Oath of Honor

“On the surface—no. There’s a six-year age difference, which

means they weren’t in college at the same time.”

“Hometowns?”

“According to records, not the same.”

“What do you mean, according to the records? You don’t believe

the records?”

“Here’s the thing that made me look harder at the two of them—

they were both homeschooled before college.”

Lucinda paced around her desk. “Not so unusual in Idaho.”

“No—but another point of intersection and another point of

commonality. So I looked a little bit deeper—parents, siblings, other

possible connectors. And I didn’t find anything.”

“You’re right, that’s not much,” Lucinda said, disappointment

sitting like a hard weight on her chest.

“No, what I mean is, I didn’t find anything. Their families are off

the grid.”

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“No record of their parents or sibs?”

“None. For homeschooled kids to go to college, they have to show

GED or equivalent scores, SAT scores, and a personal affidavit.” Cam

slid her hands into her pockets, rocked on her heels. “That’s the starting

point for colleges, the beginning of a paper trail. But there’s no road

leading back to any place I can find.”

“Are you postulating we’re dealing with a domestic sleeper cell?

Americans raised to carry out some long-range act of terrorism?”

Cam sighed. “I think so—yes.”

“It’s pretty coincidental, but I agree, there might be something

there.” Lucinda shook her head. “What do you advise?”

“We need to put someone on her. We need to know more about

her, and we may not have a lot of time.”

“Put agents on her.”

“That’s my plan.”

“One of Blair’s?”

“I was thinking we could pair one from PPD and one from Blair’s

detail. An insider who won’t be obvious to the lieutenant, and one she

doesn’t know.” Cam grinned, a chilling, predatory grin. “One might be

a distraction and she’ll miss the other.”

“Fine, do that.”

Cam regarded Lucinda steadily. “I wouldn’t ordinarily suggest

this, but I don’t know what kind of timetable we’re working with

here. If there is any potential for a bioterrorist attack using the missing

specimen, it’s likely to be soon. We need as many eyes on this as we

can get.”

“What else?” Lucinda asked.

“Captain Masters seems to think Jennifer Pattee expressed more

than a professional interest in her. Masters might be the best person to

give us early warning.”

“She’s not a trained agent.”

“No, but she’s a navy captain. She’s smart, she’s steady. We use

what we have.”

“Individuals like this—extremists, fanatics—their goal is to make

a point, no matter the cost. If we thwart their operation, they may opt to

make an even bigger statement.”

“I know. And that’s a risk—and if what I suspect about Pattee

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RADCLYfFE

is right, and she realizes we suspect her, she could become volatile,

unstable. That’s a recipe for disaster, but I think we have to take the

chance.”

Lucinda nodded. “It has to be voluntary. The captain has to

agree—I won’t order her to do this.”

“Do you think you’d have to?”

“No, I don’t think we need to order her. Will you see to it?”

Cam nodded sharply. “I’ll do that. Thank you.”

“And, Cam, I know this will be difficult, but don’t bring Blair in

on this right now. We need to keep her at a safe distance.”

Cam’s jaw tightened. “She might not forgive us for that.”

“Let me worry about that.”

“She’s mine to worry about.” Cam walked to the door. “And mine

to protect. Good night.”

“Good night, Cam.” Once the door closed, Lucinda sagged behind

her desk and pressed her fingertips to her eyes. She picked up her phone

and made a call. “I’m sorry, were you sleeping? I need to see you. No,

I’ll come there.”

Lucinda turned out the lights and stepped outside through the

French doors and started for the residence. She thought of all those

who would sacrifice everything to serve and protect, and of how many

times she had asked for that sacrifice. More times than she could count,

and probably many more to come.

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chapter twenty-eight

At 0430, Evyn got the text from Cameron Roberts telling her

she needed to be at a briefing at 0600. She’d been asleep an

hour. When she got home from Wes’s, she was still wired, her body

still humming. She’d come out of her mind with Wes barely touching

her, but the orgasm was already a distant memory and her body craved

more. More of Wes. Adrenaline, that’s all it was. When she got amped

up during a tense training exercise or something heated up out in the

field, she always got a sexual buzz. That’s all it was. Adrenaline.

Whatever she called it, the burn in her blood was enough to keep

her up channel surfing, with Ricochet sitting nearby, watching her

warily. He didn’t seem to trust her mood, because he wasn’t in her lap

or draped around her shoulders, where he usually perched while she

chilled out. He was probably smart not to get too close because she

wasn’t chilling out. She was too uncomfortable in her skin to unwind.