Oath of Honor - Radclyffe

Agents rose and started to leave the room, the midnight shift

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heading home and the rest to their posts. Evyn grabbed her black trench

coat and coffee.

“Evyn,” Tom Turner said. “Hang on a minute, will you.”

“Sure.” Evyn dropped her coat onto a chair and tossed the empty

paper cup into a nearby wastebasket. Gary hesitated, glanced at Tom,

and followed the rest out, muttering, “Catch you later,” as he left.

When the room was empty, Tom closed the door and gestured for

her to sit.

Her antennae went up. She couldn’t think of anything she’d done

that could be problematic. She wasn’t the most senior member of PPD,

but over the last year she’d sort of become Tom’s unofficial sounding

board. She’d sat in the right front seat of the follow-up car a time

or two, and had taken the lead when POTUS traveled. That level of

responsibility told her she was doing okay, or at least she thought she

had been. She waited for Tom to start, banishing a mild case of nerves,

a wholly atypical reaction for her.

“Are you set to bring Masters up to speed?” Tom sat across from

her and leaned back in his chair.

“She’s still clearing security but should be done sometime today.

I’ll meet with her later and set up a schedule.” Evyn’s pulse jittered at

the mention of Wes’s name, also unusual. She rarely showed a bump in

her blood pressure or her pulse, even during simulated actions. She’d

been preparing for this job since she was a kid, and she’d taught herself

not to react when something hurt, or scared her, or excited her. She kept

her cool. She wanted to be ice in an emergency. She usually was. But

just a reference to Wes Masters had her composure melting around the

edges. That couldn’t be good. She needed to clamp a lid on that.

“I had a call from Averill Jensen before the briefing this morning,”

Tom said.

Evyn tensed at the mention of the president’s security adviser.

The USSS answered only to the Director of Homeland Security—on

paper—but Jensen had sweeping authority in security matters. “About

We—Captain Masters?”

“Indirectly.”

Evyn couldn’t believe there was an issue with Wes Masters. She’d

only just met Wes, but she’d spent time with her, more personal time

than she’d spent with anyone in years, except the agents who’d just left

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this room. And they hadn’t just talked about business. They’d talked

about life. Wes was solid. She was dedicated and focused, all the way

through. Evyn clamped her molars together and kept her mouth shut.

She needed to listen, and to do her job. Right now, the best thing she

could do for Wes Masters was find out what the hell was going on.

“They went outside to bring her in,” Tom said, “and on the face of

it, that’s not that unusual. What’s unusual is that with O’Shaughnessy’s

sudden death, they didn’t move someone up from inside as interim

director while they put the nominees through the selection process.”

“I know.” Just a few hours with Wes had blunted some of Evyn’s

anger that Peter had been passed over, but she still didn’t think it was

right. Wes wasn’t at fault for that, at least not as far as she knew. “Did

somebody pull strings to get her appointed? Pressure someone? Is that

it?” “No.” Tom’s smooth brow wrinkled, which for him was akin to

shouting. He was the epitome of control. He just didn’t get rattled,

especially if he was angry or frustrated. Something serious was going

on if Tom was unsettled. “Masters was brought in because she’s a

qualified outsider. There seems to be some concern that we have a leak

inside.”

“A leak?” Evyn took a second to let that sink in. “You mean

someone in the House is passing information?”

“Communications analysts have been pulling snippets from

surveillance tapes—routine Internet sweeps—that suggest potentially

hostile groups might know plans we haven’t made public.”

“Jesus,” Evyn said. “And they think it’s in the medical unit?”

“They don’t know—could be anywhere—the medical unit, the

West Wing, our group—”

“Us? Oh, come on, that’s just not possible. At the very least,

someone is talking who shouldn’t be because they’re damn idiots—

which excludes all of us. Worst-case scenario, someone is working with

domestic or foreign hostiles. And that sure as hell isn’t one of us.”

Tom stared at her. “You believe it and I believe it, but that doesn’t

mean everyone else does. Let’s not forget Robert Hanssen. He went

undetected for decades.”

“We’re not the FBI,” Evyn said dismissively. You believe it and I

believe it… “Wait a minute. You’re not saying that Wes—Dr. Masters

is looking at us?” Was that what prompted the dinner invitation and the

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prolonged after-dinner conversation? She remembered every word that

had passed between them, and she couldn’t remember Wes bringing

up anything probative. All the same, the invitation had come out of

nowhere. Her heart plummeted. “Hell.”

“I doubt that—not her job description. All the same, we can’t really

be sure what we haven’t been told.” He grimaced, clearly not happy.

“Given the threat level, Masters has to be aware of the situation.”

“Well, we better be sure she’s ready to carry the ball,” Evyn said.

“That’s your job. In the meantime, we need to button down

everything on our end. I want you to watch communications carefully.

Make sure our analysts are looking for anything, no matter how small,

that gets picked up from sources under surveillance.”

She nodded sharply. “You got it.”

“She’s due for a polygraph. Pick her up and take her over. Sit in

on it.”“I’m not certified—”

“I know—Preston will run it. You can play backup.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And for now, all of this is just between us.”

“Yes, sir,” Evyn said softly. She didn’t want to believe that anyone

inside the White House could be compromising the president by

inadvertently mishandling information. But to do it willfully? To her,

there was no greater sin. Wes couldn’t think her capable of that, could

she?

v

Wes left Lucinda’s office and walked out into the waiting area.

Evyn Daniels stood with a stone-faced man in a dark suit who regarded

her with unsmiling eyes. Wes looked at Evyn. “Good morning, Agent

Daniels.”

“Captain,” Evyn said politely, nothing but professional friendliness

in her eyes. “This is Agent Preston.”

