Blair snorted. “That’s your training talking.”

“Yes, it is. And I trust it completely.”

“God.” Blair shook her head. “You sound just like Cam.”

“I’m honored.”

Stark meant it, and Blair understood why. Stark—hell, all the agents—would walk through fire for Cam because she’d die for any of them. She nearly had, more than once. An arrow of pain sliced through her, and Blair quickly pushed it aside. Cam would probably be home by now and realize that she’d left. She’d know why too. How could Cam know her so well, but not well enough to think she wouldn’t care that Cam had gone behind her back? The thought still hurt as much as it had a few hours before.

The sign over Francine’s came into view.

“Stay warm, Paula,” Blair said. “Wait in the SUV.”

“I’ll wait inside.”

“Suit yourself.” Blair pushed through the door into the familiar heat of bodies on the hunt and hoped before too long she’d be able to forget about the pain for a little while.


*


Cam didn’t bother to call her driver to come back for her but grabbed a cab in the street in front of her apartment. She gave him the address of the federal building where high-security prisoners were held, where encrypted records were buried so deep that someone searching the federal databases would not be able to find them. She showed her creds to the guard at a side entrance and was let into a long, narrow hall that ended at an unmarked bank of elevators. She inserted a key, rode down one floor, and badged her way past another security desk. Yet another drab hallway with closed, unmarked doors on either side ended at a glassed-in security station where three armed officers monitored video feeds from inside and outside the building. The sergeant rose and met her at the door. She showed her credentials yet again and said, “I’d like to see prisoner number 1329. Can you move her into an interrogation room.”

“Yes, ma’am. Five minutes.”

“Thank you. And turn the cameras off in that room, please.”

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” He turned, said something to one of the other officers, then keyed a door inside the security center and disappeared. A moment later one of the other guards escorted Cam through the same door and down another hallway to a windowless ten-by-ten room furnished with a plain steel table in the center. The metal folding chairs on either side of the table were bolted to the floor, as was the table. Soldered O-rings at various intervals along the table’s edge provided anchors where restraints could be secured.

Cam sat with the table between her and the windowless door. Five minutes later a stone-faced guard escorted Jennifer Pattee into the room. She wore a nondescript gray jumpsuit that zipped up the front and shapeless slipper-shoes on her feet. Her dark hair appeared clean but hung in a loose tangle around her shoulders. She wore no makeup and, despite the shadows under her eyes, appeared alert and unintimidated. Her hands were shackled with steel handcuffs connected by a short length of chain, attached to the leather belt around her waist. Her ankles were free. When she sat in the chair opposite Cam, the guard attached the chain connecting her cuffs to the table. She could clasp her hands on the edge of the table but could not reach as far as her face or across the space between them.

The guard left silently and Cam stood, took off her coat, and laid it over the chair beside her. She sat back down and looked at Jennifer. “Tell me again about the man who delivered the virus to you.”

Jennifer Pattee was a beautiful woman—luminous blue eyes, photogenic features, and a voluptuous body. Even in shapeless prison garb, she sat as if posing for a photo op, a seductive smile on her face. Her gaze slowly slid from Cam’s face down her body and back again. “I know you haven’t forgotten. You don’t look like the kind of woman who forgets anything.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Cam said calmly. “I just don’t believe you. The way I see it, the only way you can help yourself is to help us.”

“I certainly would if I could,” Jennifer said. “After all, that’s my job. I signed on to the White House Medical Unit so I could help take care of the president. Why would I want to do anything to jeopardize him or my oath?”

“From where I’m sitting,” Cam said conversationally, “you were in a perfect position to do exactly what you did—report the president’s movements while moving in his inner circle unobserved and totally trusted. When the time was opportune, strike a death blow—or try to.”

“You’ve seen my record. It’s spotless. There’s nothing to suggest I would ever do anything like that, because I wouldn’t.”

“Who is the man in the diner who gave you the virus?”

“I don’t know,” Jennifer said. “This is a mistake.”

“You were prepared to shoot a federal agent. You drew a gun on Agent Daniels.”

“I felt threatened. I wasn’t sure what she was going to do. I have the right to defend myself, just like any other American citizen.”

