Cody Walker's Woman (21 page)

“Walker. Jones. Good to see both of you...alive,” D’Arcy said. He was sitting at his desk, and he waved them over. “I just finished reading the explosives team’s report on your truck,” he told Cody. “Nothing new there beyond what you told me on the phone last night. But there’s been another development.” There was a grim set to his mouth as he handed copies of another report to both of them.

Keira skimmed through her copy. “Oh, my God,” she said. She glanced over at Cody, who had read his copy just as quickly, and was looking at her with a disturbed expression on his face.

They both turned to face D’Arcy when he said, “The FBI has already sent an official inquiry through channels requesting whatever information we have on this.”

“But we don’t have any, sir,” Keira said faintly.

“No, not directly, but you can’t tell me there isn’t a connection between this and Walker’s truck last night.” He looked from Keira to Cody. “In case you don’t remember, Brockway and DeSantini were—”

“The lead prosecutors on Pennington’s trial eight years ago,” Cody finished for him. “Yes, sir, I remember.” His face hardened, as did his voice. “Callahan’s in danger. Maybe his family, too.”

“I’ve already dispatched a team to bring him in, along with McKinnon. And another to bring Callahan’s family to Denver. The safe house in Casper is well enough under normal circumstances, but not for this.”

“Callahan won’t trust the team you’ve sent unless I warn him in advance,” Cody said. “You know how careful he is.”

“Then call him,” D’Arcy said. “Now.” He glanced at his watch. “I sent the team by helicopter. They should be there soon.”

Keira watched as Cody drew the cell phone from his pocket and walked to a corner of the room, punching in a number. She looked back at D’Arcy. “What are you going to tell the FBI, sir?” she asked.

“As little as I can,” he said. “I have to tell them about what was found in Walker’s truck—the circumstances are too similar to what happened to Brockway and DeSantini. And there could be an evidentiary tie-in. But I’m not giving them the file you compiled,” he said, pointing to the thick file folder in the center of his desk.

“Sir?”

“Two reasons,” D’Arcy explained. “First, I don’t want them to know this agency has access to their computers. Second, if the SAC of the FBI’s New York Field Office Criminal Division was a member of the militia or on the Russian mob’s payroll before he resigned five years ago, there’s no telling who else in the FBI might be involved. I’m not going to risk it. I’ve already got one agent on the militia’s hit list. I’m not adding your name to it.”

Startled, she said, “I didn’t think of that.”

Cody walked back at that moment, his face grim. “Callahan’s halfway to Casper. McKinnon’s with him. McKinnon called my secure cell—it must have gone to voice mail,” he said, glancing at the phone for confirmation before continuing. “They found explosives rigged in Callahan’s official sheriff’s SUV early this morning, parked right outside his house. They didn’t wait to collect the evidence—you can notify the FBI to do that, sir. Callahan was determined to get to his family as soon as he could.”

“Damn.” The word was softly spoken, and D’Arcy picked up the phone and punched a number. “Get someone to radio the chopper on its way to Black Rock,” he said with cold urgency. “Tell them to divert to our safe house in Casper. Callahan and McKinnon are on their way there.” He listened for a minute. “That’s right. And tell that chopper team Callahan will be expecting them.” He raised his eyebrows inquiringly at Cody, who nodded. “Okay, thanks.”

“Four attempts,” Cody said. “Two dead.”

D’Arcy nodded. “They’re batting .500.”

“No sir,” Keira said swiftly. “They’re batting .333. As far as we know, at least.” When both men looked at her, she reminded them, “There were six names on the list, not four. That’s what Callahan reported Tressler told him.”

“That’s right,” Cody said, snapping his fingers. “Brockway, DeSantini, Callahan and me—that’s four. Who are the other two? They’ve got to be connected to Pennington in some way.”

D’Arcy said, “Those four are easy. Brockway and DeSantini—they put Pennington in jail the first time. Callahan testified against Pennington. He also killed him, with your help,” he told Cody.

“It can’t be Walsh and Brooks,” Cody said. “They’re already dead—no reason for their names to be on a hit list now.”

Something was nudging Keira’s brain, but she couldn’t think what it could be. Something told her she knew whose names should be on that list—she just couldn’t put her finger on it.

Cody was still speaking. “The other two names depend on whose list it is. Since Tressler was in the New World Militia, we’ve assumed the list was related to that, but it doesn’t seem to fit somehow. Callahan—yes. And me. We were both undercover in the militia, and we betrayed the organization. So I see the connection there.”

He paused, as if marshaling his thoughts in order. “But Brockway and DeSantini—that’s more related to David Pennington personally, not to the militia per se. Especially after all this time. If their names were on the list—a reasonable assumption since they were killed in the same way the attempt was made on me—then the list has to be Michael Vishenko’s. Pennington’s son.”

“That’s it,” Keira whispered as everything coalesced in her brain. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

Cody glanced at her. “What?”

“You’re right—it’s Vishenko’s list,” she confirmed. “And the other two names on the list have to be Trace’s name...and yours, sir.” She looked D’Arcy straight in the eye.

D’Arcy looked at her sharply. “Why do you say that?”

“Trace told me that after Cody and Callahan killed Pennington, the two of you had to collect all the witness statements and physical evidence relating to his death, and get it ruled a justifiable homicide.”

She looked from D’Arcy to Cody. “Don’t you see? It’s the only logical conclusion. If Vishenko wants revenge for his father, it’s not just the men who put his father in jail, and it’s not just his father’s killers he wants dead. It’s also the men who helped his father’s killers—Callahan and you—get away with...murder.”