Wes quickly squelched a wave of disappointment at the formal

tone. Business as usual. Last night was a thing of the past, and after

what Lucinda had just told her, business as usual was all there could be

for her with anyone on the job. She wasn’t here to make friends. She

nodded to Preston. “You’ll be doing the testing?”

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“That’s right,” Preston said. “If you come this way, we’ll tell you

about it once we get settled.”

Wes followed them down the hall and into a small room with

several windows that looked out over another expanse of lawn studded

with rose bushes. The room was crowded with a conference table, eight

chairs, and a row of bookshelves underneath the window. A file cabinet

stood in one corner and a polygraph machine rested in the center of

the table. She sat down across from it. Evyn and Preston sat facing the

machine.

“The way this works,” Preston said, “is that the test is given in two

parts—part one will cover some basic informational questions. Then

we’ll move on to part two with more focused questions. Have you ever

had a polygraph?”

“No.”

“Is there anything you want us to know now before we start the

test?”“I assume you’re referring to anything which I feel would

disqualify me for this position?”

Preston answered before Evyn. “We find it’s best not to try

to outthink or rationalize whether or not there is a right or wrong

answer.”

Evyn added, “Just answer each question to the best of your ability.

If there’s something in the past you think may hamper or confuse your

answers, you should tell us. That will actually help us interpret the test

to your benefit.”

“There isn’t.” Wes hadn’t expected to see Evyn until later, and

this wasn’t the way she had hoped their next encounter would come

about, but Evyn was here to do her job and so was she. In a way, she

was relieved. There could be no ambiguity about what was happening

between them. Nothing. Only business.

“All right,” Preston said. “We’re going to go through some basic

questions first.”

Wes knew the basics of the polygraph. She understood that

some questions were designed to elicit a yes-or-no answer, and those

responses formed the baseline comparators for other answers. She also

knew it was best not to try to figure out which questions were the critical

comparators. “I’m ready.”

Preston made some notes while Evyn connected the galvanic

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skin recorder to Wes’s right arm. Wes was aware of sweating slightly.

Unusual for her. Even under the tensest conditions, she rarely perspired.

She wasn’t concerned about the test, but she couldn’t shake the lingering

connection she felt to Evyn Daniels, and the disorienting effect of her

presence.

“All right, Dr. Masters,” Preston said, making a mark on a

scrolling roll of paper. “We’re going to begin. Is your name Captain

Wesley Masters?”

“Yes.”

Preston alternated asking her routine questions—her term of

service, her duty stations, her field experience—interspersed with

pointed questions.

“Have you ever been arrested?”

“No.”

“Have you ever used illegal drugs, recreationally or in conjunction

with an assignment?”

“No.”

“Have you ever met with foreign nationals hostile to the U.S.?”

“No.”

“Have you ever met with known terrorists?”

“No.”

“The Ku Klux Klan, the American Nazi Party, the American

Christian Army?”

“No. No. No.”

She answered no so many times she began to feel as if she was

revealing she had no life outside her job. But then, she didn’t.

Finally, Preston turned off the machine and Evyn sat back. She

gave Wes the slightest smile, and for some reason, Wes’s uneasiness

disappeared.

“We’ll let you know the results as soon as they’ve been analyzed,”

Preston said.

Wes rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck. “Good, thank

you. I wonder if you could tell me how to get to the medical offices

from here.”

“I’ll take you,” Evyn said.

“And someplace to eat?”

Evyn glanced at her watch. “It’s almost sixteen hundred. I’ll show

you a good place to get a late lunch.”

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“I don’t have much time,” Wes said, not wanting a repeat of the

intimacy of the night before. She needed a buffer between them if the

disappointment she’d experienced earlier was any indication of how

strongly Evyn affected her.

“I’m sure your team can wait another forty-five minutes. POTUS

isn’t scheduled to leave the House today. Whatever activity there is in

the clinic is already being handled by your staff. Lunch first. Then I’ll

take you over to meet your staff.”

“Thank you,” Wes said, realizing when she had been given an

order in the form of a suggestion. She’d have to get used to that, since

Evyn was in charge. And since part of Lucinda Washburn’s unspoken

message had been to assess those on the list, she’d best get on with her

job. “Lunch it is.”

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chapter nine

Cam leaned against the doorway to Blair’s studio in the house

they’d purchased not far from Tanner and Adrienne’s on

Whitley Point. In the middle of winter this far north, sunset came

early, and the late-day sun slanted low on the horizon. Diffuse golden

light cast a halo around Blair’s face as she concentrated on the canvas

propped up on the easel in front of her. Her paint-spattered jeans rode

low on her hips, and her faded black T-shirt with a silk-screened Andy

Warhol slid up and down over the hollow of her spine as she captured

the colors of the sea in gray, and green, and blue. A strip of skin two

inches wide just above the waistband of her Luckys winked into

view and disappeared to the rhythm of her brushstrokes in a hypnotic

cadence that captured Cam’s attention and made her throat go dry.

She knew that spot—the sweet softness of the skin, the delicate ripple

of bone beneath supple muscle, the breathy moans when her fingers

dipped and stroked. She’d rested her hand in just that spot while they’d

danced at their wedding.

She smiled. They hadn’t really celebrated privately yet. By the

time they’d said good-bye to the last of their guests, thanked Tanner

and Adrienne for opening their home and putting up with the weeks of

heightened security, and made it back to their place down island, they’d

fallen into bed exhausted. After sleeping far later than usual, they’d

both needed to unwind. Blair wanted to paint. Cam needed to move.

Now she wanted nothing more than to be right where she was, looking

at her wife.

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“Have a good run?” Blair asked, touching a dab of purple to the

swell of a wave.

“The beach is a bitch. I’d forgotten how much harder it is to run