Radclyffe - Oath of Honor
tomorrow, but she’d been told to liaise with her new unit today. Several
teleconferenced interviews and a lot of rushed paperwork later, here
she was.
Short of any more surprises, she’d be moving her hastily packed
• 14 •
Oath Of hOnOr
belongings to a government-provided apartment within walking
distance of the White House as soon as she could arrange movers. Until
then, she’d be in a hotel. She was used to moving at short notice, but
she usually knew what she faced.
1155. In five minutes, she’d find out.
She slowed her rental car as a red pickup truck pulling a battered
fishing boat on a rickety trailer edged onto the narrow two-lane in front
of her. She could just make out a hard-packed-dirt boat ramp half-hidden
in a narrow strip of pines separating the winding coast road from the
pristine shore on the ocean side of the island. The pickup headed in the
opposite direction, probably bound for the huge marina she’d passed
a half mile back. The marina boatslips, marine offices, and waterside
cabins that ringed a narrow-necked inlet were the only commercial
development she’d seen since leaving the mainland.
Mentally she ran down the stats she’d received by e-mail that
morning. Whitley Island was privately owned and home to one of the
largest private military contractors in the nation. Tanner Whitley had
inherited Whitley Industries on the death of her father over a decade
before, and she’d expanded into government security as American
geopolitics exploded globally. Personal info on Whitley was scant.
She lived with a female naval officer, and from what Wes had seen
of the island, industrialization had not followed Tanner Whitley home.
The few visible private residences were separated by large tracts of
untouched evergreen forests and set well back from the undulating
shoreline along the Atlantic. The place was wild and beautiful, even
snow-covered and frozen under the December winter.
As she’d been driving, the already scant signs of habitation
gradually disappeared. When she reached the northern end of the island,
the narrow road ended in a cul-de-sac bordering a wooded property.
The drive leading up to a pair of closed ten-foot-high wrought-iron
gates set into a natural stone wall was congested with signs of high-
level security. Unmarked black SUVs with smoked windows lined the
turnaround. A man and a woman, both in dark suits, monochromatic
shirts, and dark glasses, stood side by side in front of the gates.
Squiggly radio feeds running from behind their left ears and
steely expressions pegged them as security. The discreet lapel pins,
conservative suits, and all-American good looks said federal agents.
These weren’t rent-a-cops or gun-for-hire mercenaries. The man was
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RADCLY fFE
six foot four and on the lean side. Wes would have pegged him for
a runner, except the broad shoulders and solid thighs that stretched
his not-off-the-rack suit said serious weight training. The woman was
maybe five-six or seven and looked toned and fit, but next to him, she
looked downright delicate. Wes doubted she was. Her tailored jacket
and pants, crisp white opened-collared shirt, and low-heeled black
boots screamed style while being completely functional. Definitely
professionals. Considering the event—Secret Service.
Neither of them moved as Wes parked behind a long line of
empty vehicles, exited, and walked toward them, but she knew they
were following her every step. She couldn’t see their eyes behind the
unnecessary shades. The sky was blanketed in a thick cover of gray
clouds, and she doubted either of them had any trouble seeing in the
flat midday light. Being able to observe without being observed was a
power play. It probably worked on civilians.
“I’m Captain Wesley Masters,” she said when she stopped a few
feet away from them, stating the obvious, as the insignia on her dress
blues, visible under her open topcoat, clearly indicated her rank. “I’m
here to liaise with the Medical Unit.”
“We know all the members of the WHMU,” the woman said in
a surprisingly full, smooth alto. No intonation. Not aggressive, not
challenging, not interested. Just the facts, thank you, ma’am. “You’re
not on it.”
Up close, Wes could see that what she had taken for glossy dark
hair was actually a deep burgundy—as if the midnight sky was flaming.
