"You sound as if things aren't quite as hard for you as they used to be. Is that true?"

She shrugged. "If you mean is it any easier for me to have Secret Service agents trailing around after me twenty-four hours a day, no." She laughed. "Even when one of them is my lover. But I'm happier because I have Cam. She makes everything easier for me."

"Then I'm happy for you." He squeezed her hand and let go. "In case I haven't mentioned it, I like her a lot. It's hard for a parent to imagine their child with an entire life that doesn't involve them. You and I have never had enough time together, and now you're building your own life. I'm glad it's with her."

"I don't think you've ever said anything like that to me before," Blair said thickly.

"I'm sorry that I haven't, because you've always been the most important person in my life."

Blair brushed impatiently at her tears. "Okay. Enough of this." She took a breath and smiled tremulously. "I'll talk to Cam later about me going home or somewhere. If she's totally opposed, then we'll figure something else out. But I'm not staying here much longer. This place is a museum. I don't how you stand it."

"I don't—" Powell stopped as the phone gave the distinctive ring that indicated an urgent call. He grimaced. "Sorry. I have to take that."

"No problem, Dad." Blair rose. "I'll see you later." She expected no answer and got none as her father turned his attention to the newest problem at hand. Still, for perhaps the first time in her life, she felt that her father truly understood what was important to her, and that was enough.

*

Cam left Diane and Valerie on the balcony and returned to the kitchen, where she sat at the round, glass-topped table in front of the windows with her second cup of coffee. She dialed the residence and ran down her mental to-do list while answering the White House operator's usual questions. A minute later she was put through to her lover. Blair answered immediately.

"Hello?"

"Hey, good morning."

"Mmm, it is now."

"Yeah." Cam smiled. "How was your night?"

"Long. And lonely. How was yours?"

"Same." Cam leaned back in the chair and stretched her legs out in front of her. She was stiff and sore and tired, but listening to Blair's voice eased some of the tension that had knotted the muscles along her spine into a taut ladder of pain. "Have you been up long?"

"A few hours. I had breakfast with my father—well, part of one, at least, before he was called away."

"Everything okay?"

Blair sighed. "Okay is relative, isn't it? Apparently there was some kind of scare in a government complex in New Jersey. I'm not sure what it was all about, but I heard that he had to meet with someone from the NIH right away."

Cam frowned. She didn't like being outside the intelligence loop, even for a few hours. Ordinarily, something like this would have been brought to her attention immediately as Blair's security chief. She made another mental note to call Stark and inquire about significant developments that came up at the morning briefing. "How are you ?"

"I want to see you. I want to be where you are." Blair made a small sound of disgust. "God, I sound pathetic. But I've made my obligatory media appearances with my father—we've shown the world we're not afraid, and they'll believe it when they see us in Manhattan this afternoon if they're not convinced yet. I've done my part, which hardly seems enough."

"You're doing everything you can, baby."

"Thanks for saying that." Blair hesitated. "Do you feel like I do when we're apart? Like nothing is quite right?"

"Every minute."

Blair laughed. "Even if you're lying, I don't care. I love you for saying it."

"I'm not lying," Cam said with utter seriousness.

"Did you sleep?"

"Some."

"I know you, Commander. That means probably not at all. You can't run yourself into the ground, Cam, or you won't be any good to your investigation or me."

"I know. I won't."

"Uh-huh. Right." Blair made a low murmuring sound in her throat. "But I know how to put you to sleep. We'll take care of that later."

Despite her fatigue, her worry,and her hyperadrenalized awareness, Cam felt herself respond. "Jesus, don't do that now. I have to work."

"What's the matter, did I just make you twitch?"

Absently, Cam brushed her palm over the inside of her thigh. "More than that."

"Oh, good."

Cam laughed and closed her eyes, allowing herself the simple pleasure of enjoying the company of the woman she loved for just a few minutes.

*

Savard bolted awake, bathed in sweat. She rapidly scanned the space around her as if it were a battlefield, searching for danger, until she placed the room— bedroom, Stark's...no, our place now.

With a jerk, she threw the damp sheet aside and stumbled into the bathroom, then directly into the shower. She twisted both knobs on full and barely flinched when the first blast of icy water struck her in the chest. Her skin tingled, and it felt good. She was alive. She was alive.

