Chapter nineteen

23 August 2001

Cam lay awake, the first hints of sunlight streaking through the skylights onto her face. Blair lay curled against her, her head on Cam's chest, one arm and a leg thrown possessively across Cam's body. Miraculously, Blair had fallen asleep shortly after seven the previous night and had slept soundly for almost ten hours. Cam, however, had barely dozed. As the light had slowly seeped out of the loft and darkness taken its place, she had stared at the ceiling, stroking Blair's hair, listening to her soft, even breathing, and concentrating on the heat of her lover's body against her skin.

It seemed impossible that only a few days before, she and Blair had stood together in the White House declaring their love for each other and contemplating a future, speaking of marriage. She wondered why those moments seemed so much less real than the awareness that she could lose everything in the fragile time between two heartbeats. Why loss seemed so much more possible than happiness. Cam sighed and gently kissed Blair's forehead.

No point in asking questions that can't be answered.

Eyes closed, Blair drew her hand up Cam's body until it rested between her breasts and softly stroked the center of her chest. "Don't worry so much. Not yet."

"It's hard not to, but," Cam tightened her hold, "I'm reminding myself of all the positives—that you're young and it's probably nothing too serious; if it is serious, it's treatable; and most importantly," she kissed Blair's temple, "I know you, and you're a winner."

"I love you," Blair murmured softly, tracing her fingertips along Cam's collarbone. "I asked Diane to come over yesterday so we could catalog the paintings for the show. I didn't know I was going to tell her about this until she was here."

Cam continued to stroke Blair's shoulder and back—long, smooth, tender strokes. "It bothered me, at first, thinking that you didn't tell me right away and that you'd told Diane first."

"Cam—"

"It's okay," Cam said quickly, meaning it. "The most important thing is that you know that you're not alone, and that..." She stumbled as she worked to steady her voice, "we love you."

"If you only knew how much I need you."

"I'm here."

At 5:00 a.m., Cam ran north along her familiar jogging route into Central Park. She ran automatically, mindlessly, the rhythmic sound of her feet meeting earth a distant partner to the pain that thundered through her with each pulse of her blood. Her pace was faster than normal, but she was unaware of her breath rasping harshly in and out of her chest or the cramps knotting her overworked muscles. By the time she reached the reservoir and started around, her head was light from oxygen hunger and her limbs shook with the buildup of lactic acid.

She'll be fine. She has to be fine. Nothing will happen to her. I won't let it. God, how can I stop it? What can I do? What can I... how can I...this can't be happen —

Gasping, Cam vaulted off the path into the thick underbrush that bordered the jogging trail, braced herself with one arm against a tree trunk, and vomited until her stomach muscles gave out. Then she turned and slid to the ground, her back scraping against the rough bark. She leaned her head back and watched the early morning sun dapple the canopy of leaves overhead. With hands that shook, she fumbled her water bottle from the pack around her waist and rinsed the taste of fear from her mouth. When her vision cleared, she pushed herself upright and headed back at a steady pace to her duty and to the woman who was her destiny.

Stark pressed close to Renee's back, one arm around her waist and her face pressed to the soft spot between Renee's spine and shoulder blade. She kissed the warm skin and murmured, "Five more minutes?"

"We should get up," Renee sighed, pushing her hips back into the curve of Stark's body. "Mmm. God, you feel good."

"Uh-huh," Stark mumbled, caressing Renee's stomach. "I do."

Renee murmured contentedly. It was the second morning they had awakened together, and it felt as unfamiliar and as exciting as it had the day before. "I like the way you do this."

"What?"

"Snuggle."

"Snuggle?" Stark's voice held a note of uncertainty. "That doesn't sound very sexy."

Renee laughed quietly and drew Stark's hand to her breast. Her breath..caught as Stark's fingers closed around her nipple, tugging lightly. "Oh, but it is. There's something very sexy about the way you hold me."

"Everything about you is sexy." Stark rubbed her cheek against Renee's shoulder and then lifted up to kiss a spot just below her ear. "And you smell really good, too."

Renee turned onto her back and drew Stark down upon her. She fit a leg between Stark's and lifted her hips. The teasing touch on her breast had made her wet, and she knew that Stark would feel it. She smiled, a slow pleased smile, as she saw Stark's eyes widen at the first touch. "Feel me?"

"Oh, yeah," Stark said breathlessly. Her heart pounded like a wild thing trying to escape from her chest and all she could think, feel, sense was Renee—everywhere. Filling her mind and her heart and her body with wonder and desire. "I want to make you come."

