"Did she also tell you that Blair knows?"

"She did. I'd like to tell Blair that I know. Keeping secrets from friends is the fastest way I know to destroy a friendship."

Cam picked up on the pain in Diane's voice. "Blair didn't tell you because she was protecting me."

"And now you're protecting her." Diane smiled. "She has quite a champion in you."

"No." Cam took two steps and then sat on the end of the lounge chair facing Diane. She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. "I just wanted you to know that she did it for me, and not because she didn't want you to know. In fact," she said with a sigh, "I think not being able to tell you has been tough on her."

"Are you sure you don't mind if I speak to her about it?"

"Not at all."

"You didn't answer my question. Don't you trust Valerie?"

"It's not a question of who I trust and who I don't," Cam said. "It's a question of protecting Blair's privacy and maintaining her security."

"You can't think Valerie is a threat," Diane said defensively.

"I don't discuss Blair in front of anyone." Again the truth, even if evasive.

"No. None of us who love her do. I understand." Diane appeared satisfied. "Tell me what you want to know."

"I want to know the name of every person who's asked you about Blair in the last year. I want to know about every new person who's come into your life in that same time period, business or personal. I want to know if there's anyone who stands out in your mind as being off somehow."

Diane laughed. "You're not serious?"

Cam merely nodded.

"My God, I run an art gallery. Sheila Blake is one of my clients, and everyone in the art world, at least, knows that Blake is Blair Powell. People ask me about her all the time with regard to her work."

"Anyone seem more interested than others? Persistent questions, repeat questions, returning to the gallery over and over for no good reason?"

"Not that I can think of, but I can go back through the gallery sales records and see if that jogs my memory."

"Good. Excellent. Ask your employees if they remember anyone inquiring about her schedule or personal information—address, phone, e-mail address." Cam leaned even closer, her dark eyes simmering. "Anything. It won't be obvious. These guys are pros. Tell them that."

"I will. I'll talk to them this morning." Diane frowned. "You said personally. You don't think someone I've been.. .intimate with.. .could possibly be involved?"

"I don't know. Have you met anyone under unusual circumstances, or anyone who seems almost too perfect in terms of the kind of woman who appeals to you?"

There was a moment of absolute silence as they stared at one another, the name hanging in the air between them. As if bidden, the doors behind them opened, and Valerie stepped out. Her ice blue blouse was an exact match for her eyes, which moved questioningly from Diane to Cam. Whatever she saw in their faces made her lift her hands in apology.

"I'm sorry. I'm interrupting, it seems." She brushed her hair back, holding it for a moment against the wind, her eyes on Diane. "I wanted to tell you that I'm leaving. I've called a cab."

"Right now?" Diane rose quickly. "Why?"

"It's a business thing. It came up just a few minutes ago—I just got a call from my employer." Valerie smiled and shrugged. "You know how these things are. When a client gets something into their head, you just can't put them off. I hate to run when you've been so kind."

Cam stood and headed inside to give them privacy. "I have some calls to make too." As she passed Valerie, she said, "Take care of yourself."

"I will. And you, Cameron." Valerie kept her eyes on Diane during the exchange. Once Cam was inside and the door closed once more, she said, "I'm so sorry about all of this."

"I thought we put that to rest last night," Diane said, moving to join Valerie. They stood facing one another, their expressions equally troubled and watchful. "We both have pasts. I won't apologize for mine, and I don't expect you to, either."

"You're very kind."

"To hell with kind," Diane said sharply. "You know damn well I'm attracted to you. More than attracted to you. Why are you leaving?"

"I told you.. .business."

Diane regarded her steadily. "I won't ask you this time what's really going on, because it's obvious you feel you can't tell me. But I will ask you this, and I want an honest answer. Am I going to see you again?"

Valerie hesitated, and then, instead of replying, slid her hand to the back of Diane's neck and guided her forward into a kiss. She kissed her softly at first—just a brush of lips—savoring her tantalizing taste, until suddenly she wanted more. More than just a whispered goodbye. She needed something to take away with her. Without breaking contact, she caressed Diane's mouth more firmly, a long slow slide with the tip of her tongue glancing between Diane's lips.

