“It didn’t used to be, but…” Blair glanced out the window at the reporters straggling back to the news vans. “For the last few months it has been.”

“What about the man on the street? Are you bothered by people wanting to talk to you?”

“Not really. Unless they notice my entourage,” Blair grinned at Hara, “they don’t even recognize me.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

Blair’s eyebrows rose. There wasn’t anything flirtatious in Dana Barnett’s tone, although Blair had caught the barest flicker of interest from her a time or two. The reporter’s compliment seemed to be genuine. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Dana removed a small digital recorder from the pocket of her leather jacket and showed it to Blair. “Do you mind? I’ll only use it while I’m actually interviewing you.”

“Where do the cards go when you’re done with them?” Blair asked.

Dana had half expected Blair to refuse outright, and the question took her by surprise. Most of the people she interviewed were eager for exposure. “I keep them locked in a safe. No one ever hears them except me.”

Blair was silent for a moment. “It’s all right with me, but I have a feeling there’s a protocol for this sort of thing.” She glanced at Hara, who appeared relaxed but alert sitting next to Dana. “Do you know, Patrice?”

“No, ma’am, but I would suggest clearing it with the chief and the commander.”

“Why don’t we assume it’s all right for now.” Blair saw the small red light come on at the end of the device. “By the way, Dana, are you a lesbian?”

Dana laughed and looked at the tape recorder in her hand. “For the record? Yes.”

“Not that it matters, of course,” Blair added.

“Considering that your marriage won’t be legal, why are you doing it?” Dana asked.

“Because it should be legal, and because I don’t need anyone’s permission to promise my life to Cam.”

“How does your father feel about it?”

“You should probably ask him about that.”

“I’d love to,” Dana said, “but I’m not sure I could get past Ms. Washburn to ask him.”

“He’ll be coming to the wedding. You can ask him then.”

Dana sat up straight. “The president is coming?”

“That’s not official,” Blair said, “so you’ll need to wait until the White House officially announces it. Unless you want Lucinda on your tail.”

“Are you kidding?” Dana said. “As soon as that word goes out, the number of reporters in Colorado will triple. You’re damn right I’ll keep it quiet.”

The SUV pulled over to the curb and slowed to a stop. Hara shifted toward the door, again blocking the interior as someone on the outside opened it. Dana craned her neck to see around Hara and saw Stark guarding the door again. Then a drop-dead gorgeous blonde in a Fifth Avenue wardrobe climbed in and settled next to Blair Powell. She kissed Blair on the cheek, then set her gaze on Dana.

“Blair, honey, whatever have you picked up?”

“Diane, this is Dana Barnett, the reporter I told you about,” Blair said dryly.

“Hello, Dana,” Diane said, savoring the name as if it were a fine wine.

Dana felt a pleasant anticipatory rush. The blonde’s smoky voice was like liquid heat pouring over her. She leaned across the space between them with her hand outstretched. “I think I’m going to like shopping after all.”

“Oh, my dear, you have no idea,” Diane purred as she took Dana’s hand.

Blair shook her head. “Diane.”

“I’m just being sociable.” Diane leisurely crossed her legs. “I told you, I don’t intend to touch.”

Dana laughed. “Do I get a vote?”

“I’m afraid not,” Diane replied.

“This assignment gets more difficult all the time,” Dana said, and sat back to enjoy the ride.

“I’m sorry, Deputy Director, but I think we’ve got a problem.” The balding, barrel-chested man with the military bearing didn’t sound particularly apologetic, although he’d been nothing but distantly polite since Cam and Savard had arrived at the high-security federal detention center. They’d been shown into his office after minimal delay and he had appeared genuinely surprised when she gave him Early’s name. Now he withdrew a folder from a pile on his desk, opened it, and studied a list. Then, his expression grave, he said, “Martin Early is in the process of being transferred to another facility. I’m afraid you won’t be able to interview him here.”

“Where’s he going?” Cam asked calmly, although she already knew the answer.

The prison director shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. With some of these guys, we’re just providing holding services. Bed and board.”

Meaning, Cam thought, some other agency was in charge. Since the Patriot Act—designed to broaden the ability to investigate foreign terrorism—had been enacted the month before, the jurisdiction over and civil liberties of suspected domestic terrorists had become a bit cloudy. Could be coincidence that the detainee she wanted to interrogate was suddenly bound for destinations unknown, but she doubted it. And now was not the time to discover where in the tangled lines of intelligence the message had gotten out that she was interested. “I’d like to speak to whoever is in charge of his transfer.”