Barely tamed curls fell to below the crisp white collar and fanned
artfully around what appeared to be a sharply drawn but distinctive
face. She’d put the eyes at blue on a guess, but the opaque shades made
it impossible to tell. The agent had a body under those clothes, despite
the suit being cut, intentionally Wes would bet, to blunt her figure. The
tailored lines couldn’t hide the curves of her breasts and thighs—she
was fit and flinty and quite attractively female. The guy with her still
hadn’t said anything. The redhead was in charge.
“Your intel is out-of-date, then,” Wes said, and the agent stiffened
perceptibly. “You might want to check with your boss.” She turned her
wrist slightly. 1159. One minute. “If you could do that promptly, I’d
appreciate it.”
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Oath Of hOnOr
One perfectly sculpted brow arched above the flat rim of the dark
shades. “ID, please.”
Wes slid her hand into the pocket of her topcoat and handed over
her military ID card. She smiled. “Here you are.”
The male agent’s lips lifted in a faint smile. The woman’s face
remained blank. Beautiful and remote. Wes waited while the agent
spoke softly into her wrist mic. A few seconds later, the agent held out
her ID.
“You’re cleared to enter, Captain.”
The man turned to open the gate. Wes slid her ID back into her
pocket. “Thank you, Agent…”
“Daniels, ma’am,” Agent Daniels said formally. “An agent will
meet you just inside the gate to escort you.”
“Thank you,” Wes said. “I’m sure I can find—”
“It’s protocol. Captain.”
“Understood.” Wes stepped through the gates and they swung
closed behind her. She had a lot to learn, and she was out of her element
on every level. Hopefully the WHMU personnel would be a little more
welcoming than Agent Daniels.
v
“She the one?” Gary Brown asked as the gates swung closed
behind the naval officer.
“Looks like it.” Evyn scanned the approach road and the dense
underbrush growing right up to the shoulders. The advance team had
been on-site for four days and had locked down the north half of the
island. Fire roads and beach-access lanes that might provide curious
onlookers and those with more serious agendas a way to get close
to Whitley Manor had been barricaded and were being patrolled by
agents, on foot and ATV. A two-mile no-fly zone had been established
around the island. As protective details went, this one was fairly close to
ideal. One access road, no surrounding buildings with line of sight, and
the only other approach by sea. They had the Coast Guard patrolling
that. There was even an expansive lawn big enough and clear enough
to accommodate Marine One, so no motorcade route to secure. The
nearest hospital was a short helo ride away. All in all, today looked
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RADCLY fFE
routine, but that wasn’t a word in her vocabulary. Complacency bred
error. And she didn’t make mistakes.
“That was pretty fast,” Gary said. “Getting her on board.
O’Shaughnessy hasn’t even been dead two days.”
“It’s not like they could leave the spot open,” Evyn said darkly.
Except why the hell the powers that be had gone outside to bring
in a complete novice was beyond her. They already had a field-
tested, experienced battle surgeon who could have stepped into
O’Shaughnessy’s shoes without a ripple in routine. Instead, they
dropped an unknown into their lap. Hell, they hadn’t even been briefed
she was going to show up today.
“Is Pete pissed he got passed over?” Gary asked.
“You know Pete. He’s a team player. But that job should’ve been
his.” Evyn could be mad for Pete if he wasn’t going to be mad for
himself. After all, that’s what friends were for, and even though they’d
only worked together two years, they were tight. They shared a near-
maniacal need to win at everything, which had been obvious the first
time they’d played cards on an overnight flight to some now-forgotten
destination. She came by her competitiveness growing up in a family of
super-achievers, he by being the first American-born child in a family
of immigrants. Pete had to be disappointed he didn’t get the job, but he
didn’t let on. So she’d be disappointed and pissed off for him. “Who
knows what strings got pulled? It’s a political appointment—probably
someone somewhere knows someone who owed somebody a favor.”
“Happens all the time on the Beltway,” Gary said.
