Stark didn't budge.
'God, she's almost as stubborn as you are,' Blair said into the phone again.
'She'd better be, if she's your only security.'
'Why were you calling me?'
A second passed, then another.
'Cam?'
'I couldn't sleep.'
It was Blair's turn for silence. Suddenly, there was a fist in her throat, blocking her breath, stealing her words. Cam always did this to her-took her by surprise just when she thought she was too angry to be touched. Somehow, Cam reached past the hurt and the anger and found the places that mattered most. 'The last time you couldn't sleep, you came to my bed.'
'I would now, if I could.' After a moment's hesitation, Cam asked, 'Would I be welcome?'
'You need to ask?'
'You left the house in the middle of the night with no word to the team. Your phone's off. You're three thousand fucking miles away and I can't see your face.Yes . I need to ask.'
'You make me so angry.'
'I know. I don't mean to.'
'I know.'
'You piss me off pretty well, too.'
'Yeah.' Blair's voice was softer now, wistful. Lowering her voice, she added, 'I just wanted to get out. Nothing else.'
'I'm sorry I upset you. A regretful sigh came through the line. «Will you go home now, please?'
'Well, I had planned on a ferry ride to Alcatraz-'
'Blair,' Cam said threateningly. 'My sense of humor is running rather thin right now.'
'All right then, Stark and I will head for home.'
'No. I'll call Mac and have him send a car.'
'Cam, no one noticed us, and we're only ten blocks from the house. Please. We'll be fine.'
'Only if Davis walks down to meet you.'
'All right.'
'Put Stark back on the phone. Wait-' After a beat, she added, 'Call me later when you get settled.'
'Won't Stark do that?'
'It's not the same thing.'
'I should hope not.' Smiling, Blair held out the cell. 'The Commander-for you.'
Chapter Four
Felicia Davis met them halfway to the house as they climbed back up Hyde Street to the top of Russian Hill. The tall, lithe, ebony-skinned woman nodded cordially and silently fell into step beside Stark, who moved slightly to her left so that the two Secret Service agents walked slightly behind and on either side of Blair Powell.
Almost oblivious to their presence, Blair replayed the conversation with Cam in her mind as she climbed. She couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. Even though they'd known each other less than a year, and for a good part of that time, they had been estranged, she could sense the tension in Cams voice, and it was more than fatigue.
Theyd been lovers for the last two tumultuous months-following an even more harrowing four months during which Cam had been in the hospital and then on medical leave after being struck by a bullet meant for Blair-a bullet that had nearly killed her. A bullet which the Secret Service agent had intentionally blocked with her own body.
For the first time in her life, Blair had to face the stark truth that her life-by virtue of her father's position-was somehow valued more than that of another human being. It was a realization which she could not accept, and because of that, and the haunting image of what that reality had almost cost the woman she loved, it was increasingly difficult for her to allow anyone to place themselves between her and danger.
Intellectually, she understood the need. If she were kidnapped, it would bring unbearable pressure on her father to give in to threats and manipulation. Something that as a man, and as a father, she knew he would want to do. However, as the President of the United States, it was something he would never be able to do. For that reason,she also bore the responsibility of seeing that he was never placed in that position. The conflict for her was a lifelong struggle, because she had been in the public eye since the time her father was a governor, and during the eight years of his Vice Presidency when he was being very publicly groomed for the office of President. And now, she was having an affair with the chief of her personal security detail.
Life was a lot simpler a year ago.
'Do you need something, Ms. Powell?' Felicia Davis asked, inclining her head slightly at the sound of Blair's voice.
'No. I'm fine.'
The three women walked on in silence. When they reached the house, entering this time through the front door, Marcea Cassells, Cameron Roberts' mother, was just bidding her other house guests good night. The dark- eyed, strikingly beautiful woman turned as the trio came through the door and smiled.
'I see youve found each other.'
'Yes,' Blair replied, smiling in return. In a casual, emerald green silk blouse and darker slacks, Marcea looked like a softer, only slightly older version of Cam. That alone would have drawn Blair's smile, but she liked and respected the other woman. An artist herself, Blair was still slightly in awe of the critically acclaimed painter.
'Can I get you anything?' Marcea asked. 'A drink or something to eat?'
'If there's port-that would be great,' Blair replied.
The two Secret Service agents declined. Davis crossed the living room and disappeared into the depths of the house to check the back entrance and the rear grounds. Stark followed, but stationed herself in the dining room which adjoined the living room through an archway. She took up a post from where she had a clear sight line to the front door, but a position that was far enough away to afford Blair and Marcea privacy.
'Did you speak with Cameron?' Marcea inquired while pouring the wine into two crystal glasses. She carried them to the sofa were Blair was seated, handed her one, and sank into one of the matching chairs that sat at right angles to the sofa.
The house itself was a contemporary multilevel structure with many skylights, small decks beyond sliding glass doors that extended from the hillside rooms, and a general sense of uncluttered expansiveness. The sharp, cool lines of the structure were softened by the warm, muted colors of the rugs and furnishings. It was an Architectural Digest home made for living in. Only one painting out of the many gracing the walls was Marcea's. Despite her international reputation, she had the same sense of intense privacy that her daughter displayed. 'She called looking for you.'
'I spoke with her briefly a few minutes ago.'
'I suppose she thought I wouldn't notice, but she sounded...worried.'
Blair hesitated. She wasn't accustomed to discussing personal matters with anyone-well, anyone other than Diane. Diane Bleeker was her business agent as well as her oldest friend, and although they had often shared a rivalry over the years for the same women, they understood each other. She thought that quality, more than anything else, was the most important thing a friend could offer.
Nevertheless, despite her short association with Marcea, they shared a critical experience, and one that had forged a deep bond. For nearly forty-eight hours after Cam had been shot, they'd waited together by her bedside. Forty-eight hours during which time they hadn't known whether she would live or die. They had stood silent witness to her struggle, and they had shared grief and uncertainty. They'd also shared something else, although they had not spoken of it. They both loved her.
Blair drew a deep breath, and smiled a bit wanly. 'That's my fault, I think. I decided to go for a walk, and I'm afraid I didn't follow Roberts' rules of order.'
'I can imagine those rules must get very tiresome.'
Blair shrugged. 'They do, but I suppose, too, I should be used to it by now.'
'I doubt very much I could ever get used to it,' Marcea stated emphatically. 'I also have a feeling that Cam
