unsettling visit the night before, numbed her brain. She trembled still with the unanswered demand pulsing in her depths, knowing that with the briefest touch, she could satisfy the physical need. Her body cried out for it, but her heart resisted.
Turning her face into the still cold water, she let it beat against her head and chest. Shivering, she placed her hands against the wall in front of her and lowered her head, soaking her hair and back. Finally, the churning pressure between her thighs began to abate and she flung her head back, rubbing her face with both hands.
She stood in the shower a long time-until her body was quiet and her head was clear, save for the distant echo of the ever-present headache. Thankfully, that was barely a distraction, because she would need all her mental facilities when she met with Carlisle and the others in less then an hour.
For the time being, she couldn't afford to think about what had just happened-or what had taken place the night before.
***
'Lets wrap this thing up', Stewart Carlisle said to the group convened around the conference table, coffee cups situated within easy reach. 'The statements of the agents on scene all confirm the events as outlined in Agent Roberts report. Theres nothing new or contradictory in them'.
The accumulated field reports generated by the FBI, Secret Service agents, and State Police teams present the night an unidentified subjectUNSUBhad lured a woman thought to be Blair Powell to a deserted location, had been gathered into a file two inches thick. A copy sat in front of each person along with an equally thick binder filled with preliminary forensic and laboratory results. Theyd spent the better part of the day going through them. Carlisle gestured to them as he spoke.
'I think we can all agree that the causalities were acceptable given the level of threat to the protectee. Acceptable and unavoidable'.
The phrase was understood by all present to mean that no one was to be held responsible for the chain of events leading to the near fatal injuries sustained by several agents.
'My department in conjunction with the New York bureau field office will follow-up on the final ID, he added, handily glossing over the FBI investigative oversights that had allowed the perpetrator to elude the task force for months. By cutting the other agency a break, hed garner favors that he could call in when he needed leverage on something in the future. 'So
'Theres the matter of the security breach in Central Park, Patrick Doyle interjected.
Warily, Carlisle regarded the blocky, thick-necked man who sat opposite him at the far end of the table. Hard blue eyes stared back from a broad, roughly handsome face. FBI Special Agent in Charge Patrick Doyle had headed up the task force formed to apprehend the man stalking the Presidents daughter after the first attempt on her life. Before Carlisle could respond, Cam spoke instead.
'Thats a matter for the Secret Service to review, Doyle. She was stating the obvious, because everyone present knew that the Secret Service never discussed procedures and protocol with anyone outside the Agency.Of course, Doyle knows that, too. So whats his game?
'I should think thattwo nearly successful attempts on a high-level protectees life would bring into question the adequacy of her security, Doyle said pointedly, his gaze still on Stewart Carlisles face. «After all, any time shes at a public function, its her security team that coordinates all the other forces, right? Police, Transit Authority, Tactical teamsthe whole ball of wax. So, if someone gets through all that, whos to blame?
'The Secret Service does not comment on procedure, Carlisle replied stiffly, but the gauntlet had been thrown. As the man directly overseeing the teams providing the First daughters protection, he couldnt ignore the implied criticism or the not so subtle accusation that her security had been lacking.
'I agree with Agent Doyle', Assistant Director, Robert Owens, the National Security Agency deputy director said. 'My department also needs an accounting of events'.
'Fine. Ill send you a report', Carlisle snapped.
'Perhaps something a little more formal is called for', Owens replied, 'such as an impartial inquiry'.
Cams hands, resting on her lap, tightened into fists. 'An inquiry by whom?'
'Justice should appoint a panel', Owens answered with an alacrity that suggested hed prepared the response.
'That kind of investigation will require exposing information essential to the First Daughters security', Cam pointed out.
'Well, that remains to be seen, doesnt it?'
Cam waited for Carlisle to put an end to the discussion, and as the seconds passed with no response from him, her anger grew.
'Ill take it under advisement, Carlisle finally said. 'Are we through here then, gentlemen?'
There was a general rumble of assent and the scraping of chairs as the group dispersed. Cam didnt look in Doyles direction, because she was certain if she saw the smirk she knew would be there, shed launch herself over the table at him. As soon as the last man filed out, she was on her feet.
'Jesus Christ, Stewart, are you going to let Doyle and Owens railroad you into an outside inquiry? What the hell kind of precedent does that set? We have our own internal review for this kind of occurrence'.
'Nothings been decided', he retorted, his temper frayed to breaking.
'How about you tell them to stick it up their bureaucratic asses?'
'Not very diplomatic'.
'Fuck diplomacy. Were talking about compromising our working strategies'. She tried to lower her voice, but she was too tired and too nauseous to control everything at once. 'And that puts protectees at risk. I wont do it'.
'Youll do whatever I need you to do', Agent, Carlisle said testily.
'Not if it means endangering Blair Powell'.
'If you refuse to testify before a Justice board of inquiry, youll be in contempt of a sanctioned federal investigative body. At the very least youll lose your jobworst case scenario, you could be looking at jail time'.
She studied the face of her boss, a man she thought she knew, and couldnt read what was behind his eyes. Then she decided she didnt really care.
'Fine. If you need to reach me, you know how to find me'.
Chapter Six
Blair clicked off the phone with a sigh.
Still no answer. Not at her apartment, not on her cell phone, not on her two-way pager.
She glanced at the bedside clock. 9:02 PM. It was midnight in D.C. Cam had said she would call during breaks in the meetings, but she hadnt. Even in Washington, bureaucrats didn't work this late on Friday night.
She'd spent a good part of her day with Marcea in her studio, a jutting extension of the top floor that was all windows and light. While Marcea packed up the few remaining canvasses for the show the next night, Blair sketched. It had been peaceful and companionable, although they rarely spoke as the hours passed.
Late in the day, Marcea stopped by her side and, gesturing to the sketchpad Blair had balanced on her knees, asked, 'May I?'
Blushing faintly, Blair turned the sketch pad in her direction, amazed at her own shyness with the woman who had never been anything but gracious and kind. But her art was her soul, and the one place she had never needed to hide her feelings. She wondered what Marcea would see beneath the charcoal and paper.
'You have a very good memory,' Marcea said with a smile, studying the images of herself and her daughter, their profiles interspersed, overlapped, and in some views, transforming one to the other. 'You capture her perfectly.'
'Do I,' Blair said contemplatively.
Marcea's eyes were warm and caring as they rose to Blair's. 'You do.' Gesturing to the sketch, she asked, 'Might I possibly keep this?'
Blair nodded. 'I'd be honored.'
'Thank you,' Marcea murmured, lifting long delicate fingers to Blair's cheek.
Blair grew still, transfixed by the touch, feeling welcomed and fleetingly, as if she had come home.
Remembering the interlude now, thinking of how much Cam resembled her mother, only made Blair miss Cam
