Chapter Eight

“Sir?"

“Good morning, Colonel.” Matheson held the phone in one hand and balanced his coffee mug on the knee of his crisply creased trousers with the other as he sat in a comfortable chair in front of a huge stone fireplace. He’d played on that hearth with his best friend as a child. Charlie was dead now, a martyr in the battle to secure the American way of life. But his memory remained, and his son, unlike Matheson’s, also lived on to fight for the cause.

“I received some intelligence that I thought I should bring to your attention.”

“Go ahead, Colonel.”

“A reporter has been assigned to cover the target’s upcoming… uh…event. Full access.”

“Anyone we can use?” Matheson watched the logs shift, sending showers of sparks onto the stones.

“Doubtful, sir, but we’re running background checks now.”

“How reliable is your source?”

“Very, sir. She’s an assistant in the office of the White House Deputy Press—”

“That will do.” Matheson didn’t trust even the most secure of lines. He smiled at the thought of a patriot in the West Wing. A woman, whom no one would suspect. It wasn’t true that only men could serve, it was simply a matter of recognizing a woman’s unique skills. While not having the mental fortitude or physical constitution for combat, women were a natural for communications work. “I like the press angle. Get me a list of names. We’ll want someone out there right away to establish connections before the target arrives.”

“Yes sir. Are you comfortable, sir? Everything you need there?”

“Perfectly, Colonel. Thank you and carry on.”

“Sir.”

Matheson disconnected and settled back in the chair, crossing his long legs at the ankle. Information was easy to come by. Until recently, access to potential targets—people and places—had been relatively simple as well. Getting close to Blair Powell might be more difficult now, but it was far from impossible. He smiled. A challenge merely made the hunt more satisfying.

The outcome was not in question. After all, he had God on his side.

Dana stepped off the elevator into a foyer that could have been in any luxury apartment building in the city. The eight by ten foot space was dimly lit by wall sconces, the marble floor nearly hidden beneath a thick oriental carpet, and the walls papered in some muted classic pattern above dark wood wainscoting. The surroundings spoke of money and taste and elegance. Even the cameras discreetly tucked into several corners weren’t that unusual in a security-conscious city, nor was the fact that the elevator required a special key, which Agent Stark had produced when they were ready to ride up. The man standing with his back to the wall next to the only door in the foyer was different, though. A blond-haired, blue-eyed clone of the one who had greeted her in the lobby downstairs scrutinized her and Stark with unapologetic intensity. Agent Stark handed him Dana’s ID, which Dana had surrendered upon request when Stark had informed her that the first daughter would see her.

“This is Dana Barnett,” Agent Stark said, handing the ID to the agent guarding the door.

The man studied Dana’s face, then the ID, then Dana once more. He held out her ID and she took it.

“Why the ID check? Doesn’t he believe you?” Dana asked Agent Stark. She didn’t get an answer, and she wasn’t entirely surprised. Thus far she’d been told three times in slightly different fashions that the Secret Service does not discuss protocol. “If I don’t know, I may have to make things up.”

“Perhaps you just shouldn’t report on topics that haven’t been cleared,” Stark replied mildly.

“Is anything ever going to be cleared?”

“I’m sure Ms. Powell’s wardrobe…no, actually, I’m not certain of that either.”

Dana grinned ruefully. She had a feeling that Agent Stark wasn’t making a joke. “All right, tell me if I’m hot or cold. He won’t take your word for it because I could have coerced you into bringing me up here. However, since I wouldn’t know to give you my ID to give to him, that’s a signal that you brought me here intentionally. It’s a code.”

“I doubt that Ms. Powell has much time allotted for you,” Stark said. “We probably shouldn’t waste any.”

“You’re right.” Dana waited while Stark knocked on the door. “But I was hot, wasn’t I?”

As she spoke, the door swung open and Blair Powell regarded them with interest. “Something new and exciting I should know about?”

Stark blushed. “No, ma’am. Dana Barnett to see you.”

Blair looked Barnett over. She appeared slightly more rested than the day before, but obviously wasn’t concerned about the image she projected. Her chinos and white button-down collar shirt were clean but not pressed, the black leather belt cinched above narrow hips was dull with age, and her boots similarly worn. Her casual disregard for her appearance and her lack of desire to make a good impression were refreshing.

“I gather you couldn’t convince anyone there’d been a terrible mistake?” Blair asked.

Dana couldn’t help but smile. “Apparently, Lucinda Washburn doesn’t make mistakes.” She raised a hopeful eyebrow. “What about you? Any luck?”

“Apparently not,” Blair said dryly, appreciating Barnett’s disregard for her position. Usually the press tended to be obsequious or obnoxious, but rarely unimpressed. “You’re here.”

Cam stepped up next to Blair. “I only have a few more minutes.”

“I know.” Blair slipped an arm around Cam’s waist. “Come in, Ms. Barnett.”