The prison director glanced at his watch. “I imagine they’re about ready to leave.”

Cam stood. “Please relay the message that they should wait. And have one of your people take us to them.”

“All right,” he said dubiously. “I’ll send the message, but these boys don’t necessarily listen.”

“I think they will this time,” Cam said pleasantly. Federal agents recognized chain of command even if they didn’t always play nice with other divisions. She motioned to Renee and they followed the guard who came in to escort them. He led them to the ground floor and through a myriad of hallways to the rear of the prison. Outside, a small parking lot was enclosed by twelve-foot-high concrete walls topped with razor wire, infrared cameras, and motion detectors. Two black SUVs and an unmarked black transport van idled in the lot. A young, clean-cut man in a well-fitting blue suit, white shirt, tie, and shiny black dress shoes stood outside the lead vehicle, his arms folded across his chest. He didn’t look happy. Cam walked over to him.

“I’m Deputy Director Cameron Roberts from the OHS,” she said, extending her credentials. She did not offer her hand. She tilted her head toward the windowless van. “Do you have Martin Early in there?”

“I’m not at liberty to disclose that, ma’am.”

“Can I see your ID, please.” Cam took his badge holder. It said Federal Bureau of Corrections, but she suspected he was DOD. “Agent Tomlinson, I need to interview Mr. Early on a matter of urgency. I’d like you to delay the transfer until I’m done.”

“I can’t do that, ma’am, without a direct order from my superiors. I’m sure you understand.”

He was stonewalling, as any good agent would. It might take hours to unravel the jurisdictional issues, and even that might not gain her access to the detainee. She was going to have to pull rank, and a parking lot was not the place to do it. “Where’s your destination?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m not at liberty to disclose that information.”

“I understand,” Cam said evenly. She could feel Renee tense beside her. Her number one was short on patience; they all were these days. But a brawl between agencies, especially with a midlevel agent like this, wasn’t going to get them anywhere. “We’ll be coming with you.” She turned to Renee. “Radio our driver and tell them to come around and pick us up.”

Agent Tomlinson’s eyebrows climbed above his expensive sunglasses. “I don’t have clearance for that, ma’am.”

Cam smiled. “That’s quite all right. I do.”

Chapter Ten

“Wait a minute,” Diane said to Blair and Dana as she dug in her purse. “I’ve got a call.”

The group slowed, and Dana noticed their three shadows take up position in front and behind them again. Over the last few hours, she’d almost gotten used to Hara, Wozinski, and Stark hovering just outside her direct field of vision. When she had first started walking down Fifth Avenue with Blair and Diane, she’d been acutely aware of being followed. Spending time in combat zones had made her highly vigilant and hypersensitive to anyone encroaching on her personal space, and when that someone was the size of Greg Wozinski, she was doubly uncomfortable. In fact, after twenty minutes of having him behind her—close behind her—she was irritable and jumpy. She had no idea how Blair Powell tolerated this kind of violation of her privacy twenty-four hours a day.

“Hi,” Diane said brightly when she answered the phone, “where are you? Really? You’re finally free…? No, stay there—we’re right around the corner. We’ll meet you and buy you a drink.” Diane dropped the phone back into her purse. “That was Emory. I told her we’d join her at her hotel.”

“Great,” Blair replied. “I think anything else we have to do, we can do by phone before we leave this weekend.”

Dana whispered a prayer of thanks. She’d actually had a pretty good time watching Blair and Diane shop. Just the same, the art of shopping was an acquired taste, and one she had yet to develop. When she had to attend a formal function, she went with basic black and white, figuring that would always work. Plus, black traveled well and tended not to show wrinkles even after hours, sometimes days, in a suitcase. She’d used the time between fittings and discussions to informally interview Blair Powell. A good reporter didn’t need to ask questions to learn about her subject. Mostly, she just had to listen. And watch. She’d discovered quite a bit in the last few hours, almost none of which would ever make it into her article.

Diane Bleeker, she soon ascertained, was a lot more than Blair’s close friend. Diane was a little bit in love with Blair Powell, and a whole lot protective, and the feelings seemed mutual in a completely appropriate manner. Both women were effortlessly affectionate with one another in a way that Dana had never experienced with any woman. She was envious and intrigued by their relationship and more than a little turned on. Maybe her arousal stemmed from the sheer force of being surrounded by such powerful pheromones. Or maybe she had just gone too long without the singular pleasure of losing herself in a woman. Whatever the cause, her nerves were pleasantly on edge.