As she drove through the Lincoln Tunnel into Manhattan, Cam reminded herself that she was in New York City for the sole purpose of attending the opening of her mother's gallery exhibition. It was the first East Coast showing in a number of years, and Cam knew it would please her mother for her to be there. She had absolutely no intention of visiting the command center, and certainly no desire to see Blair Powell. She reminded herself of this every few minutes, whenever she found her mind drifting to the images that shethought she had successfully eradicated. Images of Blair, in a smoky bar, her hair wild and her hunger unleashed; Blair, elegant and cool on the dais of the parade route; Blair, vulnerable and weary in the hospital after the ski accident. Blair's memory triggered a kaleidoscope of wistful wanting and explosive sexual desire. Cam forced her concentration back to the congested city traffic, grateful for something, anything, to distract her from the aching need that was never far from the surface of her consciousness.
She allowed the attendant at the Plaza to valet park her car, and gave the bellman her luggage to bring up to her penthouse suite. She was not traveling on company time, and felt no need to account for her expenditures. In fact, she felt unaccountable to anyone for the first time in her adult memory. She was between assignments, and despite Stewart Carlisle's edict, she had no intention of performing any duty for the United States of America for the next seven days.
She signed in, and as soon as she was alone in her suite, she showered off the drives dust and grit. She had an hour and a half until the evening opening of her mother's show. She stood naked before the bathroom mirror, trying to tame her unruly waves into position.
She surveyed her image unemotionally. Her hair was still short and sleek, with new touches of gray at the temples. Despite the lengthy convalescence, with vigorous physical therapy and workouts, she had maintained her muscle mass and strength. She was sinewy and taut. The only visible difference were the scars on her torso from the surgical incisions and the multiple tubes that had been necessary to reinflate her lungs. She looked at herself dispassionately, and wondered for a moment how she would appear to another. She dismissed the thought quickly. It was a moot point.
She went about the process of dressing absent-mindedly. She did not glance at her reflection again, knowing that the black silk jacket and trousers were perfectly tailored for her, that her loafers were perfectly shined, and that the French cuffs of her white starched shirt were exactly the right length. When the driver let her out in front of the address she had given him, she knew that she was precisely on time. Everything in her life was exactly as it should be - predictable, ordered, and under control.
**********
The room was already full when Cam entered, as she expected it would be. The crowd overflowed the first level, up the stairs to the second floor of the gallery, a noisy mass of murmuring critics, artists, and members of the press. Cam accepted a glass of wine from a passing waiter, and began a slow tour of the area, stopping to study each new canvas. It had been a long time since she had seen so many of her mother's works in one place, and she had not seen any of her most recent works. The hallmark characteristics of her mother style were clearly evident, but Cam was surprised to find that the paintings seemed calmer at their core, with less of the pain that had been so evident in the early years following her father's death.
Eventually, Cam heard her mother's distinctive voice, and gravitated toward it. Her mother was tall like herself, and Cam could see her face despite the crowd of people around her. Marcea appeared relaxed, although something in her eyes spoke of exhilaration. Cam knew it was because she was talking about the thing she loved most in life, her art.
When she had almost reached the group, Cam stopped short, her heart pounding. Blair was standing next to her mother. It was as if someone had struck her, driving the breath from her body. For one moment, her mind was numb. Then every sensation she had been trying to suppress regarding Blair Powell returned. Her pulse raced, her blood pounded, and her hands began to tremble. Blair looked up and their eyes met. Blair's lips parted in surprise, and her blue eyes widened. A faint blush stole across her cheeks. She took an involuntary stepped forward, as if intending to rush toward Cam, then halted uncertainly. Moments passed.
Surprisingly, Blair regained her composure first. She threaded her way through the intervening crowd until she stood in front of Cam. She tilted her head and smiled wistfully. 'How are you, Commander?' She asked quietly.
Cam finally found her voice, and answered with as much control as she could muster. 'I'm fine, Ms Powell.'
Blair studied her carefully. Physically, she did look fine. As striking as ever. But there was a strange flatness in her gaze, and an emptiness in her voice, as if something vital were missing.
Instinctively, Blair touched her arm. She was shocked to feel her tremble. 'Are you sure?' she asked again, unable to hide her anxiety.
Cam nodded curtly, trying to hide her turmoil. 'You have me at a disadvantage. I didn't see any of our people outside or in the crowd.'
'Ever observant, Commander. They're in a car parked across the street.' She continued quickly, when she saw Cam frown. Blair's smile widened as she assured Cam that everyone in attendance had been thoroughly prescreened. 'I'm quite safe.'
Cam finally smiled, and began to relax. 'Forgive me. It is not my place to question these things any longer. It was good to see you again, Ms. Powell.' She turned to leave, needing to escape from the penetrating blue gaze and the searing touch on her arm.
'Wait, Cam,' Blair said impulsively. When Cameron turned back to look at her questioningly, she continued, 'I wanted to say -- ' thank you'. It is so inadequate, but - I - thank you.'
Cam spoke without thinking. 'You don't need to thank me. I couldn't have borne it if anything had happened to you.'
Blair grasped her hand, and their fingers entwined instinctively. 'Why do you think I would feel any differently?' She questioned, her throat closing on the words. 'I was so frightened - don't you know I lo'
'I should go,' Cam said desperately. Her carefully constructed barricades were tumbling around her. Every defense she had so carefully constructed was shattering in the face of Blair's simple statement. She felt