"We have to get ready for work." Renee squeezed her thighs around Stark's leg, teasing them both. Then a trembling began deep in the pit of her stomach and she knew she would need to stop soon or come.

"Give me five minutes," Stark insisted. She kissed the corner of Renee's mouth, then flicked her tongue over the surface of Renee's lips. "Come on. Five. Minutes."

Renee ran her fingers through Stark's hair, laughing shakily. "Take ten."

Smoothly, Stark pushed down on the bed until she rested between Renee's legs. Gently curling her arms beneath Renee's thighs, she lowered her head and eased her lover into her mouth.

Then she took her time, because some things were too precious to hurry.

At 0700, Cam walked into the command center one floor below Blair's penthouse apartment. After her run, she'd showered in her own apartment diagonally across the square from Blair's building and dressed in her customary tailored dark suit and slightly paler shirt.

Like Blair's loft, the area housing the command center was a single open space. Workstations enclosed by aluminum-rammed gray partitions occupied the central area, a monitoring station crammed with computers, monitors, and communication links to all of New York City's emergency service offices filled the near end of the room, and a glass-enclosed conference area was located at the opposite end. Per routine, Cam strode to the head of the table in the conference room and remained standing while she addressed the agents gathered for the morning briefing.

"There will be new shift assignments beginning today." She waited while the agents shuffled through their papers to find the week's itinerary. "The following agents will be assigned to the first team until further notice—Stark, Davis, and Parker. Stark is lead. Second team will be Fielding, Foster, and Reynolds. The rest of you will be assigned to shifts as the schedule demands. Mac will coordinate as usual."

Cam had had only a few minutes to glance through the daily reports, including the routine intelligence reports. She looked to Mac. "Anything pertinent in the dailies?"

"No, ma'am," Mac replied. He was too experienced to ask her anything about the assignment changes during the main briefing. She would tell him privately what he needed to know. He also knew better than to ask her what had put the shadows in her eyes or the subtle tremor in her hands.

"Good," Cam said abruptly. "Mac, we need to be in DC by 1100 today. I'll be in the Aerie. Make arrangements for the team at the usual hotel and call me when you have the flight details. Leave the return date open."

"Yes ma'am."

"Thank you. That's all." Cam turned around and walked swiftly through the command center to the outer hallway and keyed the private elevator that led to Blair's apartment.

When she knocked, Blair answered immediately. She wore the royal blue robe that Cam had first seen her in, and, like that first day, her hair was down and wilding around her face. Despite the stress of the last three days, Blair's eyes were clear and her full lips their usual sensuous deep rose. She was the most inspiring woman Cam had ever seen. Love, wonder, need, fear—every emotion that Blair invoked boiled within her.

As the door swung closed behind her, Cam framed Blair's face in her hands, her fingers drifting into the thick golden curls. She lowered her head and smoothed her tongue over the surface of Blair's lower lip before gently sliding inside. As the kiss deepened from greeting to urgency, Cam felt Blair's arms wind around her waist beneath her jacket and Blair's body press tightly to her own. She groaned faintly and swayed against the onslaught of sudden desire.

Blair gripped Cam's back fiercely, her hips rocking from side to side between Cam's spread legs. She pulled her mouth away, gasping. "You make me feel so much. So alive."

Without realizing it, Cam tightened her grip in Blair's hair, tilting her head back as she dragged her teeth down the side of Blair's neck. She hungered for her, not just physically, but in the far reaches of her being, with a need as critical as breathing. She dipped her tongue into the hollow at the base of Blair's throat and murmured, "You're everything."

"Don't stop," Blair whispered, her plea almost a prayer. She pulled Cam's shirt from her waistband and smoothed her hand over Cam's spine, then around her side and onto her abdomen. The muscles beneath her fingers rippled and tightened and her own body quickened. Head thrown back, eyes closed, she moaned as Cam's mouth moved down the center of her chest. She felt the air cool on her hot breasts, as her robe fell away. "Yes."

"I love you," Cam choked as she lifted Blair's breast in the palm of her hand and pressed her mouth to the tight nipple. Without thinking, nearly beyond thinking already, she bit gently. Through the fog of arousal, she heard Blair whimper.

Everything stopped.

Ice filled her veins as Cam's head snapped up. "Oh my God. Blair. Did I hur—"

"No."