“Please, call me Dana.” Dana followed the first daughter and the deputy director as they crossed to a seating area in the center of the loft. She had caught the flash of discomfort that streaked across Blair Powell’s face an instant before she hid it behind the beautiful façade the world was used to seeing. The first daughter was unhappy about something. The deputy director looked as impassive as a stone statue. Except. Except when her eyes moved ever so briefly to Blair Powell’s face. Then her charcoal eyes sparked with tenderness and heat. The wave of raw desire emanating from Cameron Roberts washed over Dana so unexpectedly she had no time to prepare. She broke out into a sweat and her heart rate soared. Jesus. These two should come with a warning sign.

Roberts turned to Dana and Dana stiffened under the unwavering gaze.

“Sit down, Ms. Barnett,” Roberts said, taking Blair Powell’s hand as the two sat on a leather sofa in a seating area with a fireplace on one wall, huge windows on the other and open space. The hammered tin ceilings had to be twenty feet high.

Dana forced her tense muscles to relax as she settled onto a matching sofa with a sleek dark coffee table the same color as the floor between them. “I appreciate you seeing me this morning, Ms. Powell.”

Blair smiled. “I have a feeling you would have made Stark’s morning unpleasant if I hadn’t.”

“I make it a point not to misrepresent myself, so I won’t disagree.” Dana fixed on the deputy director. “You wanted to talk to me?”

“I supported Lucinda Washburn’s position on you having exclusive access to Ms. Powell for the next week or so,” Roberts said, “because I feel that it benefits the first daughter. If that should no longer be the case, we’ll sever your contact with her.”

“Are you trying to offer me a loophole to slip out of this assignment, Deputy Director?”

“Is that what you want?” Roberts replied.

Dana thought about the two women sitting across from her. Blair Powell was publicly one of the most important women in the United States by virtue of her position as well as her popularity. Cameron Roberts held a critical position vital to the security of the United States and yet remained a cipher, virtually unrecognizable to the man on the street. They were about to become the focus of intense media scrutiny and much debate. They were news, no question. But they were more than reluctant celebrities—they were the public and not so public faces of power, and she had the opportunity to be closer to them than anyone in her position ever had. “No. I’m not looking for an out.”

“Why not?” Cam asked. “Twenty-four hours ago you didn’t think this assignment was very important.”

Dana took a deep breath. “I apologize for that.” She looked at Blair. “Ms. Powell, I hope you forgive my arrogance. I’m honored to be able to take part in what I know must be a very important event in your life.”

Blair laughed. “What part interests you the most? My trousseau? The menu? The floral arrangements?”

“Uh.” Dana felt the blood drain from her face and scrambled for an answer. She frowned. “How do you decide what to wear? I mean, for the majority of couples it’s a tux and a dress. So what will it be for you two? Dresses?” As she looked from one to the other, she had the satisfaction of seeing Cameron Roberts’s face blanch.

“Ignore her, darling,” Blair murmured, loud enough for Dana to hear, “she’s baiting you.”

“It’s working,” Roberts muttered. She stared at Dana. “Whatever story you think you’re going to get, you will not be allowed to compromise her security.”

“Agent Stark made that very clear,” Dana said without rancor.

“We don’t anticipate any trouble.” Roberts clasped the first daughter’s hand as she spoke. “But in the event of an emergency, you’ll be expected to follow orders. If not—”

“I’m a reporter, Deputy Director, and I’ve been to the front. I understand chain of command, and I understand that in the heat of battle not everyone is created equal.” She didn’t expect anyone to look out for her if something untoward happened. “I have no problem with that.”

“Well, I do,” Blair said, standing abruptly and walking away.

Surprised, Dana stared after her, then said to Roberts, “I’m sorry.”

Roberts nodded, looking as if she wanted go after the president’s daughter, but she didn’t. “Anything you may see or hear regarding her security is strictly classified. If one word about procedure makes its way into your article, I will personally—”

“It won’t,” Dana said sharply. “I know my job and my responsibility.”

“Good. Having you around isn’t going to be easy for her. Don’t make it any harder.”

“What about you? You’re in this too.”

“I’m not noteworthy.” Roberts actually looked surprised, as if it hadn’t even crossed her mind that her own role in the upcoming nuptials would be of interest to anyone.

Dana got the picture then, sharp and clear. Cameron Roberts had one single focus, and that was the woman standing across the room, looking out the windows at the rain with her back to them. Roberts didn’t like the idea of Dana covering the proceedings much more than Blair Powell did, but she’d supported Washburn’s idea as the lesser of many evils. One reporter versus twenty, control versus chaos. Nevertheless, Roberts was obviously worried about the cost to Blair Powell’s peace of mind.

“I’m not going to make her uncomfortable,” Dana said quietly, not wanting the first daughter to overhear. “I think she’s incredibly brave and I think she’s doing something important for the country, not just in acknowledging her relationship with you, but standing up publicly now, when almost everyone else is wondering if they should be finding a place to hide.”

Roberts relaxed infinitesimally and some of the tension eased from her face. Dana hadn’t realized how tightly she was wound until just that moment.

“I agree with you.” Roberts stood. “I have a plane to catch. If you would give us a moment, please.”

“Absolutely. I’ll wait outside.” Dana held out her hand. “I’m good at my job, Deputy Director. She’ll be in good hands.”

Roberts smiled as she returned the handshake. “Call me Cam.”

“Thanks. Cam.”

