said. She nodded toward Blair. "But it's possible that Ms. Powell may have something for us in an hour or so."

Felicia raised an eyebrow.

"I spoke with Lucinda Washburn not long ago," Blair explained. "She promised to give me an update, but you know how information is handled at that level. It may or may not be the whole story." She shrugged. "Usually, Lucinda tells it to me straight. I could call my father, but..." She considered what Cam had told her earlier about the layers of protection around her father when these kinds of operations were underway. Her lover was willing to risk her life for concepts as hard to define as honor and patriotism. Blair was not willing to compromise those ideals by asking her father for the details. He might very well tell her, because he loved her, and that was something that she could not ask him to do. He was more than her father. He was the president of the United States. Sometimes, she didn't want to think about that, because it frightened her that there were people who wished him harm. It also overwhelmed her when she considered the magnitude of his importance to the world. He was the man who had held out his arms to catch her when she took her first steps, lest she fall. He was the man who had swung her up to his shoulders to watch the Fourth of July parades when she was too small to see through the crowds. He was the man whose opinion mattered to her more than any person's in the world, except Cam's. But despite all of that, he was also the man whose responsibilities set him apart from everyone else, even her. She shrugged again and tossed the dregs of her coffee over the railing. "Maybe Cam or Savard will call soon and fill us in."

She turned and strode into the house.

Felicia watched her go and as the door swung shut, looked back to Stark. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Everybody's on edge, that's all." She hunched her shoulders against a sudden gust of wind and studied the sky. "I think it's gonna rain again."

"Maybe. The weather's really hinky out here in the middle of the ocean." She squeezed Stark's shoulder. "Why don't you go on in. I'll stand watch out here for a while. I've been cooped up in that damn building for days staring at the monitor—I can handle a little fresh air."

"What do you think is going on with Valerie?"

"Ah, God. I think the CIA wanted to know what we found before anyone else." She buttoned the top button of her navy wool pea jacket as the wind picked up. "She helped break the case open for us. We'd have arrived at the same place eventually, but she helped get us there sooner."

"I was thinking the same thing," Stark admitted reluctantly. "You know, sometimes we don't have a lot of choices."

"I have a feeling no one really knows what's happening minute to minute these days in terms of our security network," Felicia said, her expression uneasy. "I'm glad we're here and that Egret is out of things for a while. They're keeping the vice president under wraps somewhere too. Probably smart. I'm glad I'm not on the president's detail."

Paula snorted. "Yeah. They probably want to keep him in the underground bunker, and knowing President Powell, he's not going to go for that."

"No. That's why I can't be too angry with Valerie. Every day we get closer to these guys, we cut the risk of something really bad happening again."

"So maybe it all evens out in the end?"

Felicia wrapped her arms around her body, wishing, not for the first time, that Mac were with them. "I hope so."

*

The four helicopters descended in a ring toward the compound. As the layout of the camp became more distinct, Cam noted that the trees had been clear-cut for a hundred yards around the fenced perimeter and the ground bulldozed flat. There appeared to be guard posts on either side of the main entrance, which was barricaded by a double swinging gate. A ground approach, even if they'd had armored jeeps, would have been ill-advised because of the absence of cover. As it was, the helicopters would have to deliver the troops right into the heart of the compound.

Simons's voice came through the powerful loudspeaker in their helicopter. "This is the United States Army. All personnel in the compound, assemble on the parade grounds. This is the United States Army. Surrender your weapons and assemble on the parade grounds. This is the United States..."

As the message repeated, Cam quickly scanned the open area between the main building and several smaller ones that probably served as the training grounds. At least a dozen men in fatigues hurried from the buildings. The helicopter to the right of hers, which she could see through the open door, zigzagged sharply away. Through her earphones she heard Simons shout, "The idiots are firing on us. Take us down! Take us down!"

The helicopter dropped precipitously, and Cam was thrown back against the inside wall. Across from her, Savard appeared eerily calm.

"All troops, prepare to jump," Simons commanded. "I want these birds back up in the air as soon as we hit the ground."

