Price Of Honor

Chapter Three

Cam braced her arms against the shower wall as the hot water beat down against her back. She ached just about everywhere, but nothing she hadn’t felt before and nothing that wouldn’t ease in a few days. She removed the bandage on her leg to let the water clean the tract where the wood splinter had sailed through her calf when part of the building where she’d been imprisoned had exploded. She was lucky. Skylar Dunbar was still in the hospital recovering from the bullet wound to her arm and from blood loss. Fortunately the early reports from the surgeon were that no major muscle or nerve damage had occurred and Skylar would not suffer long-term injury. Cam hadn’t known the agent very long, but spending twenty-four hours on the brink of death with someone taught you a lot. Dunbar was gutsy and tough, and Cam was glad she was going to be all right.

She was still putting together all the pieces as to just what had happened out in Idaho where she and Dunbar had been abducted. Reports were still coming in from agents on the scene, but the one person Cam wanted to talk to had dropped out of sight. She wasn’t surprised. Loren McElroy had been undercover for years and was a valuable asset. She’d disappeared to preserve her cover. Cam had a number for her and had left a message. McElroy would call her, she was certain. In the meantime, she still had a prisoner who was one of the keys to the puzzle.

Jennifer Pattee was connected to that militia compound, and Cam was close to verifying just how close that connection was. Thinking about the upcoming interrogation, she turned off the water and stepped out. Blair was leaning against the counter in a white terrycloth robe belted loosely at the waist, her wet blond hair tangled on her shoulders, her piercing blue eyes studying Cam. A small frown line creased the smooth skin between her golden brows.

Cam grabbed a towel, being careful not to wince when the movement pulled at her sore rib cage. She wrapped it around her torso and grabbed another to towel her hair.

“So how bad is it, and no bullshitting,” Blair said.

“Stiff and sore.” Cam pushed a hand through her hair and dried off the rest of the way. “The leg feels better.”

Blair motioned for Cam to put her injured leg up on a stepstool and picked up a roll of bandage. “It still looks really painful.”

“I’ll admit I wouldn’t want to run very far,” Cam said as Blair wrapped the wound, “but I don’t expect I’ll have to.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Thanks. That feels better.”

Blair straightened, kissed Cam, and turned to put the medical supplies back into the narrow closet in the corner of the bathroom. “Are you going right to the White House?”

“No, I’m going to stop at the detention center first.”

“Maybe I’ll see you for dinner, then.”

Cam cradled Blair’s shoulders and pulled Blair against her. Wrapping her arms around Blair’s waist from behind, she kissed the side of her neck. “The countdown will probably run long. I don’t think we’ve gotten the final itinerary yet.”

Blair laughed shortly and covered Cam’s hands with hers. “Why aren’t I surprised? You know Adam is always adding last-minute stops for Dad.”

“I know. Eisley’s a real pain in the ass.”

Blair rested her head back against Cam’s shoulder. “He is. But he’s really good at his job.”

“I suppose. If you end up staying later, I’ll see you when you get home.”

Blair turned and let her robe fall open, pressing naked against Cam. Her skin was warm, her body strong and supple.

Cam groaned softly. “Come on.”

Blair’s eyes flashed and she smiled a satisfied smile. “I want you to be thinking about me this afternoon.”

“Like I wouldn’t be?”

“Just making sure.”

Cam clasped the back of Blair’s neck and kissed her, a long, serious kiss. “Mission accomplished.”

Blair breathed heavily, her lips faintly parted. “Yeah. Me too.”

Cam grinned and brushed a thumb over her chin. “See you later, baby.”

“See you later, Commander.”

*

The building where Jennifer Pattee was being detained looked nothing like a prison. It was a square glass-and-steel structure like most of the federal buildings surrounding the Capitol. The upper floors were all administrative offices of midlevel attorneys, aides, and other justice employees. But the second basement level, accessible only by a key card that a select few people carried, was a different matter.

The elevators opened on a ten-foot-square, tile-floored lobby directly across from a guard station. There were no chairs, no signs, no water coolers. The two uniformed officers sat in a well-lit glass cubicle scanning banks of monitors that displayed relays from the exterior and interior of the building as well as the four detention cells behind the adjacent steel doors.

Cam presented her credentials and one of the officers keyed in the code to the doors. They swung open and Cam walked through. Only one of the cells, their interiors dim behind plain metal doors with rectangular windows, was occupied. She settled at the bare, brown laminate table in the small visitor’s room and waited for the guard to bring Jennifer Pattee in. Cam hadn’t seen her for almost a week. Her appearance was much the same as the last time. Her shoulder-length dark hair was clean, her heart-shaped face pale and faintly shadowed. Her eyes were still clear and angry and sharply intelligent. She sat across from Cam in her gray jumpsuit, her shoulders upright, her hands still cuffed in her lap.

“Are you being taken care of adequately?” Cam asked.

The former White House Medical Unit nurse smiled wryly. “I’m being fed and allowed to shower and given clean clothes. I wouldn’t mind a computer.”