“Hey,” Cam murmured, smoothing her hands over Blair’s shoulders. She kissed the back of her neck. “You okay?”

Blair turned from the window, scanning the room. “You got rid of her?”

Cam kissed her. “Don’t rejoice yet. She still wants to talk to you. I think she’s waiting out in the hall.”

“Of course she is.” Blair sighed and draped her arms around Cam’s neck. “You have to go, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Who are you taking with you?”

“Renee.”

Blair frowned. “That’s all?”

“I don’t need a bodyguard, baby,” Cam said gently. “And it really is just a routine interrogation.”

“You needed a bodyguard a month ago when someone tried to run you down. Oh, and don’t forget that little attempt to blow you up too.” Blair forced back the memory of just how close Cam had come to dying that night in the cold, black ocean. She wanted to chain her to a desk, even though she knew Cam would hate it. She almost didn’t mind how unhappy being stuck in an office would make Cam, as long as she was safe. And if she thought about that for very long, she would be forced to appreciate why Cam wanted to keep her hidden away somewhere, out of harm’s way. And she did not want to go there. Oh, this two-way street thing definitely took some getting used to. “What about Valerie? Can’t you take Valerie?”

“Renee is an excellent agent.”

“I know that. I just thought two would be better—”

“I can’t take Valerie where we’re going.” Cam brushed the backs of her fingers over Blair’s cheek. “There’s no danger. I swear.”

“Call me, okay? Whenever.”

“I will.” Cam kissed her, then let her go. “Are you ready for Dana Barnett?”

Blair sighed. “Why not.”

Cam laughed. “I love you. See you soon.”

“See you soon,” Blair whispered, watching Cam gather her topcoat and briefcase. She might have been any executive on her way to a midday meeting, except for the .357 pistol holstered against her left side. “Hey, Cam?”

Cam turned with the door half open.

“I love you.”

Cam smiled and stepped aside to let Dana Barnett enter. Then the door closed and she was gone. Blair remained where she was, waiting

for the familiar surge of anxiety to pass. Cam would be fine, and she would be back soon. No one would come to the door with the message there had been a bomb on a plane, or an escaped fugitive with a gun, or a biological warfare attack. Cam would come home. Blair felt Dana watching her from across the room and shrugged off the melancholy. “Coffee?”

“Yes, thanks,” Dana replied.

“Make yourself comfortable, I’ll just be a second.” Blair filled mugs from the pot in the kitchen and sliced a couple of bagels while she was at it. She put everything on a tray along with cream and butter, and carried them into the living area. “Help yourself.”

“Thanks.” Dana leaned forward and grabbed a bagel and poured cream into a mug of coffee. “Where’s the deputy director going?”

“I don’t know.”

Dana looked up. “Is that normal?”

Blair grimaced. “Is anything?”

“You’ve got a point.” Dana tried the coffee. It was good. “Does it bother you? The secrecy between you?”

Blair set her coffee aside. “I guess it’s time for ground rules.”

“Why not. Everyone else has given them to me.”

“Mine are pretty simple, really. You can ask me anything you want, but there are certain things I won’t answer. I won’t talk about my relationship with Cam. I love her and we’re going to be married. That’s all you really need to know about that.”

“I’m not very good at pretending.”

“What do you mean?” Blair asked.

“Maybe you believe your own press—that other than the fact that you happen to be two women, your relationship with Cameron Roberts is just like any other relationship—but I’m sure not buying it.” Dana leaned back and rested one ankle on her knee. “You know that’s complete and total bullshit.”

“You really don’t want this assignment, do you?”

“No, I decided that I do.”

“And you think antagonizing me is a good idea?”

“Maybe,” Dana offered, “if it gets you to talk to me.”

“I don’t talk to people about my personal life.”

“How about the deputy director? Do you talk to her about how much her job scares you?”

Blair stood up. “Okay. We’re done.”

Dana stood. “I’m sorry. I don’t have any talent for interviewing. I’m usually trying to get information in the middle of a gun battle or a typhoon, and social niceties are just too damn inconvenient. Thank you for your time.”

When Dana started toward the door, Blair called after her. “Why did you ask me that?”

Dana stopped, but didn’t turn around. “I saw it in your face a few minutes ago.”

“Assuming it’s true, why would I want anyone around who’s that intuitive?”

“The story here isn’t two women getting married, Ms. Powell.” Dana pivoted to face Blair. “It’s who the two women are, and every reporter worth her column space in this country—hell, in the world— knows it. They’ll be on you like piranhas.”

Blair’s temper flared. “And how do you think I feel about that?”

“I imagine you hate it. But if I don’t write the story, someone else will—whether they actually know anything or not.” Dana slid her hands into her pockets and shrugged her shoulders. “I’ll tell the truth. I’ll respect the special nature of her job, and yours.”

“Better the devil you know?”

Dana grinned. “That’s about it.”

“I’ll have Stark get you the keys to one of the apartments in the building. It will be more convenient.”

“I appreciate that.”

“I’m going shopping this afternoon. Around two.”

“That sounds like fun,” Dana said, sounding as if each word were painful.

Blair smiled. “Oh, it will be.”