Cam drew her weapon and glanced at Savard once more before getting in line behind the two Delta commandos who crouched in the open doorway, waiting to drop the last ten feet into the hot zone.

Chapter Thirty-One

C am was grateful for the enormous clouds of dust that the helicopters lacked up from the hard-packed earth of the parade grounds. At least the impromptu sandstorm afforded them a few seconds of cover as they prepared to drop into the fire zone. She put her hand on Savard's back and leaned close to her. "Go first. I'll provide covering fire. Take cover anywhere you can, but try to follow the front men."

"No," Savard shouted back. "You won't have anyone at your back."

"Do it," Cam said as she saw the second soldier drop from view. She pushed Savard forward. "Go, go!"

The helicopter bounced from side to side as if buffeted by a high wind, hovering as close to the ground as possible. As soon as Savard's head disappeared from sight, Cam jumped after her, mentally repeating, drop and roll, drop and roll. She landed with a bone-rattling, teeth-jarring thud and let her legs go soft, pitching forward into a shoulder roll and coming up in a crouch with her weapon extended. Overhead, the steady pinging of bullets impacting on the ascending helicopters sounded like hail on a tin roof. Her eyes were filled with grit and her vision hazy, but she could see well enough to make out that Savard was down and unmoving eight feet away. The only thought in her mind was to get her to cover as she threw herself flat on the ground and started to crawl, ignoring the small puffs of dirt that signaled bullets striking the ground nearby.

*

Blair walked into the living room, surprised to see Diane curled up in one corner of the sofa with a glass of wine in her hand. "Isn't it still morning, or did I miss something?"

Smiling wanly, Diane shook her head. "No. You're right. But if I drink another cup of coffee, I'm likely to have a meltdown. And frankly, I've been keeping such odd hours for the last week or so, my internal clock is totally disrupted. It feels like seven at night."

"Actually," Blair said as she threw herself down on the sofa beside Diane, "I might join you if we don't hear something pretty soon."

"You don't have any idea what's going on?"

"No. But I'm willing to bet that once they have the names of these guys, which they do now, they're not going to wait around to go after them. And I'm willing to bet there's a reason that Cam took Savard, and not Felicia or Stark, to this so-called briefing. Savard's FBI. She's trained in armed apprehension. So is Cam, because she was originally part of the investigative division of the Secret Service. But Stark and Davis have always done protection, and there's a difference. They're not as used to making arrests."

Diane reached over and took Blair's hand. "She's going to be fine. Even if they're involved in something risky, they're not alone. Your father and Lucy aren't going to let Cam do anything really dangerous. They know what she means to you."

"You are speaking about Cameron Roberts, my lover, right?" Blair said. "The one who believes that sacrifice is the greatest form of love?"

"Is she any different than you as far as that goes?" Diane spoke gently, but the look in her eyes said that she knew Blair would give up anything to keep Cam safe too.

"It's not the same." Blair turned away from Diane's appraising stare, blinking back the tears that were as much a result of frustration as fear. She sighed. "But her behavior is not a news flash. I should be used to it by now."

"No, not used to it. You'll never be used to it, I suppose, as long as she does what she does." Diane gave Blair's hand a shake. "But perhaps you'll begin to believe that she's coming back, because she always does."

Blair nodded. "I know. And I know that's the only thing I should really be thinking about."

"Good. So practice."

"I'll try." Blair leaned her head back against the sofa and stared at the ceiling, toying with Diane's fingers. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm all right."

Blair turned her head, hearing a calmness in Diane's voice that hadn't been there when they'd walked on the beach. She searched her friend's face. "My God," she breathed, "she called, didn't she?"

Diane said nothing.

"Are you afraid to tell me because you think I'll do something to endanger her?" Blair sat up straight. "Diane?"

"Some people here are very angry at her."

"Cam defended her this morning," Blair said. "Even though she was angry, she said she understood her. She said that sometimes they don't get to choose what they do."