“Who would you contact?”

“I like to surf the shopping sites and read the news.”

“What about a phone call?”

“Who would I call?” Jennifer echoed.

“How about Augustus Graves?”

For a fraction of a second, Jennifer tensed, and if Cam hadn’t been looking for it and hadn’t spent a large part of her career in investigations doing interrogations, she would’ve missed it.

“Who would that be?” Jennifer asked.

Her question implied she cared about the answer. She was usually too smart to engage in any conversation. “He was the leader of a militia group out in Idaho. I thought since you grew up there, you might’ve heard of him.”

“I don’t know anything about Idaho,” Jennifer said.

She was lying, of course. Cam was nearly 100 percent certain that Jennifer was related to the woman who’d taken Cam prisoner and undoubtedly would have killed her had she the opportunity. The two of them looked alike. She didn’t know how Augustus Graves fit into the picture, but she was certain they all knew each other.

“In that case, you won’t be disturbed to learn that he’s dead.”

This time Jennifer Pattee didn’t move. She’d probably already been mentally preparing herself for some kind of news once the name had been mentioned. She was very well trained, but the autonomic nervous system was something few people could control completely, if at all. Her pupils flickered rapidly. The news had triggered an adrenaline surge.

“Let me tell you about him. It might ring a few bells.” Cam relaxed back in her seat. “Graves was an Idaho businessman who owned a large tract of land up in the Bitterroot Mountains. He built a compound on that land. A big one, big enough to house a few hundred people. A militia. Before it got blown up a couple nights ago, it appeared to have been pretty self-sufficient, with an infirmary and an armory and barracks. Pretty sophisticated stuff.”

“I don’t know him,” Jennifer said flatly.

“Interesting place,” Cam went on. “I ran into one of his senior…officers, I guess you could say. A woman. She reminded me of you. Looked a little like you too. I didn’t get her name, but maybe you know it?”

The fingers of Jennifer’s right hand closed slowly, a small tell. “I don’t know any of these people. I don’t know anything about Idaho.”

“You know,” Cam said slowly, “I said I didn’t know her name. That’s not exactly true. I know the name she used when she worked at Eugen Corp. Angela Jones. The one who stole the virus that you were carrying when you were apprehended. Help your memory at all?”

“I already told you. That was a mistake. I have no idea what the virus was for or why I was given it.”

“Lots of coincidences. Are you interested in knowing what happened to her?”

“No,” Jennifer said, no inflection in her voice. “As I said, I don’t know her.”

Cam leaned forward, forcing Jennifer to look into her face. “You know her. She’s a cousin…no, closer than that. A sister. Don’t you want to know if she’s alive or dead?”

Jennifer’s pupils were pinpoint. “No.”

“She wanted you to be released. She wanted to trade me for you. She made a mistake when she did that. She brought the hammer down on that compound, because we don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

“Terrorists,” Jennifer exclaimed.

“What would you call them?”

“Patriots,” Jennifer snapped.

“Yes, I suppose you would. Tell me, Jennifer, how patriotic is it to attempt to kill the president of the United States?”

Jennifer’s lips pressed together. She’d made a mistake, speaking out.

“She’s your sister,” Cam said with certainty. “And before too long, I’ll know exactly who both of you are. If you don’t want her killed, then help me find her before she does something else.”

“I can’t help you.”

“All right. Not yet.” Cam stood. “But don’t wait too long.”

Cam signaled to the guard to return her to her cell. Jennifer Pattee and Angela Jones hadn’t been alone in devising the thwarted attack on Andrew Powell. It’d taken a lot of money and significant inside help to pull it off. She didn’t know how close the other conspirators were to the president, but she couldn’t rule anyone out except those she trusted absolutely, and those numbers were few.

Anytime the president was exposed, he was vulnerable. Now he insisted on kicking off his reelection campaign with a grassroots appeal to the heartland via a train ride, despite that being a security nightmare. But the Secret Service and Homeland Security were the best protective organizations in the world. Everyone would be ready when game day arrived.

*

Viv waited in the doorway of a small equipment room while Dusty pulled a navy nylon bomber jacket from a locker and shrugged into it. Atlas sat beside her, the cadence of his tail swishing back and forth increasing when she donned the jacket.

“He seems to know what’s about to happen,” Viv commented.

“He does.” Dusty zipped the jacket and murmured a command. Atlas followed at her side as Dusty joined Viv in the hall. “There’s nothing he’d rather do than work.”

“Sounds like a perfect partner.”

“Couldn’t find a better one.”

Clearly Dusty Nash meant every word. She and the dog were more than a team, they were a unit, apparently self-sufficient in every respect. Viv knew dog people. She’d been raised around them. Her mother bred champion Labradors. Some were used in police work but more often they worked in service areas. Their gentle nature and less threatening demeanor made them better choices where a great deal of social interaction was required. The Malinois were far more aggressive and tended to work better one-on-one with their handlers in solo situations, like Dusty’s, or in small units, as they’d been employed in the Middle East.

