agent who had ever guarded her. And then she would say Blair's name with all the feeling that Blair could ever hope to hear from another human being. It was everything she wanted, and everything she feared. She didn't raise her eyes, but continued drawing the sharp features and the wild eyes, unable to look at the woman, knowing if she did she would touch her. 'What?' She queried quietly.
Cam took a deep breath, wishing she had did not have to ask. 'I'd like you to reconsider the race on Sunday. I'd like you not to go.'
Blair stiffened, the pencil finally stilling. 'I have to go. I'm the keynote speaker.'
'Would you consider just arriving for the speech, but not racing?'
Blair put her sketchpad aside and turned on the bench until she was fully facing Cam. For the first time, she looked directly into her face, directly into her eyes. 'It's more than political, this event. This is personal.'
Cam nodded, understanding all too well. She knew why. Sunday was the annual Race for the Cure, a huge fundraiser for the treatment of breast cancer. Blair's mother had died of the disease when Blair was nine years old. She understood what it was to lose a parent. 'I'm asking you, recommending it strongly to you, that you do not run in the race.'
Blair knew that Cam could not order her not to race. 'Why are you asking me this?'
Cam hesitated before answering. It was her job not only to guard Blair physically, but also to give her some semblance of normality, as ironic as that appeared on the surface of things. She didn't want to worry her unnecessarily. That's what she was getting paid to do - the worrying. She hedged her answer.
'I'm not sure I can run 15 miles.' She didn't intend to tell her that it was a security nightmare. That even coordinating with New York City police and the transit police, and putting agents physically with Blair along the race route, it was about as unsecured a position as Blair could be in. Under any circumstances it would have been difficult. Now, with the threat that Lover Boy posed, it was nearly impossible. She supposed that she could go to the director of the Secret Service and request that he contact the President's security chief - try an end run around Blair. But she new damn well that if anyone ordered Blair not to participate in anything, let alone something as important to her as this, they could expect her to do exactly the opposite. And probably with no cooperation whatsoever. She said nothing, waiting for Blair to digest the request.
'I need to do this,' Blair stated calmly. 'I've seen you run, Commander. You can handle the distance quite well. I'll be fine.' She couldn't stop herself from adding, 'And I'll enjoy your company.'
Cam was silent a moment, considering the options.This was the reason that personal relationships were discouraged. She couldn't think clearly because she cared about how Blair felt. She was afraid that she might care more about Blair's feelings than about her safety, and that kind of involvement was undermining her position and her authority and worst of all, it was impairing her judgment. She cursed softly under her breath. 'I hope to hell that Stark can make it, too, because we're both going to need to go with you.'
'Thank you,' Blair said softly. She knew that Cam had relented against her better judgment. She touched her hand briefly, a fleeting gesture of appreciation. 'It will be all right,' she said, wishing somehow that were true.
Cam knew that she should go. Blair had sought privacy and peace in a quiet corner of this tiny sanctuary, and Cam had brought danger and uncertainty into it. For the first time that she could recall, she resented her job.
'I'm sorry I had to bring that up,' Cam said, surprising them both. 'I should leave you to your work.'
'You don't have to be sorry,' Blair responded softly. 'And you don't need to leave.'
Before Cam could respond, her earphone crackled to life. She turned her head slightly away, listening a moment. The expression on her face became grim, but her voice was completely uninflected as she said softly into the tiny microphone clipped to the collar of her blazer, 'Send him in then.'
She turned to Blair and informed her, 'It seems that we have company.'
Blair looked past Cam across the tiny park as a large man hurried towards them. 'This would be the FBI, I presume,' she noted tightly, a look of faint repugnance on her face.
Cam laughed in spite of herself. 'Very observant, Ms. Powell. Perhaps you should consider a future career in intelligence.'
Blair smiled faintly, but there was no laughter in her eyes. 'Believe me, Commander, by this time I can recognize every branch of our esteemed intelligence agencies by the cut of an agent's suit and the arrogance in their walk. At least the Secret Service has always been polite.'
'Ms. Powell,' the burly man said imperiously, looking down at the two women on the bench, but pointedly ignoring Cam. 'I'm Special Agent in Charge Patrick Doyle, Federal Bureau of Investigation. I wanted to meet you in person since I'll be spearheading your security detail until such time as we have apprehended the UNSUB.'
Blair saw Cam go rigid beside her, and she said very coolly, 'Mister Doyle, my security is a matter for Commander Roberts. If you have something to relay to me in that regard, I suggest you do it through her. One daily briefing is all I can tolerate.' She gathered her sketchpad and drawing pencils and stood abruptly, forcing Doyle back a step. She glanced at Cam, whose expression was most likely unreadable to Doyle, but she saw the hint of laughter in her eyes. She smiled softly at her and turned to go. 'I'll leave you two to sort out your territory.'
Patrick Doyle turned on his heel and watched the President's daughter walk away. A muscle stood out in his jaw as he ground his teeth. When he faced Cam again, his fury was tinged with contempt. 'She doesn't know what's good for her,' he said condescendingly. 'I suppose you think you do?'
Cam stood, and when she did she was nearly eye-to-eye with him. 'I don't pretend to know what's good for Ms. Powell, but I can assure you of one thing. I know precisely what's good for her security. I can also advise you that if you have any suggestions or recommendations regarding that matter, you bring them to me. That's the chain of command, and I suggest you follow it.'
He moved forward a step, trying unsuccessfully to force her back. Their chests were almost touching. 'Listen here, Roberts,' he growled, his face livid. 'You get in my way on this thing and there just might be a little leak to the media about what you like to do in your off-hours, and who you like to do it with.'