"They do choose, though, don't they," Diane said quietly. "They choose to follow orders, because they believe that what they're doing is right or important or.. .necessary."

"You've really gotten a crash course in the trials and tribulations of being in love with a spooky, haven't you?" Blair said gently.

Diane laughed, a tremor in her voice. "Oh, I certainly have. No wonder you resisted Cam as long as you did."

"Yeah," Blair laughed, "for all of about two seconds."

"We're a great pair, aren't we?"

Blair slid her arm around Diane's shoulders. "I would never do anything to hurt you. Is she all right?"

"I don't know. I think so. We only...we only spoke for a moment."

"So you don't know anything?"

Diane shook her head. "Not a thing. I don't think she's in Washington anymore, though. So if there's something going on with Cam and Renee right now, she's not a part of it."

"No, probably not right now. But there was some reason that she left the way she did, and I expect there's going to be hard feelings about that for a while with quite a few people."

"What about us? Is it going to come between us?"

Blair reached for Diane's other hand. "Not if we don't let it. Let's agree right now that sometimes our lovers might not see eye to eye. That will be between them. Not us. Okay?"

"Okay."

"You do know what you're getting into, don't you? Because it's probably going to be a very bumpy ride."

"After this morning, I think I've got a pretty good idea just how rough it's going to be." Diane smiled softly. "But when I thought she was gone, really gone, it was as if something inside of me had broken, and I knew I would never be able to fix it. And then the second I heard her voice, everything felt right again."

"Well. That's your answer, then, isn't it?" "It seems to be. Does it ever begin to make sense?" "Once in a while," Blair said, "when you feel her next to you, and you know that that's the only thing in the world that truly matters."

*

"Savard," Cam shouted. "You hit?"

Savard turned her head in Cam's direction, spitting dirt from her mouth. Her face was pale and contorted with pain. "Twisted my knee when I landed. Tore something, I think."

"Can you move?" Cam took in the crimson stain on Savard's leg and the ragged tear in her pants. Bullet wound. Somewhere nearby, men shouted and the intermittent bursts of automatic weapons fire continued. "We need to get out of here," Cam said urgently. "Just crawl."

"Don't think.. .I can. You go."

"Forget it, Agent. Get moving." Cam gripped the back of Savard's jacket in her fist and pulled, inching forward on her elbows, keeping her belly and hips on the ground. She jerked Savard with her. "Push with your good leg and use your elbow for leverage. Come on. It's only thirty feet or so to the building."

"Commander, I..."

"Move"

"Yes, ma'am."

Together, they maneuvered across the open ground. At one point, Cam saw a figure in faded green camos race around the side of the building, a rifle in his hands. She sighted on his chest, waiting to pull the trigger if he trained his weapon on them. But before she needed to fire, he pitched forward, his rifle flying from his hands. He writhed on the ground, a red patch spreading rapidly high on his back. He'd taken a round in the shoulder. The Delta Forces aren 't shooting to kill, at least not unless they have to.

"The stairs are just ahead," Cam yelled. "Get up on one knee and put your arm around me. We're going inside."

Cam wrapped her left arm around Savard's waist, her weapon in her right hand. Savard pushed up with her uninjured left leg, and the two of them clambered up the stairs and through the door. The room was empty except for several chairs turned over on the floor and a desk that sat in front of a doorway centered in the far wall.

"You're bleeding," Cam said, easing Savard down to the floor by the side of the desk. She guided Savard's hand to the wound. "Press on this and keep your eye on the front door. Use the desk for cover if you need to. I'll check the back."

Assured that Savard was as safe as she could be, Cam ran quickly to the rear wall and put her back against it. Then, with her weapon arm cocked up by her head, she inched toward the open doorway. She suspected that Matheson's office was on the other side, since this was the building they had presumed was the command center. She hadn't seen anyone come out the front door, unless he'd been one of the first men to rush onto the parade ground as they'd landed. If he was, hopefully he'd been captured already. He might have escaped through a back door, or he could have gone out a window. She hoped that he was still inside, destroying paperwork or just waiting, foolish enough to make a stand.

