"That's no excuse forme doing my job less well."

"Agreed. And if I thought that were the case, I would say so. To you."

"I'm counting on it." With a sigh, Cam turned back toward the comm center. "I'm going to review the itinerary for the return flight and the personnel placement—"

"Why don't you go to bed? It will keep until the morning briefing." After a second, he added, "I think Ms. Powell was concerned about the altercation earlier."

Cam blew out a breath. "Rogers and I worked him over pretty well. His ID checked out with the limited sources we could access—seems he's a legit freelance reporter. He said he was just trying to get a quote from her about her lifestyle. Wanted to scoop the other papers."

"You believe him?"

"I'd be happier if we had been able to run him through Interpol and the NSI database, but there was no way to do that tonight. And no reason to hold him." She stepped into the com center, which had already been partially dismantled in preparation for their departure.

"But the French have agreed to keep an eye on him and inform us if anything unusual turns up."

They both knew that interagency intelligence communication, especially international communication, was so poor that even if the French did discover something of concern in the reporter's background, the information might never filter down to those in the field. But it was the best that could be done.

"I'll see you at 0630," Cam said on her way to the door. "Roger that." When Cam disappeared, Mac looked around the nearly deserted comm center. In the adjacent room, Cynthia Parker manned the computers for the remainder of the night shift. The glow of the monitors signaled her presence, but despite that, he felt completely alone. He sat down at the long empty conference table with a stack of computer printouts and began to skim through the random communiques that came in twenty-four hours a day.

He imagined that Felicia was already asleep and hoped that the comfort of routine would carry him through to the morning.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

C am closed the comm center door quietly, nodded perfunctorily to Reynolds, who stood in the hall outside Blair's room, and walked toward the stairwell. It had been a long night, she was beat, and she was lonely. She'd hoped earlier for a few minutes alone with Blair after the formal affair, but the intruder had put an end to that wish. Now it was fast approaching dawn and a full day of travel awaited—another potentially hazardous time for Blair when Cam and the whole team needed to be sharp. "Commander?"

Turning, Cam answered, "Yes?" Reynolds held out an envelope. "For you, ma'am." Silently, Cam stepped forward and extended her hand. Angling with her back to Reynolds, she opened the envelope and withdrew the single sheet of cream-colored stationery bearing the watermark of the Hotel Marigny. In her lover's bold script she read, Please come to me—no matter how late. B —

Carefully, Cam replaced the notepaper in the envelope and slipped it into her jacket pocket. Then she walked directly past Reynolds, who gave no sign that he even saw her, used the master passkey to open the door, and stepped inside. The sitting room was dark, as was the bedroom beyond the open door opposite. Moving slowly in the moonlight, Cam removed her tuxedo jacket and dropped it onto the arm of the sofa as she passed. She loosened the tie from around her neck, folded it, and slid it into her pants pocket. By the time she reached the bedroom door, she had removed her cufflinks and studs from her shirt and placed them into the opposite front pocket. Once inside the bedroom, she bent down, untied her shoes, and pushed them off along with her socks. She pulled her open shirt free from the cummerbund at her waist and let it fall over the holster on her hip. Standing beside the bed, she looked down on Blair, who slept nude beneath a pure white sheet.

She'd taken the comb from her hair, and waves of gold framed her face in the silver light. A pain struck deep in Cam's heart, the kind of ache she always felt when she looked at beauty. Faced with both beauty and love, she was rendered helpless with awe. She freed her weapon from her waistband and rested it on top of the antique nightstand, then removed her shirt, unzipped her pants, and stepped out of the remainder of her clothing. Gently, she drew aside the sheet and eased down onto the edge of the bed. Before she could stretch out, Blair curled around her from behind with both arms encircling her waist and pressed her cheek to the center of Cam's back.

"You came. I hoped you would," Blair murmured, her mouth against Cam's skin, her palm flat against Cam's abdomen.

"I tried not to wake you," Cam whispered, covering Blair's hand with her own. Their fingers linked automatically.

"Mmm, no. I'm glad you did. I was worried."

"Everything is fine."