Five minutes later, wrapped in a towel, her hair still dripping, she sat on the side of the bed and dialed Stark's cell phone.

"Stark."

"Hi, sweetie. Are you busy?"

Stark had to forcibly hold back a surge of wild laughter. Oh hell, no. Not busy. She suddenly was responsible for guarding the first daughter in the midst of a national crisis, with a team of newbies and a reluctant protectee. Hell no, she wasn't busy. "I've got a couple minutes. We just briefed."

"How was it?"

Stark lowered her voice. "My legs aren't shaking anymore."

"You're going to be fine. You were a good agent before the commander came on board, and now you've spent almost a year watching her work. You know what to do. Just do it your own way, and you'll be fine."

"Thanks, honey. What about you? How are you doing?"

"Fine," Savard said quickly. "Is it still a green light for today?"

"Yes. This afternoon."

"Any chance we'll be able to get together later?"

"I don't know. I want to. It's going to depend on...well, you know."

Yes, Savard thought. From now on, my lover's life is going to be determined by Blair Powell's schedule. It's going to be even harder now for us to connect. Maybe it's just as well. Maybe I shouldn't see her until I don 't feel so...crazy.

Stark picked up on the silence. "I'm sorry. I want to see you so mu--"

"Hey. It's okay." Savard glanced at the clock by the bedside. "God, it's almost nine. I'm late. Listen, sweetie, I've got to run. Call me if you can."

"I will. I love you," Stark said hastily.

"Me too. Bye."

Savard pulled the towel off and wrapped it around her hair as she hurried to the closet. She was surprised someone hadn't already called her to find out why she hadn't shown up for her shift. As she pulled clothes from a hanger, her cell rang.

"Damn," she muttered as she grabbed it off the bedside table. "Savard."

"This is Roberts. Where are you?"

"Stark's."

"Good. I'll pick you up in fifteen minutes."

"Uh.. .what about my other assignment? Should I call—"

"Already taken care of."

"Yes, ma'am," Savard said briskly. "I'll be waiting downstairs."

"Very good. Goodbye."

"Yes, ma'am," Savard whispered. Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes to get herself together enough so that no one would notice she wasn't who she used to be.

*

It was the smell that plummeted Cam back in time—that unmistakable mixture of antiseptic and death that permeated the air in the hallway leading to the intensive care unit. Six months before it had been her lying in one of the glassed-in cubicles, tubes and monitors attached to her body, swimming in an ocean of pain. She had only fragments of recollection of the first three days following the shooting—her mother's voice, Blair's touch, and always the fucking pain. Suppressing a shudder, she shoved her hands into her pockets and shook off the memories. Despite what she insisted to Blair—that the chance of her ever being shot again was infinitesimal—it was always a possibility. And that was something you didn't think about if you wanted to do the job.

"Davis told me they're supposed to move him out of here today," Cam said to Savard as they pushed through the double gray steel doors with the red letters proclaiming Trauma Intensive Care Unit.

"Good. That's good," Savard said quietly.

Two minutes later, after clearing their visit with the nurses, they approached Mac's bedside. To Cam's great relief, he no longer had a breathing tube and was able to croak a hello. Her former second in command, Mac Phillips, was ordinarily a vigorous thirty-three-year-old—tall, blond, and handsome. Now he looked pale and vulnerable, and Cam felt the fury rise again.

"How are you doing, Mac?"

He smiled weakly. "Not bad, Commander."

Cam nodded at the statuesque African American woman with the model-perfect face standing on the opposite side of the bed. "Agent Davis."

"Commander," Felicia replied in her smooth alto voice. "Hello, Renee."

"Hi." Savard leaned over and kissed Mac lightly on the cheek. "Hello, honey."

"My day.. .is looking.. .up," Mac said, grinning.

"We heard they're moving you to a regular room later today. That's terrific," Cam said as she stepped over and closed the door. They were all completely visible to anyone in the rest of the intensive care unit, but their conversation would not be overheard. Turning to face Mac and Felicia again, she said, "The whole team—with the exception of Stark—has been placed on administrative leave until Justice completes the investigation of Tuesday's events."