"She seems to know what she's doing," Savard appraised honestly.
Stark shifted her weight and automatically slid her hands into her pockets in an unconscious gesture similar to Cameron Roberts. "She's very sharp. I'm glad that the Commander brought her up here today, because now I don't feel like I'm chasing some phantom. At least I have a picture of him in my mind."
Savard nodded in agreement. "Well, I'd certainly rather work with her than some of the hotheads from violent crimes we usually get stuck with on something like this."
Stark laughed in agreement. "Boys with guns."
"Actually, I've always been partial to girls with guns," Savard said with a soft smile.
Stark was grateful for the darkness, because her blush would have been impossible to hide. Suddenly, the night seemed much warmer, and she was acutely aware of the way Renee Savard's voice sounded in the night. Low and smooth and - sexy. She swallowed and managed to answer steadily, "So am I."
"Well, that's nice to know," Savard responded. "When things quiet down a little on this detail, we should see what else we might have in common."
"Uh - that would be a--good," Stark said, cursing herself for sounding like a dolt.
Savard smiled at her. "I don't think that Secret Service agents are supposed to be quite so sweet, Agent Stark. But on you it's very nice."
Stark was trying to think of a clever response when Savard brushed her fingers over the back of her hand and walked away.
"Stark?"
Stark jumped and turned quickly toward Blair, who was leaning on the railing looking down at her, a quizzical expression on her face.
"Ma'am?" Stark blushed again.Damn it.
"Would you let the Commander know that I'm ready to go home as soon as she gives the word?"
"Yes, ma'am. I will," Stark assured her, all business once more. According to what Lindsey Ryan had told them the day before, once they left the relative sanctuary of this house, any of them were targets.
Mac held out the phone, a puzzled expression on his face, and said, "Commander? Egret wishes to speak to you."
Cam was bent over one of the nearby desks, replaying a segment of videotape taken in Central Park during Blair's speech. She was specifically studying the crowd in the general vicinity of Marcy Coleman, searching for a slim, 25 to 30-year-old white male, approximately five ten, a hundred and fifty pounds. That was the description Dr. Coleman had given them of the man who had handed her the envelope for Blair Powell.
"I'll take it over here," Cam said immediately, surprised and concerned. Blair rarely contacted her for anything official.
She reached for the receiver, the only indication of her disquiet a faint line between her brows. "Yes?"
"Cameron, can you come up here please?"
There was hollowness in her tone that set Cam's heart racing with anxiety. "Right away. Are you -"
"I'm all right," Blair said hurriedly, but there was a faint tremor in her voice.
"I'm on my way," Cam said, dropping the receiver into the cradle. She headed swiftly toward the door, instructing Mac as she walked, "I want a voice check with all agents. Verify that all agents are at their posts and that they have nothing out of the ordinary to report."
Mac straightened and immediately turned to the monitors, simultaneously activating his transmitter. "Yes, ma'am," he said sharply.
Cam didn't hear his reply because she was already through the door and in the hallway, keying the elevator to Blair's penthouse. Thirty seconds later she was at Blair's door. When the door swung open, Blair was standing just inside, waiting, her face pale. Cam took Blair's shoulders in both her hands and looked intently into her face. "What is it?"
Blair managed a smile, but the smile was faint and her blue eyes were deeply troubled. She extended a white envelope toward Cam. "This came in the mail."
Cam took it and studied the front. Blair's name and address were affixed with a common bulk-mailing label. It looked perfectly ordinary. The return address was for a well-known charity organization.
"I thought it was about a fundraiser," Blair said quietly.
Cam looked inside and the muscles in her stomach tightened. "Have you touched it?"
Blair nodded. "Yes, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking-"
Cam shook her head. "It doesn't matter. He's never left prints before. Still, we have to go through the motions."
She looked around for something with which to tease out the white rectangle. Blair handed her a large paper clip and she hooked it over the corner of the photograph and slid it out.