As they talked, Blair stroked her fingers up and down Cam's abdomen. The touch, casual and possessive, was both comforting and arousing. Blair's hand still in hers, Cam gave a weary sigh and leaned back onto the pillows. Blair shifted with her until she was lying against Cam's side, her head on her lover's shoulder.

As she continued her soft caresses, Blair asked quietly, "Who was he?"

Cam stroked the thick blond hair, soothed as she always was by its fragrant softness drifting through her fingers. "Just a reporter, it looks like."

"That light was a camera flash, then, when I first walked out?"

"Yes—and he was equipped with a minirecorder, too. That's what he had in his hand—the microphone." That I took for a gun. Cam considered how close she'd come to dislocating his elbow, more out of fury than necessity. He'd been the last person in a too-long line of people who had overstepped their bounds that evening where her lover was concerned—the throng of media who had descended upon them the instant they had stepped from their vehicle; the men who found Blair desirable and who took the opportunity to hold her and caress her as if it were their right; the ex-lover—because she couldn't have been anything else considering the way she had looked at Blair and touched her with a knowledge born of intimacy—who had clearly been interested in another interlude. By the time this intruder had lunged from the darkness to accost her lover, Cam had been ready to fight. It had taken all her control merely to immobilize him without assuaging her anger by breaking his arm.

Blair pressed her lips to the tight muscles just below Cam's collarbone. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing—-just wound up."

"I know. I can feel it." Blair raised up on an elbow and studied her lover. Cam's eyes were dark pools, and in the dim moonlight, she could not read what lay in their depths. Without being able to see Cam's eyes, she was at a disadvantage, because that was the one place Cam's secrets were exposed. She placed her palm in the center of Cam's chest, felt her heart beat steady and sure, and eased her leg over Cam's thigh. "Want to tell me why?"

Cam hesitated, reluctant to burden her lover with concerns over a situation she could not change. Then she recalled what Blair had said to her only weeks before.

I love you. It s not just about sex and it's not just about common ground It's about needing to be with you. It s about needing to be in your life.

Resting a hand on the back of Blair's neck and drawing her back down, Cam replied quietly, "I was thinking about how much I don't like other people touching you, or even trying to."

"Other people." Blair was silent for a long moment. "Other people like Margot Fallon?"

"She would be one," Cam noted nonchalantly as she thought of the striking wife of the French ambassador.

"I should have realized that you would know exactly what she was doing." Blair sighed, aware as well that her previous liaisons with Margot must have been documented somewhere and that Cam would have read all about them. "You do know that I wasn't tempted, don't you?"

"Temptation is not a sin."

"No," Blair mused, "I suppose we can't be expected to control how our bodies respond."

"I'm going to kill her."

Cam's tone was absolutely serious, but Blair merely laughed and fit herself more closely to Cam. "As it happens, I was tempted in neither body nor spirit. But I'm sorry if it bothered you."

"It's not your fault, and there's no need for you to apologize." Cam turned her head and kissed Blair's forehead, shifting on her side until their bodies touched along their lengths. "I can see why it's so hard for you to constantly be the center of attention. So many people take liberties."

Blair caught her breath as her heart filled with a combination of wonder and surprise. "Every time you say something like that, I fall in love with you all over again."

Before she could change her mind, Cam pushed on. "I talked to Mac tonight about whether my being in love with you was compromising my ability to run the detail."

"Oh, Cam. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that anything about tonight made you feel that way." Blair laughed softly and kissed the side of Cam's throat. "A few months ago—hell, a few weeks ago, I would have been delighted to think that you weren't happy with your performance. Then, maybe I could've taken advantage of your momentary, and extraordinarily rare, insecurity to get you to resign."

"And now?" Cam asked curiously.

"As much as I still hate the thought of you placing yourself in jeopardy to protect me, I love having you around." Blair took a deep breath and finished before she could change her mind. "More than that, I love having you as my security chief. I trust you."

"That means everything to me," Cam murmured, tracing her fingertips along the undersurface of Blair's jaw before tilting her head up for a kiss. She lingered on the softness of Blair's lips, gliding her fingers over the elegant bones of Blair's face as she explored the warmth of her mouth with her tongue. When she drew back, she added huskily, "If I ever thought I couldn't take care of you, I'd quit."