She took one quick glance behind her and couldn't see Savard. She had probably moved behind the desk. Good. With a quick intake of breath, Cam swung into the doorway, keeping low, hoping to make as small a target as possible. A quick glance left, then right. There was one man in the room, standing behind the desk and looking straight into her eyes, as if he'd indeed been waiting. Cam held his gaze, but her mind was flooded with images. It was surprising the details that one noticed between one heartbeat and the next.

A maroon desk blotter was perfectly lined up in the precise center of the desk. A gold ring with a blue sapphire stone, a class ring of some kind, adorned his right hand. His clean-shaven, tanned face was expressionless save for a small smile on his thin lips, registering neither anger nor panic. That was odd, considering that a chain of rectangular explosive packs were laid out in front of him.

Cam couldn't tell for certain, but if those were C4 charges, she judged there was enough there to blow up a great deal of the surrounding compound, and everyone in it. From what she could see of the coils leading from the pale pink squares, he had not yet set the timer. When he snatched up what appeared to be the ignition switch and dove to the floor behind the desk, she had no time to think about anything, not even Blair. She catapulted out of her crouch, over the desk, and on top of him, grappling for his hand. He elbowed her in the throat, and she gagged, spots dancing before her eyes as she forced his wrist back, trying to dislocate it. He elbowed her in the neck again, and she felt herself losing consciousness. Just as she slipped away, she heard an explosion.

*

Everyone in the room abruptly stopped talking when Stark's phone rang twenty minutes before Blair was due to call Lucinda Washburn.

"Stark," she said. Her gaze flicked once to Blair as she listened, and she squared her shoulders. "Yes, ma'am, I understand. Forty minutes. Yes, ma'am, we'll be there. Yes, ma'am, ready to receive." She closed her phone and cleared her throat. "That was the chief of staff. They're sending a military escort to pick us up. I should be getting the coordinates by satellite relay right now. Ms. Powell, if you could get ready to leave immediately."

"Did Lucinda give you Cam's status?" Blair asked, her voice surprisingly steady, because she'd stopped breathing with the first ring. Cam would have called her had she been able to. This could only mean one thing. She was hurt. God, please let that be all.

"No, ma'am," Stark said hoarsely. "Just that they're airlifting casualties to McDonald Army Hospital in Virginia."

Blair swayed for just an instant before she took a deep breath and steeled herself. "Then we should go."

Chapter Thirty-Two

A military jet awaited them at the rendezvous point. Hara and Wozinski fell in behind Stark and Blair as they raced across the tarmac to the aircraft. A Marine lieutenant waited at the bottom of the staircase and followed silently behind them as they climbed rapidly aboard. The jet seated ten and had none of the trappings of their usual transportation. Blair made her way to the rear seats and slid into one, reaching automatically for the seat belt. Stark walked slowly up and down the aisle, inspecting the interior, as the jet taxied down the runway.

"Is there anything you need, Ms. Powell?" Stark asked quietly as she slowed by Blair's side on her first pass through the plane.

"No, thank you." Blair was grateful that Paula moved on. She didn't want to talk. She didn't want to think. She just wanted to be wherever Cam was. She'd tried Lucinda on the scrambled line, but got no answer. The significance of that was uncertain, but she suspected that her father's chief of staff was busy handling the aftermath of whatever had happened to result in casualties. Casualties. The very word made her feel ill. She leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and concentrated on clearing her mind of all thought. She focused on her breathing, letting the sensation and sound of the air flowing in and out of her body expand until she was aware of nothing else. Her heart rate slowed and her muscles relaxed as she prepared herself for the challenge that awaited her.

Stark crouched down in the aisle next to where Hara and Wozinski sat. She spoke quietly so the Marine would not hear her. "When we land, assume that no one is a friendly. That means medical and military personnel too. No one is alone with her except the commander."

The other agents nodded solemnly, neither voicing the question that was foremost in their minds, both wondering if the commander would be waiting for them at the end of their journey.