Dusty was like a lot of dog people she knew, more comfortable with animals than people. But she got the feeling it went further than that, as if Dusty had an invisible barrier around her that kept her apart. Viv had always been drawn to the quiet solitary types, like her father. She’d come to recognize at an early age that when praise or a smile or a gentle touch was given from someone like him, it meant even more. She wondered if there was anyone Dusty smiled for. Realizing she’d been daydreaming, Viv put her game face on. “How often does he need to train, now that you’re a working unit?”

“We train a little every day,” Dusty said, leading the way through a set of double doors into an open lot behind the group of low buildings. “Requirements are a minimum of ten hours of active training every week unless we’re deployed.”

“I don’t imagine he thinks of it as work,” Viv said.

“For him it’s just fun.”

“How about you? Is that what you do for fun too?” Viv realized a second too late her comment might be construed as flirtatious, and maybe it was.

Dusty regarded her solemnly, the merest hint of question in her eyes. “It’s not work for me either. It’s what I enjoy doing.”

“He lives with you, I take it?”

“That’s right.”

“And how is he…” Viv searched for a way that wouldn’t make it too obvious she was probing for personal information. “With family?”

“He behaves himself with strangers. He’s good with people, but not overly friendly. That’s just normal for his breed.”

That was nicely sidestepped. Viv made a noncommittal noise and followed along, hunching her shoulders against the brisk wind. The training area looked to be a hundred acres of field bordered on one side by woods. They veered away from the woods and along a narrow path that led to a group of buildings, more like sheds really, where a number of vehicles were parked haphazardly in tall grass.

“I already placed a hide earlier today,” Dusty said. “I was planning to bring him out for a little work before the Office of Public Affairs contacted me to meet with you.”

“A hide?”

“An explosive-impregnated package.”

“Is it dangerous?”

Dusty shook her head. “There’s nothing to arm or trigger the explosives. It’s the odor we care about. Atlas detects bombs by scent. He’s incredibly good at recognizing just about any kind of explosive.”

“Right. He alerts to the scent cone, isn’t that it?”

Dusty gave her a long look. “That’s right. Not many people actually know that.”

“I did a little reading before I came,” Viv said. “And my family’s in dogs. My mother raises and trains Labs, mostly for service but a couple go to handlers for law enforcement. Usually search and rescue, cadaver, sometimes protection.”

“Really? Labs?”

“Uh-huh.”

“They’re good dogs. A little distractible.”

Viv laughed at the understatement. “Oh my God, don’t you know it.”

“That’s why they’re not the best dogs for bomb detection.”

“How old was Atlas when you got him?”

“The pups are separated from their mothers earlier than normal so they bond with the human from a really early age. After I worked with some of the graduate dogs for a while, I got to choose my own for training. He was three weeks old.”

“He’s been with you his whole life.”

Dusty leaned down and unclipped Atlas’s lead. He panted softly, his ears perked and his eyes bright.

“Atlas, find it.” Dusty pointed at a bus twenty-five yards away, and he tore off like a missile fired from a fighter plane.

“Yeah, his whole life,” Dusty murmured as she trotted after him.

Viv ran to keep up, cursing the heels on her suede boots. She hadn’t anticipated anything quite so strenuous. She clutched her recorder in one hand and kept her coat closed at her throat with the other. The wind bit through the wool as if it was sheer cotton. Dusty, hatless with her jacket partially unzipped, appeared impervious, her gaze riveted on the dog. She slowed and Viv pulled up beside her, trying not to gasp. A few more weekly sessions at the gym seemed in order.

Atlas trotted along beside the bus, halting occasionally to hunker down and crawl partway underneath, then backing out and resuming his methodical foot-by-foot search along the carriage.

“What’s he doing?” Viv fumbled her camera out and got a picture of Atlas sniffing along the wheel well with Dusty a few feet away, her hands on her hips, her face in profile, staring into the wind in utter concentration. They were both beautiful animals.

Dusty glanced over. “Checking the exterior, the undercarriage, the wheel wells, the body, the places where someone could plant a charge. He’ll finish inside if he doesn’t find anything outside.”

“Will he?”

Dusty grinned and that breathtaking transformation happened again. She went from remote and cool and icily striking to warm and sexy. Viv stared as Dusty tilted her head much as Atlas had done earlier, studying her in return.

Viv’s face heated against the cold wind, and she hoped Dusty would write off the flush in her cheeks to the weather and not her embarrassment at being caught staring.

“There,” Dusty murmured, her focus back on Atlas again. “That’s a good boy.”

Atlas sat and woofed once, his head extended and his nose pointing to the grille at the front of the bus.

“Different breeds, different dogs, will alert in different ways,” Dusty said as she strode toward Atlas. “Once he alerts, he sits, his focus on the find.”

“How often does he miss?”

Dusty grunted. “Never.”

“And that’s what you’ll be doing during the president’s trip? Atlas will be checking the train?”

“Atlas will be checking everything.”