“You support the right to bear arms.”

“Of course. I support the Constitution and the Bill of Rights.”

“Is that what they taught you when you were homeschooled in Idaho?”

For just an instant, the expression on Jennifer’s face flickered to one of uncertainty before her look of confidence returned. That look said there was something there. Jennifer hadn’t expected them to know or care about that fact—which meant it mattered.

“I learned what every child learns in school—reading and writing and arithmetic.” Jennifer smiled. “And the Pledge of Allegiance.”

“Who did you go to school with?” Cam asked.

Jennifer’s brows drew down. “What does this have to do with anything?”

“I think it might have to do with a lot of things. Where did you go to school? At home or at the training camp?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do. Who did you go to school with, Jennifer? The sons and daughters of other righteous Americans who support the right to bear arms, even against the government?”

Jennifer laughed. “There’s no law against being homeschooled, Director Roberts.”

“No, there isn’t. There is a law—quite a few of them, actually—against attempting to assassinate the president of the United States.”

“I certainly didn’t do that. I’m the victim here. I had no idea what was in that package.”

“You know we can keep you here as long as we want, and until you start telling us the truth, we will.”

“I’d like an attorney.”

“I’m sure you would. We’ll see that you get one.” Cam rose and folded her coat over her arm. “Someday.” Cam moved to the end of the table and paused. “I’m sure you have family you’d like to contact. As soon as you begin cooperating, you’ll be able to do that.”

“I’m not interested in making a phone call. But I appreciate the offer.”

“Have a good night, Ms. Pattee.”

“It’s Lieutenant,” Jennifer said coolly. “Lieutenant Jennifer Pattee, United States Navy Medical Corps.”

“Good night, then, Lieutenant. We’ll speak again, soon.”

“I’ll look forward to your visit.”


*


Blair sipped her wine and observed the woman wending her way through the crowd toward her. Heads turned to follow the sleek silver-blond beauty, and Blair smiled as she drew near. Turning as her best friend slid onto the stool beside her, Blair leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Thanks for coming so soon on such short notice.”

Diane Bleeker waved an elegant hand. “No thanks needed. I’m always up for a night out on the town.”

Blair laughed. “I don’t think I said that.”

“Yes, but we’re at Francine’s. What else would we be doing?” Diane gave the bartender a sultry wink. “Chardonnay, please. And not the house brand. Something daring and bold.”

The bartender, a handsome Latino with liquid dark eyes and an appreciative grin, nodded. “I think I can come up with something for you.”

“I’m sure you can.”

“Now, now,” Blair murmured. “Don’t get his hopes up.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t think of it. I’m just keeping the rust off in case I ever have any reason to use my wiles again.”

“Uh-huh.” Blair laughed. “And how is Valerie these days?”

Diane’s urbane expression softened. “Wonderful, when I see her, which is never enough. She’s always off doing some big secret thing that I can’t know about. That whole business is very tiresome.”

“Yes,” Blair said, turning her half-empty glass on the highly polished black granite bar top in front of her. “Isn’t it.”

Diane crossed her legs, her green silk skirt sliding midway up her thigh, drawing appreciative stares from men and a few women nearby. She lightly clasped Blair’s forearm. “Is that what this impromptu visit is all about? Has Cameron done something loathsome again?”

Blair’s chest filled with affection. Diane understood her and would support her, even while gently goading her to consider the real reasons behind her actions. “Don’t take her part in this.”

Diane pressed a hand to her breasts, the diamond and gold bracelets on her wrist sparkling against the champagne silk of her shirt. “I just said I knew she’d done something horrible again. How is that supporting her?”

“It’s not what you said, it’s the way you said it. And I know you’ve always had a soft spot for Cam.”

“Darling,” Diane said. “I have a soft spot for handsome women, and you have to admit, she is that.”

“Yes,” Blair said softly. “She is gorgeous.”

Diane’s hand slid down to Blair’s and squeezed gently. “So,” she said, no sarcasm in her tone, “what’s happened?”

Blair sighed. “Oh, just more of the same. Some things have come up security-wise, and Cam wants me kept under wraps. Under glass, more like it.”