"Welcome back, Commander," he said.


United States Secret Service Agent Cameron Roberts shook the hand of the boyishly handsome blond agent, smiling warmly. "It's good to be back, Mac."


She looked around the large open room that occupied the eighth floor of a brownstone apartment building overlooking Gramercy Park in Manhattan. It had been more than half a year since she had been in charge of the secret service security detail that worked out of this space. She had not expected to return, at least not in any official capacity. Heading this unit was not a posting that she had originally welcomed after having spent most of her career in the investigative division of the Secret Service, tracking counterfeit funds used in illegal drug transactions. She had worked closely with members of the DEA, ATF, and Treasury Department and, like most agents involved in fieldwork, she had considered the protective arm of the Secret Service a place for rookies. Guarding diplomats, foreign visitors, and members of political families did not interest her. Until now. Now it mattered a great deal.


"Has Egret arrived back in the States yet?" she asked. She shrugged her shoulders, trying to work out the stiffness left over from the flight up from Florida. She had been in Miami on assignment chasing a trail of treasury forgeries to a network of cocaine importers when the call had come reassigning her. It was completely unexpected, and the fact that she had been instructed to report immediately bothered her. No one had suggested that there was potential trouble on this end, but then that didn't mean anything. In the kind of bureaucracy that existed within the federal government, with multiple security agencies having overlapping spheres of interest and influence, there were never-ending turf struggles, and even those who 'needed to know' often didn't get critical information until it was too late to be useful. She had personal experience with that kind of foul-up.


She shook her head, dispelling the memories. She wouldn't let that happen here, not with something - someone - so important at stake. She would find out who, or what, was behind her transfer. But first things first. She was tired, but she had work to do before her first meeting with the woman she was charged with protecting. A woman who, she was quite sure, was not going to be pleased to see her.


She refocused on Mac. "I'll need to be briefed before I meet with her. I've been in the air most of the night and haven't been informed of her location."


"She's back in the nest," Mac affirmed, pointing toward the ceiling and the penthouse apartment above that comprised the top floor of the building. "They returned from the China visit late last night, and she didn't want to remain in Washington. They came up by car about 0300."


Cam smiled to herself. "I guess some things never change."


Mac shook his head. "Not that much."


He regarded her seriously for a moment and tried not to think about how close she had come to dying less than a year before. She looked fit and healthy now, but he knew that she had only been back on active duty for six weeks. As usual when on duty she wore an impeccably tailored, understatedly expensive suit and appeared capable, competent and cool - all the things he knew she was. He also knew from experience that you could never tell very much beyond that just by looking at her. She rarely revealed what she was feeling, but you could always count on her to tell you exactly what she was thinking. "The team will be very happy to have you back."


"What about you, Mac?" she said, leaning one hip against the edge of the desk, her dark gray eyes studying his. "I'm bumping you out of the Commander's seat."


He laughed, shook his head, and leaned back in the swivel chair, gesturing with one hand to the array of computer monitors, audiovisual equipment, and satellite feeds from the NYPD and New York Transit Authority on the long counter in front of him. "I'm an information man. This is what I want to be doing, and six months of doing your job proved it to me."


"Good," Cam said, "I'm glad you're okay with it, because no one is more important than the communications coordinator, and I need the best."


"Thanks," Mac said, pleased with her confidence in him. "You're doing me a big favor, Commander. I'm no good at the VIP stuff, and with this kind of detail, that's key."


Cameron didn't need him to tell her that handling high-profile personalities was a requirement of the work. It was one of the reasons she was good at this particular assignment, and it was also the reason it was going to be so difficult. Six weeks ago she had spent five nights with the woman she was now charged with guarding. If she had known then that she would be reassigned to this security detail, she might have made a different choice. Briefly, Blair Powell's face flickered into her mind and the instant surge of heat in her depths told her she was kidding herself. She had wanted her then, badly. Too much for procedure or protocol to have stopped her. She wasn't sure what she was going to do about those feelings now that circumstances had changed, but the one thing she did know was that she had a job to do.


Cam stood abruptly. "I'll see everyone at 0700 in the conference room. Bring what you have on her itinerary for the week, projected out-of-town events for the immediate future, all pertinent problematic field reports from the time I was gone, and anything else that you think needs my attention. I want to be brought up to speed by the time I meet with her this morning."


Mac nodded and watched her walk toward the small glass-enclosed cubicle in one corner that served as their conference center. He saw her looking casually left and right toward the work areas partitioned off in the open space by low dividers. He knew that she was assessing the monitoring equipment that the men and women assigned to her command utilized twenty-four hours a day to observe and protect the only child of the President of the United States.


*


At precisely 0700, Cam walked into the conference room carrying a cup of coffee. She set it down on the end of the rectangular table and looked over the faces turned towards her. They were all familiar. No one had transferred out during her absence, and she was glad of that because they were all good agents. She had seen to that when she had first taken command a year before by demanding that anyone not one hundred percent committed to the task of guarding the President's daughter transfer out. Those who chose to stay had proven themselves under fire.


"Well," she began, allowing a faint grin to pull at one corner of her mouth. "At least I won't have to learn any new names. And we can skip all the introductory bull and get down to business." She looked down the room to where Mac sat with a pile of memoranda in front of him, and said, "Mac?"


"Nothing new planned on the foreign front until the trip to Paris with the Vice President and his wife next month."


Cam nodded, settling into her chair with her PDA. "Right. We'll need advance information on motorcade routes, local hospitals, and transit lines for each day's events. That should all be in the data base. I assume they'll be staying at the Hotel Marigny, where state visitors always stay. That needs to be confirmed." She turned to the sandy-haired collegiate looking man on her left who happened to be fluent in nine languages, with a working command of seven others. "Are you still doing the advance work on the foreign travel, Riley?"


"Yes ma'am."


"Then you can contact the secretary at the Protocol department in Paris to review the scheduled functions. Charity dinners, museum outings - whatever they have planned." The French were notorious for changing itineraries at the last minute, and Paris was an international city where terrorism was a very real threat. "Keep after them. Make sure we're current by the time we're in the air. I don't want to be surprised."


Riley nodded and made notes while Cam signaled Mac to continue. He shuffled some printouts and said, "Domestically, there's the opening of the Rodman gallery in San Francisco in two weeks."


"Where's she staying?" Cam asked absently, her mind still on the Paris details.


"We don't know yet," Mac answered uncomfortably.


Cam looked up, her eyes narrowing. "You don'tknow ? She must have reservations by now. Who's handling her itinerary?"


Mac blushed but kept his eyes on hers. He had forgotten how unforgiving she could be about any breach in protocol. He prepared to be dressed down. "She is."


"She is," Cam repeated in disgust, struggling with her temper. She knew damn well it wasn't Mac's fault. She stood, closing her electronic notebook. "Is there anything pressing that the team needs to discuss this morning, Mac?"


"No ma'am," he said briskly.


"Who's heading the day shift?" she asked.


"I am, ma'am," a petite, dark-haired woman in her late twenties answered.


Cam nodded. After one nearly career-ending lapse in judgment, Paula Stark had proven herself to be cool and levelheaded, an invaluable asset for a member of the shift that spent the most time in direct contact with Blair Powell, the First Daughter.


"Fine. Then go get your detail organized. Mac, if I might speak with you please."


Chairs scraped as agents hastened to get out of the conference room. They'd all seen Roberts take people apart if she felt they had been lax in guarding the President's daughter. No matter how difficult Blair Powell might make that job.