"Good." Stark stood and took a seat midway down the fuselage between Blair and the cabin door. She sat straight, staring directly ahead, with a death grip on the armrests. She mentally reviewed the things she would need to do as soon as the plane landed. She considered the positioning of the other agents around Egret and the fact that they would be understaffed for what had to be considered a significant security risk. She steadfastly did not think about Renee. She couldn't, because every time she did, a bubble of panic rose into her chest and threatened to choke her. And there was no room for it, no time for it, no opportunity for her to feel anything about anyone except Blair Powell.

So she didn't.

*

Mercifully, the jet landed at an Army base adjoining the hospital, and a jeep sat idling by the runway, waiting for them. Within ten minutes of touchdown, they were escorted through a rear entrance to McDonald Army Hospital. A muscular, dark-haired, olive-skinned man in his fifties, dressed in scrubs, met them just inside the doors. Incongruously, he glanced at Stark, who walked by Blair's side, and saluted smartly.

"I'm Captain Olivieri, the chief of surgery. If you'll come this way, please." He turned smartly on his heel and strode off.

"Captain," Blair said as she hurried with him, Stark on her opposite side, "we have several of our people who might be injured. Commander Roberts, Special Agent—"

"Yes, ma'am. I was instructed to bring you directly to the treatment room."

"If you could just..."

He pushed aside a curtain that enclosed the last treatment room at one end of a hallway filled with emergency equipment, suture carts, defibrillators, and other medical paraphernalia. "Ma'am."

Blair glanced inside and for one brief instant, everything receded from her consciousness but Cam. "Oh God."

Cam sat propped up on a treatment table, a pillow behind her back and an ice pack on her neck. An angry bruise on her right cheek extended to her lower lid, which was partially closed. Her eyes, however, were blessedly clear, and as soon as she saw Blair, she smiled. Blair smiled back, her heart lifting.

"Hey," Blair said softly as she started forward.

Cam looked past Blair to where Stark stood in the doorway. She tried to speak, but no sound came out.

Captain Olivieri said curtly, "No talking. That was our arrangement. If you try, I'll slap you in the ICU and put a tube down your throat."

Blair saw the oxygen mask sitting by Cam's right hand and realized that Cam must have taken it off. She looked anxiously at the surgeon. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Against doctor's orders, Cam forced out a barely recognizable word. "Star..." Her face contorted with pain and she leaned her head back, closing her eyes as if the effort had exhausted her.

Instantly, Blair reached for the oxygen mask and put it over Cam's lower face. "I take it she's supposed to be wearing this," she said over her shoulder. Her voice was steady but her hands were shaking.

"It's humidified oxygen," the surgeon explained. "She has significant tracheal edema from the blunt injury, and-—" He stopped as Cam suddenly sat forward and pulled the oxygen mask off.

Blair narrowed her eyes and followed Cam's hand as she pointed vehemently at Stark once again. Nodding, Blair said, "Captain, do you have any information on Special Agent Renee Savard?"

"Savard?" Olivieri looked confused. "Yes. She's in surgery."

"How is she?" Blair asked quickly, watching the color drain from Stark's face.

"She should be out anytime now. They're just doing a washout of the wound—"

"How about giving us a quick rundown of her injuries, Captain," Blair interrupted when Cam stiffened and made another abortive attempt at speaking. Blair squeezed her shoulder. "Stop it."

"She has a nonthreatening GSW to the left lower extremity. X-rays reveal no evidence of bony injury, but the orthopedic surgeons wanted to irrigate the wound and make sure the lateral collateral ligament had not been damaged. She should be fine."

"Thank you, Captain." Blair smiled at Stark. "If you want to find out where they'll be taking her, Paula, go ahead."

Stark clasped her hands behind her back and locked her knees, trying to appear steadier than she felt. She swallowed once and then said clearly, "Thank you, Ms. Powell. I'll be right outside in the hall here." With that, she stepped back several feet and closed the curtain, giving Cam and Blair privacy. There was no way she could leave. It wasn't even a consideration, and she knew that Renee would understand. Renee was going to be all right, and knowing that gave her all the strength she needed to be patient. She leaned against the wall where she could see the hall in both directions and took a few gulps of much-needed air.

