Taken aback, Blair stared, and caught the flicker of pain in Cam's eyes before they went flat. That brief glimpse of her lover's anguish dispelled her own mounting anger. Cam's leg was rigid beneath their joined hands. The only visible sign of the terrible strain she was under was the low, tight tone of her voice. The depths of her charcoal eyes, however, were nothing more than opaque obsidian reflections, more impenetrable than Blair had ever seen. Oh, darling, I can't imagine what it's costing you to do this.

Gently, Blair replied, "An old friend of mine from prep school. We can go there—it's as secure as any place right now. Probably more."

Cam narrowed her eyes. "Were you lovers?"

Blair blinked. "I hardly think that matters now."

Impatiently, Cam shook her head and bit back a grunt of pain. "No, if you were, it's probably a matter of record. Somewhere, someone put it in a file, and we don't know what intelligence has been compromised."

"God, do you really think something from so long ago—"

"I don't know, Blair. Jesus, I've got one dead agent—"

"Mac?" Felicia cried.

"No," Cam replied swiftly. "Parker. Reynolds said Mac was unconscious but alive when he reached him. He managed to commandeer a NYPD cruiser off the street to transport Mac to NYU hospital." In a gentler tone, she added, "That's all I know, except that Mac is tough."

Blair stroked her hand absently along Cam's thigh. "Tanner was never my lover. And she lives in a fairly remote area. I told her we were coming."

Cam sorted through options, ranking them in order of possible security risks. Until she had more information about the nature and extent of the attacks, she couldn't be certain that any federal or military installation was secure. In all likelihood, Foster had passed along the details of their internal evac routes to whoever was behind the assault. She had to admit they'd be better off lying low in a civilian location. "All right. Where are we going?"

"Whitley Island."

1005 11 September 2001:

The skies over America are empty.

For almost a minute, there was complete silence in the vehicle. Felicia drove east toward the Mass Turnpike at a steady sixty-five miles per hour. Stark leaned against the door, her face turned to the window, her eyes glazed. She was shivering uncontrollably.

"Cam," Blair said quietly, nodding in Stark's direction. "She needs medical attention. And so do you."

"I don't want to stop yet." Cam kept her voice low out of habit, although in actuality, the only people she could absolutely trust were in the car with her. Other than Mac, and she missed him tremendously now. "I don't think we're being pursued, but I don't know if there's another assault team looking for us or already on an intercept course. The last thing I want to do is go to a hospital and televise to the world where you are."

"Can't we drop her off at a hospital somewhere, then?"

A brief, sad smile crossed Cam's face. "You don't really think she'd go, do you? Plus, I can't afford to lose another agent. I need her on the job."

"You can assemble tbe rest of the team in a few hours once we reach Tanner's."

"No, I can't." Cam rubbed her eyes. "Foster was part of the attack, Blair. I can't trust any of the agents now. Every one of them is a suspect."

"All right," Blair conceded. Carefully, she moved to the opposite seat, knelt facing the rear, and leaned over the back of the seat into the storage compartment behind it. She rummaged around until she found the emergency medical kit, which she lifted back over the seat and set on the floor. Then she resumed her search and, a few minutes later, swiveled around with a bundle of clothing in her arms. "The Suburbans may be ugly as hell, but they're very well equipped. I've got the ever-present blue polo shirts and one-size-fits-all khaki pants. Felicia and Paula can at least get out of their damp clothes."

"Davis," Cam said. "Pull into the first drive-off you see. Park well away from any other vehicles."

"Yes, ma'am."

Ten minutes later, Davis pulled the Suburban into a rest stop, drove to the far end of the narrow parking lot, and stopped. Blair slid over next to Stark.

"Paula," she said gently, putting her hand lightly on Stark's arm. "Let's get your T-shirt off so I can take a look at your shoulder. I've got a dry shirt for you, too."

Stark, her gaze slightly unfocused, searched Blair's face. She blinked. "Thank you. You don't need to do that. I can take care of it. You should see to the commander."

"Yes, I will. But you first." Patiently, Blair waited.

After another few seconds' hesitation, Stark lifted her T-shirt with her left hand, but couldn't mange to raise her right.