Cam silently regarded the image of Diane Bleeker standing in front of her Upper East Side apartment building with a sense of fury and dread. There was a familiar red circle with an x through it drawn centered over her chest. Cam turned over the Polaroid and saw another mailing label affixed to the back. Typed on it were the words:Meet me or she's next
Cam placed the photograph back into the envelope and slipped it into her inside jacket pocket. Then she walked directly to the wallphone in Blair's kitchen and rapidly punched in a series of numbers.
"Give me SAC Doyle immediately, please. This is Commander Cameron Roberts, Secret Service." She looked at Blair as she waited, smiling faintly as if to say it would be all right. Then, she said brusquely into the receiver, "Doyle, this is Roberts. I need you to send a team to Diane Bleeker's apartment at 88th and 5thAvenue ASAP. She's his next possible target. I'll fill you in at Command Central."
Blair said quietly when Cam hung up, "Thank you. I know you probably didn't enjoy making that call."
Cam shrugged dismissively. "The problems between Doyle and me don't matter. Diane does."
"Something has to be done, Cam," Blair said urgently, pacing in agitation. "I can't stand this any longer."
"Blair," Cam began gently, walking back to her, her face filled with concern. "I know how hard this must be for you."
Blair shook her head impatiently. She didn't want sympathy - she wasn't the one being shot at or blown up. "I don't care what it takes, Cam. I don't care what I need to do. I need this to be over."
Cam put her arms around her, pulling her close and holding her tightly. "Soon. I promise. It will be over soon."
Blair did not resist the embrace, but she said stubbornly, her body stiff with fear and frustration, "I'm okay."
"I know you are," Cam murmured, resting her cheek against Blair's hair. "This is for me."
Blair relented, because she needed the comfort of her. She slipped her arms under Cam's jacket, sliding her hands up her back, pressing her face to Cam's shoulder. Her hands met the leather harness of Cam's shoulder holster, and she shuddered briefly. There had been too much loss and it was draining her spirit.
Cam ran her hand lightly up and down Blair's back, caressing her softly. "The FBI are on their way to Diane's now. She'll be safe."
"Who will be next?" Blair said, her voice muffled against Cam's body. "Will it be one of you? Will it be Marcy Coleman - or some poor random person who happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time? I can't just stand by and watch it happen. I've got to do something."
Cam's stomach knotted, but she smoothed her hand gently over Blair's hair and pressed her lips to her forehead. "It isn't going to be anyone. We'll stop him. I need you to trust me, Blair."
Blair said nothing, and Cam's heart pounded with sudden alarm. "Blair, please promise me that you won't do anything without discussing it with me. I need you to do that. Please."
Blair leaned back in the circle of Cam's arms and studied her face. There was something close to panic in Cam's eyes. Blair had never seen her look that way before. "Cam-" she whispered, slipping her hand to the back of her neck, stroking her. "Hey."
"I can't lose you," Cam rasped, her throat tight with the anguish, the edges of her mind still raw with old memories.
Her haunted expression tore at Blair's heart. She sighed, and ran her fingers lightly over Cam's cheek. She could no more hurt her than she could stop loving her. "I promise. Just do something, please."
Cam kissed her, a kiss of thanks and tender possession. When she lifted her lips away, she whispered, "I will."
*
Cameron walked into the conference room at Command Central and nodded to Patrick Doyle. As had become the custom, the FBI were lined up on one side of the table, and her team on the other. She and Doyle faced off once again from opposite ends.
"We have to assume an action from Loverboy is imminent," Doyle said immediately, his preemptive attempt to take charge glaringly obvious.
Unperturbed by his attitude, Cam nodded her agreement as she sat down. She'd played these interagency power games before. "What's the status at Diane Bleeker's apartment building?"
"Our team and the bomb squad are there now," Doyle informed her. "She's been moved temporarily to a secure location."
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