"Now," Blair said to Captain Olivieri. "Tell me about Agent Roberts."

"She has a badly contused trachea and a fracture of the arytenoid... uh, that's one of the cartilages forming the vocal cords. She shouldn't speak, and by rights, she should be in the ICU on a monitor, because if the swelling increases—" He frowned when Cam made a hand motion, waving him to silence.

Blair turned her back to the surgeon and put her face very close to Cam's. "You listen to me. I want to know. And I don't want to hear anything coming from you. Not a single sound." Then, very gently, she kissed her on the mouth. Keeping her arm tightly around Cam, she looked back at the surgeon. "Go ahead."

"Ah—well, that's it really. Vocal rest, a three-week course of steroids, and a laryngoscopy in ten days to check for healing. I recommended twenty-four hours in-house observation, but—"

"I think if you give me explicit instructions, I can see that Agent Roberts is appropriately observed. Several of my security team are EMTs."

He looked sheepish. "Yes, ma'am." He backed up. "I'll see that those are typed up for you."

"Thank you."

Once they were alone, Blair pressed her palm to Cam's cheek. "Does it hurt, darling?"

Cam shrugged.

"The truth."

Cam grinned weakly and nodded.

"On a scale of one to ten?"

Cam held up both hands, eight digits extended.

"Oh, then, that's not so bad." Blair rested her forehead against Cam's and closed her eyes. "I love you. I can't take too many more of these scares."

Cam wrapped her arms around Blair's waist and pulled her as close as she could, sliding one hand beneath Blair's hair to caress the back of her neck.

"I know. It's a million to one chance that it will ever happen again." Blair snuggled against Cam's chest, wanting nothing except to be in her arms. "Don't ever play poker for money, darling."

*

Diane was waiting for Blair when she came out of the bedroom after situating Cam for the night. "Well? What the hell happened? Where is Stark?"

"We left her in Virginia for the time being. Renee is going to be in the hospital for a couple of days so they can make sure her leg is okay. Paula wanted to come back with us, but I wouldn't let her."

"Is Renee going to be all right?"

"Yes. The surgeon said nothing vital was injured, and her recovery should be pretty fast."

"Thank God." Diane took Blair's hand and led her into the kitchen. "Sit. I bet you haven't had anything to eat all day, have you?"

Blair sagged into the chair without protest and brushed her hair back with trembling hands. "God, what a nightmare this day has been. I don't think I can eat."

"Well, you're going to. Scrambled eggs with cheese and toast. Comfort food, and it will get some protein into you." As she removed items from the refrigerator, she asked, "Do you know what happened?"

"Cam can't tell me, and none of the medical personnel seem to know. I'll call Lucinda tomorrow," Blair said. "But right now, I really don't care."

Diane put the bowl of eggs aside and went to Blair. She leaned down and hugged her. "Neither do I. At least they're all in one piece."

Blair laughed unsteadily and rested her cheek against Diane's body, welcoming the comfort. "More or less."

"I don't suppose you heard anything about Valerie," Diane said softly.

Blair shook her head. "I don't know anything, sweetie. As soon as I do, I promise I'll let you know."

Diane kissed Blair's forehead. "Thanks."

"I did some thinking on the trip back here," Blair said. "I'm going to talk to Tanner about buying this place. I think it will be good for us to get away somewhere truly safe. Tanner should be able to arrange the sale so that no one can trace us, at least not without a lot of trouble. I'm not even going to tell my father where we are when we come here."

"I think that's a great idea. As long as that guesthouse has my name on it."

Blair smiled. "Definitely."

"Perfect. Now, about those eggs..."

To Blair's surprise, she discovered she was hungry, and after finishing the quick meal, she made her excuses and returned to the bedroom. She'd left the bedside light on, turned down low, and she could see from the doorway that Cam's eyes were closed. As quietly as she could, she started toward the bathroom, but stopped when Cam opened her eyes. She changed direction and settled onto the side of the bed, leaning forward with her arm on the other side of Cam's body. "Hey. You're supposed to be trying to sleep."

