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.




Chapter Thirteen

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."


"We've been down this road before, Doyle," Cam responded, her eyes never leaving his. "You're wasting your time."


"Your director and the Security Chief might not think so if your activities happen to involve the President's daughter."


She smiled at him, a thin smile, cold and hard as granite. "Doyle, you really are a fool if you think you can take on Blair Powell. She'll have you for lunch."


She stepped lightly around him and walked out of the park the way she had come.


She glanced across the street, thinking that Blair was probably already back in her apartment. She contemplated going after her and then stopped abruptly when she realized why she wanted to. She missed her already.


*


Nine stories up, Blair leaned against the window frame, staring down at Cameron Roberts. Her security chief was standing just outside the gates of the park, her hands in her pockets, one shoulder leaning against the stone pillar that marked the entrance to the square. Patrick Doyle stormed through the gate and passed her without a word.


She looks so tired,Blair thought to herself. She could only imagine how difficult it must be for Cam dealing with the FBI presence. She'd been around politics all her life, and she knew that interagency power struggles were vicious and self-interest paramount. Often agents lost sight of their objective in their eagerness to advance their own positions. She had no doubt that Patrick Doyle cared less for her safety than for his own desire to be the one to apprehend Lover Boy. She wasn't foolish enough to think that she really mattered to him, and she didn't care. She knew - more importantly, shefelt - that to Cameron, she did.


She'd felt that caring the first time Cameron walked into her loft and made it clear that she would do her job, but that she'd try to make it tolerable for Blair. She'd seen it manifest in horrific detail the day Cam had stepped in front of her and almost died from the bullet meant for her. She didn't want to see that again. She didn't want Cam standing in front of her for any reason, but certainly not for a reason that could cost Cam her life.


Why couldn't you just have told him no?she wondered for the hundredth time. She knew the answer. Cameron hadn't accepted this assignment just because the President of the United States had requested her. She'd taken the assignment because that was what she did. That was who she was. Some part of Blair could respect that. Some part of her could even understand it. But knowing it and understanding it did not change what she felt. She didn't want or need Cam's protection. She resented that she needed it from anyone, but at least she had made some form of peace with that.


What she wanted from Cameron was the one thing that she had given up hoping for, or had simply stopped looking for, in another human being. Cam touched her in some deep place that others never imagined existed, and that's what she so desperately needed. Cam didn't try to tell her to accept her circumstances or to be grateful for her privilege, as so many others before her had. She was equally oblivious to Blair's status, a welcome respite from the solicitous attentions of so many. Most importantly, Cam understood her anger and forgave her fury.