“Yeah, I know.” She rarely paid attention to politics—who had
time? And if this appointment hadn’t affected her so personally and her
job so intimately, she wouldn’t have cared.
“Younger than I thought she’d be,” Gary commented casually.
“Kind of…interesting.”
Evyn didn’t react to his not-so-subtle probing. Hell. She
couldn’t argue. The captain was younger—and way hotter—than
O’Shaughnessy. She still couldn’t take in that O’Shaughnessy was
dead. He’d only been in his early fifties and a good-looking fifty, still
fit and trim. Ran five miles every day. Didn’t smoke, hardly drank.
Who would have expected him to drop dead in the gym? She’d figured
his replacement would be closer to his age, not almost two decades
younger, like Captain Wesley Masters. The navy doctor was a lot
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Oath Of hOnOr
more than interesting too. She was five feet ten inches or so of sinewy
grace, capped off by golden brown hair shot through with sunlight
and wheat and cut a bit rough-and-tumble around her face and throat.
The effect was a little casual and a lot sexy. And her eyes, even on a
gray, overcast day, were heather green. Spring-kissed. Gorgeous. Evyn
grimaced. She’d rather have to dislike someone who wasn’t so damn
good looking, but she’d manage.
“You know,” Gary said, “it’s probably not her fault she got tapped
for the post.”
“Never said it was,” Evyn said sharply. Of course Gary would
pick up on the slightest sign of attraction—the guy was a sponge when
it came to reading people. Never missed anything. She had to stay
on her toes all the time or he’d be watching the X-rated fantasies she
occasionally played in her head to pass the time standing post.
“Just saying,” he went on, “since we have to work together and
all. Might be smart to play nice.”
“You don’t have to worry about that. I can work with her just fine.
As long as no one expects us all to be one big happy family.”
“Kind of works better when we are, considering…”
Evyn folded her arms across her chest and made another visual
sweep of the area. “Then they should have given Pete the job. After all,
he earned it.”
v
The Secret Service agent who escorted Wes to the building was
silent as they strode up the meandering flagstone walkway between
snow-filled sunken pools. The manor house rose suddenly from the
late-morning mist, a sweeping three-story stone edifice sitting high
above cascading dunes that fell away to the ocean’s edge. A white-
pillared wraparound veranda, which she imagined was the perfect place
for summer entertaining, was empty now except for security posted
at regular intervals along its perimeter. The muted rumble of voices
carried through the carved wooden front doors as the agent opened
them for her.
“Thank you,” Wes said, stepping inside.
A white-jacketed valet appeared instantly at her side. “May I take
your coat, Captain?”
• 19 •
RADCLY fFE
She shrugged out of it, said, “Yes, thank you,” and handed it
over.She continued down a wide hallway, following the murmur of
conversation into a great room with soaring ceilings and one entire
wall of glass that afforded a view of the island and ocean. The sliding
glass doors to the veranda were closed now, but in the summer the sea
breezes would fill the space. She glanced around, taking stock of the
guests. She was surprised to see—or rather, not see—many dignitaries
in attendance. Some of the quietly milling crowd was in uniform, but
many wore civilian clothes. She didn’t know much about the president’s
daughter, other than what most of the world knew—Blair Powell had
been by her father’s side on the campaign trail and, since his election,
often stood in for him at political events where an official presence
was required but the president himself was not needed. Blair was the
unofficial first lady of the nation, and the nation loved her.
She was also a lesbian, and today was her wedding day.
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Oath Of hOnOr
chapter twO
Blair stepped into the hall with her father just as Cam and Cam’s
mother came out of the room opposite. Cam looked even
more handsome than ever—which was saying a lot. Blair’s stomach
tightened as their eyes met. She’d seen Cam just the night before when
they’d had a late-night supper with Tanner and Adrienne at Whitley
Manor. She and Cam had slept apart the night before the wedding,
agreeing the tradition added to the specialness of the occasion. Twelve
hours or twelve days made no difference—every time they met after