Cam patted the bed beside her.

"You want company?"

Cam nodded and grinned, stronger this time. She drew one finger along the strong line of Blair's jaw, then brushed her thumb over Blair's mouth. Blair smiled.

"Commander, don't even think about it." She stood, shed her clothes, and slid beneath the sheets. Gently, she eased an arm behind Cam's back. "Can you lean with your head on my shoulder without hurting your neck?"

Carefully, Cam shifted onto her side and settled against the curve of Blair's body. With a sigh, she closed her eyes. Blair held her, wide awake. She didn't want to sleep, she wanted to—needed to—feel Cam beside her. She thought of her conversation with Diane.

"Does it ever begin to make sense? "

"Once in a while, when you feel her next to you, and you know that that's the only thing in the world that truly matters."

Chapter Thirty-three

Monday, October 1

S avard heard the sound of footsteps on the deck and watched the door with a combination of anticipation and uncertainty. She'd awakened alone after arriving at Whitley Point late the night before, having cajoled and badgered the medical staff into allowing her to leave the hospital twenty-four hours early. Paula had slept in a chair by her bed and had risen early to check in with the commander. She wanted Paula's company, her comfort, but at the same time, she wanted to be alone. She needed time to find a place for the anger and terrible disappointment that had plagued her since 9/11, and she didn't want to inflict her doubts and disillusionment on her lover.

"I've got coffee and scones," Stark said as she edged through the doorway with a tray. "Hungry?"

"Yes." Savard smiled. She couldn't help it.

Stark appraised the position of Renee's leg, propped up on several pillows on the sofa. "How are you feeling?"

"It doesn't hurt much at all. Just a big old cut is all it turned out to be. If it hadn't been for the temporary shock to the nerves, I probably would've been able to walk on my own." She grimaced, still embarrassed that she'd put the commander's life in danger.

"You couldn't help getting shot, honey." Stark poured coffee and placed a blueberry scone on a paper napkin. She set them both on the end table within Renee's reach.

"I nearly blew the whole thing. Big time."

Carefully, Stark settled onto the sofa and laid her hand on Renee's thigh.

"But you didn't, did you."

Savard looked down at the strong hand. Paula loved her. Paula also was one of the few people in her life who could really understand what it meant to struggle against an evil so pervasive that the fight felt endless. Paula would understand that sometimes she just wanted to give up, to give in, to say it was all too much and to walk away. To have a normal life, where it was still possible to believe that the world was safe. She sighed and traced the tendons and veins on the top of Paula's hand with her fingertip. "It was close, for a while. I wasn't certain we were going to make it." She looked into Paula's concerned brown eyes. "For a while now, I haven't been sure I would make it."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Stark asked gently.

"No." Savard kissed Paula softly, knowing that the love this woman offered her was the one safe place in her world. "But I will."

And as she told her everything, she felt the first stirrings of peace.

*

Blair watched Stark disappear into the guesthouse and turned to smile at Cam, who sat at the table. "Between Savard on crutches and you barely able to manage a whisper, I feel like we're running a rehab center around here."

Cam grinned.

"Don't talk," Blair warned, joining her at the table. She sat down and reached for Cam's hand. "I'm going to talk, and you're going to nod. Okay?"

"Yes," Cam whispered.

"Cameron, don't push. I've been going easy on you because you were hurt." Blair's eyes flashed. "But I haven't forgotten that you said you'd stay with the rear action, and you ended up practically getting yourself blown up."

"No—"

Blair held up a hand, cutting her off. "I didn't say anything to you yesterday because you needed to rest, but I spoke with Lucinda. I got some of the details."

Cam frowned.