Diane caught her breath, first in surprise, then at the sudden tightening, in the pit of her stomach. "Oh," she murmured, "don't do that and then leave me."

"I was hoping perhaps you would remember this," Valerie said against all good judgment, "until I return."

"Will you? Return?"

"If I can."

The regret in her voice was too genuine for Diane not to believe her. She settled her arms loosely around Valerie's waist, gratified when the other woman did not move away. "When you come back, will you tell me what it is you think I won't be able to handle?"

"If I can." Valerie couldn't help herself. She kissed her one last time, hoping desperately to satisfy the ache inside with something as simple as a kiss. Something she could explain away, if pressed, as a moment's indiscretion in the midst of a world gone mad. She knew she'd failed hopelessly when she found herself wanting nothing more than to keep on kissing her until there was nothing in her mind or her heart or her soul except Diane.

"Goodbye," Valerie murmured as she drew away. She reached behind her to open the door, her eyes still on Diane's.

Diane let her go. For reasons she did not understand, as she watched her leave, she whispered, "Be careful."

Chapter Eleven

I appreciate you appearing with me at the press briefing this morning," Andrew Powell said as he passed Blair a plate of freshly baked muffins.

"You don't have to thank me, Dad." Absently, Blair broke off a corner of one of the White House chef's specialties. "I feel like there's so little I can do as it is. If it sends a message to whoever's out there that we won't be manipulated by terrorists, I'll go on television with you every single day."

"I have a feeling you'd get tired of that pretty fast, but I'll remember the offer."

"I'm glad there was no mention of what happened to me." She shivered and quickly forced a smile. "I already have my face on the front page of too many tabloids."

"It was a judgment call," Powell admitted. "The press will want to pillory me if it comes out that we held that kind of news back."

"Dad, you don't have to—"

"It was my call, honey. I'm happy with it."

"Why did you decide to keep it quiet?" Blair put down her muffin and watched her father intently.

"A number of reasons. Most importantly, your privacy. You've had the press fixated on your private life for months, and this kind of news would make you morning television news program material." Her father's voice held an edge of anger. "And I don't want whoever's out there—or here—focusing on you as a target."

"Thank you," Blair said softly.

"No need to." The president leaned back in his chair and regarded Blair with a small frown. "It's probably going to be pretty rough this afternoon."

"I know. I'll be okay."

"I never doubted it."

"I'm not coming back with you tonight." Blair pushed her half-eaten breakfast aside. "I want to go home. I can't hide here, and besides, it's already making me crazy."

"I'd like you to wait until my security advisers tell me they think it's safe," Powell suggested mildly.

"You know it's never going to be safe" Blair said with asperity. "If I have Stark and Cam looking out for me, I'll be fine."

"How about if I ask Cam's opinion as to the timing?"

Blair's eyes flashed with temper, and then she laughed. "Jeez, Dad, I can see you're going to need a crash course in the dynamics of lesbian couples. That's kind of like asking the husband if it's okay for the wife to do something."

"Ouch." Powell laughed, coloring slightly. "Okay, I've got that in focus now. So, is it all right if I ask your new security chief and your ex-chief about the situation, just so I feel better?"

"Much better. And you're going to anyhow, with or without my okay, aren't you?"

"You've been around this game too long, I can see." Powell suddenly looked serious. "Yes, I'll want to be briefed on the potential risk to you before you leave here."

"Will you tell me what they say?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll try to follow their recommendations."

"Thank you." He hesitated, then added, "I wouldn't say this to anyone else except Lucy, but we're playing catch-up here, Blair, all of us. The Department of Defense, the CIA, the FBI—all of us were caught flat-footed on Tuesday. It's going to be a scramble for months until we get a system in place to anticipate and counter another event of this kind. I'm worried about you."

Blair reached across the table and took her father's hand. "And I'm worried about you. I've always been worried about you. But that's the life we have, and we have to trust the people whose job it is to take care of us, right?"