'Yes.'
'Good. I don't want you to waste that suit waiting in the car.'
'Is that the only reason?'
'What else?'
Cam laughed as she led the way down the sidewalk to the waiting vehicle and the two of them settled into the back where the seats had been rearranged to face one another. As Fielding pulled away, the First Daughter and her security chief held each other's eyes, bridging the distance between them with the intensity of a caress.
Chapter Ten
They were two blocks from the corner of Sutter and Mason when Cam's cell phone rang. She shifted on the seat and pulled it from her belt.
'Roberts.' A crease developed between her brows as she frowned out the window, eyes scanning the street ahead. «How many? All right. Fine. Have Stark meet us curbside.'
She terminated the call and gave Blair an apologetic smile. 'That was Mac. There are reporters and photographers in front of the gallery. More than we anticipated. I don't know if it has anything to do with what happened in New York or not, but it's the only reasonable way into the gallery. Im sorryits going to be hectic.'
'That's all right.' Blair's voice was remote and her expression unreadable. Usually, her public comings and goings were documented as a matter of course by the local news media, and often reporters then put out a story on the wire to be carried in the public interest section of the national newspapers. She was used to it.
As the Suburban slowed to a stop, Cam opened the door and, one leg extended on the sidewalk, partially blocked the interior of the vehicle as she rapidly scanned the dozen or so people gathered on the sidewalk in front of the gallery. Stark appeared out of the crowd and stepped up opposite her so that they flanked the open door as Blair emerged. In another second, Felicia Davis came around the front of the vehicle and moved behind the three of them as they started up the sidewalk.
A wiry, shaggy-haired man in rumpled slacks and an open collared shirt stepped in front of them and said, 'Ms. Powell, do you know the identity of the man who tried to kill you in New York?'
He had a laminated card hanging around his neck on a lanyard, but the image and identifying logo was turned toward his chest. He could have been a reporter; he could have been a fan; he could have been an assassin.
'Step back, please,' Cam said firmly, her left arm out palm first at chest level. She eased her right hand under her jacket to the gun she now carried in a shoulder holster snugged to her left side.
'Keep moving,' she said quietly to Blair and Stark.
They were two feet away from him and she edged slightly to her left until she was in front of Blair, obscuring her from the mans view. 'Please step back.'
He began walking backwards up the walk toward the gallery, maintaining the distance between them as he asked again, 'Is it true that you once had a sexual relationship with him?'
Cameras clicked, other people shouted questions as the crowd followed them, but Blair looked neither right nor left. The door to the gallery was ten feet away.
Cam raised her left wrist with the radio band attached, her right now closed on the grip of her automatic. «MacHernandez, if he moves toward her, take him down. Prepare to extricate.
Stark now took two steps forward, getting slightly ahead of Blair and Cam while Davis remained in the rear, and reached for the door. «Step away, she said.
The stranger had no choice but to move aside as Stark gripped the doorknob and pulled. Still, he was half in front of the entrance and easily within touching distance of Blair.
'Ms. Powell-' he said one last time.
Cam shouldered his chest hard with her right elbow and side, pushing him off balance and out of the way as Blair walked between her and Stark into the gallery.
Once inside, they stopped to survey the room and get their bearings. Cam spoke once again into her radio.
'I want him IDd-complete background check. Do not let him inside'.
'I wish you wouldn't do that,' Blair said in a low voice that only Cam could hear.
'What?' Cam asked absently as she nodded to Stark, who moved a few feet away to a spot where she had a better view of anyone approaching Blair through the crowd.
'Stand in front of me.'
'It was nothing,' Cam said dismissively, her attention fixed on the layout of the space and its inhabitants.
Frustrated, Blair shook her head slightly but before she could protest further, she recognized San Francisco's Mayor approaching with a welcoming smile. She held out her hand and murmured a few polite words as they greeted one another. For the next few minutes, she was occupied fulfilling the social obligations that accompanied her position. It was a function she had performed numerous times, and she did it without conscious thought. As she moved around the room, Cam and Davis moved with her, one on either side, keeping a distance of five feet between themselves and her. Not close enough to appear intrusive but near enough to physically shield her if need be. Stark had disappeared into the crowd to institute roving surveillance, observing the attendees to ensure that no one suspicious approached the President's daughter.
Eventually, Blair had attended to all of her political obligations and made her way through the people gathered in pairs and small groups to where Marcea stood, wine glass in hand, talking to Giancarlo and several well-wishers.
'Blair,' Marcea said, leaning to kiss her cheek. 'Thank you so much for coming.'
Her eyes moved to her daughter's face but she did not greet her other than with a smile.
'It's my pleasure.' Blair returned the kiss with a brush of her lips against Marcea's skin. 'It's wonderful. Very impressive-congratulations.'
'Believe me, I am anything but impressed. Marcea laughed and took Blair's hand. «Probably the reason I don't have very many shows is that I can't tolerate all the pomp. I'm glad youve come, though.'
'So am I. I hope that I'll actually be able to look at your work now without needing to talk to yet another art critic.'
'Please, escape while you can.' Marcea squeezed her hand and turned with a smile to yet another patron, and Blair slipped away.
For the next few moments she moved slowly around the large room. The space was subdivided by white, half walls upon which Marcea's paintings had been hung and lit with overhead track lights. She was familiar with Marcea Cassells work of course, as any serious artist was, but she had never had the opportunity to see so many in one place. She was aware of Cam just outside her field of vision, keeping pace with her as she walked from one canvas to the next. Eventually she lost herself in the color and form and captivating fluidity of Marcea's work and forgot everything except the beauty.
She jumped, startled, when a voice close by murmured, 'There's a particularly interesting work just ahead.'
Turning her head, she met Cam's eyes. 'Oh?'
'Yes. It doesn't appear to be my mother's, though.'
Blair followed the direction of Cam's gaze and saw her own charcoal sketch of the day before mounted on the wall. The simple card beside it read,Untitled, byAnonymous .
'Interesting,' she remarked noncommittally.
'It's more than that. It's beautiful,' Cam declared, her voice husky with emotion. 'When did you do it?'
'How did you know?'
'Several reasons,' Cam said quietly. 'First, I recognized your style.'
Blair waited, watching Cam's eyes darken, feeling their heat on her skin. Finally, she asked, 'And?'
Cam shrugged, at an unusual loss for words. 'No one else could do that-no one knows me well enough.'
'Sometimes,' Blair replied quietly, 'Im not sure how well I really know you.'
'What do you mean?'
'Like outside tonightI thought wed agreed you wouldnt be doing that again.'
Cam looked genuinely confused. 'Im sorry?'