"Oh, I know. You would have preferred to tell me yourself, so that you could downplay the danger. I know how you operate." Blair reached for Cam's hand and held it. "They put up more resistance than anybody figured, didn't they?" When Cam nodded, a frustrated expression on her face, Blair continued, hoping to fill in the blanks so that Cam wouldn't need to speak. She knew that Cam probably needed to talk about it almost as much as she needed to hear it, even though Cam wouldn't want to share all the details. Well, she'd just have to. "And that's how you ended up right in the middle of things. There was no rear action." She lifted Cam's hand and rubbed it against her cheek. "You wouldn't have put yourself in danger like that unless you had to, right?"

Cam shook her head carefully while holding Blair's gaze.

"I know, you promised." Blair tried to sound matter-of-fact, but Lucinda's dispassionate recounting of the events still terrified her. She shivered.with the chill of what might have been. "I believe you."

"Thanks." Cam's voice was a whisper, but she gave no indication that it pained her to speak. Blair put her fingers against Cam's mouth nevertheless.

"Hush. Wait until I get to something I don't know the answer to, and then you can tell me." She leaned forward and kissed Cam's cheek. "You're being very good. I love you." She took a breath. "Some things Lucinda told me you don't know. The assumption is that he was going to blow himself up along with most of the compound and everyone in it to prevent you finding what was in the office—cabinets full of transcripts and tapes of incriminating conversations with all kinds of people, personnel files, maps, schedules—a gold mine of vital information." She brushed her fingers gently over Cam's injured cheek. "From the looks of your neck and face, you kind of made it difficult for him to finish setting the charges."

Cam lifted a shoulder.

"Here's what no one is clear on. Who shot him in the head, Cam?"

Cam was silent for a long minute, staring out the back door into the blazing sun. The rain had finally stopped. The storm clouds had blown out to sea and had been replaced by clear, cold air that signaled the first hint of fall. If she knew how much forensic evidence was available, she could formulate an answer that might protect Renee from any kind of investigation. But she didn't, and a lie could put her at greater risk. She met Blair's questioning gaze. "Renee."

"Well," Blair said quietly, "I owe her a great deal, then, don't I?"

"She...won't...think so."

Blair smiled tenderly. "Oh, I know. And I won't embarrass her about it." She stroked Cam's cheek. "I spoke with Lucinda again this morning, darling. It wasn't Matheson."

"I know." She'd known the instant she'd seen him behind the desk. The man had probably been Matheson's number two, designated to destroy the evidence if Matheson wasn't there to do it himself.

"According to Lucinda, Matheson seems to have disappeared. There's no record of him leaving the country, but he's just.. .gone."

"CIA."

"Lucinda won't say even if she knows, will she?"

Cam shook her head.

"But you think they took him?"

"Yes." Short words were less painful than moving her neck.

"Valerie?"

"Not.. .her.. .personally."

"No," Blair said, "but they probably picked him up as soon as she told them who he was. Is that what put you all in danger? What Valerie did?"

"No."

Blair was relieved. Diane had left that morning to return to Manhattan in the same vehicle that had brought Stark and Renee back to the island.

"I think I want to get away for a while," Diane had said. "Maybe Paris."

Blair had kissed her cheek and wished her luck. "I'm glad, because Diane loves her. I think she's gone after her."

Cam smiled wryly. "Valerie.. .will.. .find.. .her."

Blair rose and came around behind Cam's chair and rested her hands on Cam's shoulders. She gently massaged her. "Luce said that there's so much information in what they confiscated from that camp that it will take months to go through it all, but these people...they're just one link in a much bigger chain that extends around the world, like a global net of terrorism." She closed her eyes, trying to absorb this new horror that was now a part of their daily life. "What you did, what all of you here did, was buy us time to prepare for whatever is coming next."

Cam reached back and clasped Blair's hand. "I love you." "Thank you for that. It means everything to me." Blair crouched down by Cam's side, put her arms around her lover's waist, and leaned her head against her shoulder. "And thank you for being who you are, Secret Service Agent Roberts."

Cam leaned her cheek against Blair's and held her tightly, knowing that whatever the future held for them, they would face it together. And they would win.

The End