Before Cam could speak again, Blair put both palms against her chest and pushed her back against the door, following close with her body. She found Cam's hand and put it back to her breast, squeezing Cam's fingers closed around it. "Touch me. Here." Her stomach clenched at the piercing pleasure. Blindly, she found Cam's other hand and drew it between her thighs, her vision dimming at the rush of heat and pressure against her swollen flesh. Voice breaking, she gasped, "And here." God. Don't go away. I need you now.

Always, even when they had feared to put words to their emotions, their bodies had spoken...of passion, of need, of love. Cam felt her lover's cry—through her skin, beneath her fingertips, against her lips—and she answered without hesitation or restraint. She took Blair's breast into the warm haven of her mouth as she entered her body, claiming her, deep and full, carrying her on the tide of their passion beyond fear and uncertainty and loss.

As the climax crashed through her, Blair felt as if she might fall, but she knew absolutely that Cam would not let her. Crying out, back arched and trembling uncontrollably, she came around Cam's fingers, clutching her shoulders to stay upright. When her muscles turned to jelly, she sagged in Cam's arms, her head on Cam's shoulder.

"Oh God. I...don't know where...that came from."

"Us. It came from us." With an arm around Blair's waist, holding her tightly to her chest, Cam brushed her cheek over Blair's hair. She ached with loving her and had trouble catching her breath. She felt the start of tears and, horrified, blinked them away. Kissing the top of Blair's head, she whispered, "Everything is going to be all right."

"Yes," Blair murmured wearily, her eyes closing as she listened to Cam's heart rate slow into the steady, strong cadence that personified everything about her lover. Everything she had come to rely upon. No matter what comes, it will be all right—as long as I have you.

Renee picked up the phone on the first ring. "FBI, Special Agent Savard. How may I help you?"

"You busy?"

"Hey." Unable to hide her smile of pleasure, Renee swiveled her chair away from the man who sat at the desk opposite her in the office that she shared with six other FBI agents. The New York City division of the FBI, on floors 22 through 24 of the North Tower of the World Trade Center, was one of the agency's largest divisions outside of DC. A posting there was a much-sought-after assignment, as was the counterintelligence unit where Renee had worked for the last two days. Currently, she was doing little more than reading case files and report summaries to acquaint herself with the scope of the investigations undertaken by her new division. For many reasons, professionally and personally, she wanted this posting to become permanent. "Trying to look busy, anyhow. How about you?"

"We're headed back to DC."

"Oh?" Renee kept the surge of disappointment from her voice. "For how long?"

Stark sighed. "Don't know. I don't have any details."

"Will you call me, when you know?"

"Yes. Sorry about this."

"No need to be. I understand." Renee glanced quickly over her shoulder, but no one was paying any attention to her. Lowering her voice even further, she murmured, "I'll miss you."

"Me too. I really liked coming home last night and having you be there."

"None of that during working hours," Renee chided with another smile.

"What?" Stark asked in an innocent tone.

"You know what."

"Okay, maybe I do...a little."

"I should go," Renee said softly. "By the way... I really like waking up with you."

Stark made a sound halfway between a groan and a laugh. "Now look who's not playing fair."

"Call me soon. Be safe."

"Roger that." Stark hung up the phone gently, wondering when she would see her new lover again. Be safe.

You have one voice mail message. Please enter your password now.

The iron gray-haired man, flat stomached and tight jawed, followed the electronic commands and thumbed in the numbers on his cell phone as he navigated the Beltway. He had business meetings scheduled the entire day and another kind of meeting that evening. That meeting was with a group of men he swore he would never associate with five years ago. The old adage was true—-war made for strange bedfellows.

He kept his eyes on the five lanes of traffic as he listened to the message.

Target relocating unexpectedly to Zone One, precise destination undetermined. Duration unknown. Will advise.

A souped-up Mustang cut in front of him, forcing him to brake sharply. His violent curse, however, was not directed at the driver ahead of him but at the possible disruption of his carefully orchestrated plans. There had been far too many false starts brought about by inexcusable mistakes and occasionally by pure and simple bad luck—foreign operatives denied visas because of lost paperwork or key domestic militiamen arrested for domestic violence or assault and battery. Now that the operation was officially underway and the great machinery of war had been set in motion, he could no longer influence the timing of events. If his forces could not strike their primary target in concert with the attacks of their allies, they might not get another chance.

The decadent regime that held the reins of power in Washington was weak now due to years of ignorance and hubris. But he was not fool enough to think it would remain so after the first attack was launched. The advantage was his now, and he could not lose it.

He punched the number to leave a return message.

"Target location change immaterial. Plan and timetable unchanged."

Дата добавления: 2015-11-14