"Let me help you with that," Blair said, carefully manipulating the garment and working it slowly over Stark's injured right arm. The sports bra she wore beneath was wet with sweat and blood. "Take off the bra, too."

Stark flushed.

"It's okay, Paula."

Stark glanced across the compartment to Cam, who sat quietly with her eyes trained out the rear window, scanning the incoming vehicles, her weapon still at the ready. The sight of the commander, so steady, so focused, infused Stark with purpose. I need to get myself together. The commander needs backup. Quietly, she said to Blair, "Can you help me, please."

"Of course."

After helping Stark out of her underwear, Blair cleansed the jagged bullet wound in Stark's deltoid area with peroxide, applied an antibiotic ointment, and bandaged it. Throughout the process, Stark remained still and silent. "Let me help you get a dry shirt on."

As Stark carefully pulled on the shirt, another bulletin came over the scanner.

1028 11 September 2001

: The North Tower of the World Trade Center has collapsed.

With an agonized moan, Stark pushed open the door and bolted from the car.

When Blair moved to follow, Cam said quietly, "Let her go."

Blair's patience snapped. "For God's sake, Cam. There's no danger here, and she's suffering. I don't want her to be alone with this."

"She needs to be alone with it." Cam's voice revealed no hint of anger, only sadness. "She needs to put it away for now, and she will. Just give her a minute."

"Is that what they teach you?" Blair demanded wildly. "To bury your pain, even when it's killing you?"

"We don't bury it, Blair. We just save it."

The grief in Cam's face brought tears to Blair's eyes. "Oh, Cam. I'm sorry." Quickly, she crossed the space between them and curled up against Cam's side, threading an arm around her lover's waist and resting her head against her shoulder. "I'm so sorry. None of this is your fault, and everything you're doing is to protect me. I know that, and still I resent what this job does to you."

Cam pressed her lips to Blair's hair and closed her eyes. "I would do anything not to lose you."

"I know." Blair lifted her face and kissed Cam's neck. "I love you." She held Cam a moment longer, then pushed away. "It's time for you to get cleaned up, Commander."

By the time Blair had tended to Cam's scalp wound, Stark, hollow eyed and beyond pale, had returned.

"All right, Stark?" Cam asked.

"Yes, ma'am." Stark's voice was raspy and sore from choking back the bile that had threatened to erupt when she'd heard the bulletin. She had to believe that Renee was still alive. She simply had no other choice. Any other possibility was more than she could bear. "I'm ready."

"Davis," Cam said, "Ms. Powell will give you directions to Whitley Island. Get us there as quickly as you can."

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

1344 11 September 2001:

The aircraft carriers USS

George Washington

and USS

John F. Kennedy

along with five warships have been deployed from the US Naval Station in Norfolk, Virginia to New York.

"Turn here," Blair said, peering out the side window at the open ten-foot-high wrought iron gates that stretched between high stone walls that were almost completely hidden by the dense native foliage.

"Is this the end of the island?" Cam asked. She'd been taking careful note of the topography and population distribution ever since they'd crossed the causeway from the mainland onto Whitley Island. There seemed to be very few residences on the island itself, although she'd caught sight of a marina at the southern tip that appeared to be fairly populated. The isolated locale was both an advantage and a strategic problem. They would be difficult to find, but if detected by unfriendly forces, it would be almost impossible for them to escape.

"Yes, the Whitley estate occupies the entire north half of the island." Wearily, Blair pushed a hand through her hair and glanced across the confines of the rear compartment to Stark. The young agent's eyes were open but so blank that Blair thought she might be asleep. She leaned close to Cam. "We need to have her looked at."

"I know." Cam brushed her fingers over the top of Blair's hand. "It may be twelve to twenty-four hours until I can establish secure links with Washington and get an accurate assessment of our security situation. Until then, we're going to be in a communication blackout. So no hospitals yet."

"What if Tanner could bring a doctor out here?" Blair pushed, because both Stark and Cam needed medical attention. She'd cleaned their wounds, but Stark gave every sign of being in shock, and it was clear that Cam was fighting a headache and possibly worse.

"Give me a few hours to assess the situation, and then I'll let you know my decision."