Cody’s brows drew together in a frown, and he opened his mouth as if to deny the allegation, but she spoke before he could. “I know it wasn’t murder,” she said. “But you have to look at it from Vishenko’s perspective. In his eyes it was murder, and the men who helped you get off the hook for it are just as responsible.”

She looked at D’Arcy again. “Walker told me Pennington was obsessed with seeing Callahan in hell. I can’t think of anything more hellish than an agonizing death by fire, and if I were Vishenko looking for revenge...” She took a deep breath. “I think you have to accept that someone will be coming after you, too, sir, the exact same way...if they haven’t already. You and Trace.”

D’Arcy picked up his phone and dialed a number. “I need an explosives team at my house now.” He gave the address. “I suspect something was done to my car similar to what was done to Special Agent Walker’s truck last night, so be extremely careful.” He gave the make and model, and a license plate number. “It’s parked in the driveway. Let me know what you find.”

He put the phone down. He was breathing a little faster than normal, and there was an expression on his face Keira had never seen there. “My car was low on gas when I got home last night,” he explained, “but it was late and I figured I’d fill up on the way to work. Then I got your call last night. My wife is visiting her sister in South Carolina. I knew her car had a full tank, so I drove her car this morning.”

Keira caught her breath. Her first thought was for her partner, and she turned concerned eyes on Cody. But before she said what she was thinking she realized her mistake and she relaxed a little.

“Trace hasn’t been home for two weeks,” she said, “because you assigned him to bird-dog Callahan. His car has been in the secure parking lot here at work all this time, ever since the three of us went to Wyoming. If not for that, I’d bet anything you want to stake you’d find his car rigged to explode, just like your truck.”

“No bet,” Cody said. And there was something in his eyes that told her she’d earned his respect...again.

Chapter 16

“I
’m putting you under twenty-four hour guard,” D’Arcy told Walker. “You don’t step outside the agency without security. Understand?”

“Yes, sir. What about—”

D’Arcy cut him off. “I’ll do the same for McKinnon once he gets back. Callahan and his family, too—that goes without saying.”

Cody’s gaze traveled to Keira, then back to D’Arcy. “What about Keira?” he asked.

Keira said quickly, “My name isn’t on the list.”

“Neither is Callahan’s family,” Cody answered. His jaw tightened, but he held D’Arcy’s gaze. “If they followed me to her condo, if they knew they had time to rig the explosives...” He didn’t say anything more, but he knew from D’Arcy’s eyes he was getting the message.

“Separate? Or together?”

Keira gasped, and Cody knew she was aware what D’Arcy was asking. Did he need to post separate sets of bodyguards on Cody and Keira, or would one set suffice for both?

Cody didn’t look at Keira before answering. “Together.”

Keira made a faint sound of protest, but Cody didn’t care. She’d told him last night and again this morning she wasn’t ashamed of loving him, and he wasn’t going to lie to D’Arcy—he needed to be with her. Not just because he wanted her, but because he wanted to be there to protect her if anything happened.

The rational part of his brain told him that agency bodyguards could protect her, probably better than he could. They were as highly trained as the Secret Service that guarded the president. But one president in recent memory had been killed and another seriously wounded despite the Secret Service’s best efforts. So, placing agency bodyguards around Keira was no guarantee, and that wasn’t good enough. He needed to be there, too.

D’Arcy looked from Cody’s set expression to Keira’s distressed one, and nodded. “Okay, that’s how the orders will read.” He changed the subject. “When Callahan and McKinnon get here, I want a sit-down with them and the two of you. We need to map out a plan.”

“Yes, sir,” Cody and Keira responded, almost at the same time.

As they were walking out of the office, D’Arcy stood up and said, “One more thing, Walker.”

Cody told Keira, “Wait for me,” and turned back.

Keira looked from Cody to D’Arcy, her brow wrinkling in a question, but D’Arcy smiled reassuringly at her and said, “This will just take a minute. Please, close the door on your way out.” He waited until the door had closed behind Keira, then asked Cody softly, “I hope I don’t have to worry about a sexual harassment claim.”

Cody had known the question—or something similar—was coming, but even though he was prepared for it, it still wasn’t easy to answer. He looked D’Arcy straight in the eye and said, “No, sir. You don’t have to worry about that. You can ask her yourself if you want. She’ll tell you the same thing.” Then he waited.

D’Arcy glanced down at his desk for a moment, then back at Cody, and Cody could see he was torn. “I don’t want to take either of you off this case,” he said finally. “But if I have to, I will.”

Cody knew the decision was hanging in the balance. The only thing in his mind was that it would destroy Keira if D’Arcy removed her. She’d put her heart and soul into this case, and had uncovered things no one else had uncovered. She had earned her spot on the team, and then some. “I hope it won’t come to that, sir. But if you remove anyone,” he said, “remove me, not Keira. I’m replaceable. She isn’t.”

D’Arcy made a face of frustration. “I should probably replace you, anyway, since you’re a target.” He held up one hand as Cody started to protest. “But I’m a target, too—Special Agent
Jones
convinced me of that,” he added, using her last name deliberately. “And I’m not about to recuse myself. Especially if they find something in my car.”

After a long minute he sighed, then bent a hard gaze at Cody. “I’m just going to have to trust you to do the right thing, Walker. Trust you to tell me if you can’t be objective. And I’m not just talking about the New World Militia and the Russian Brotherhood.”

Keira’s name hung unspoken between them.

“You have my word on that, sir.” Cody shifted his stance slightly. “There’s one other thing. Keira was upset I told you about us last night. She said, ‘I had to tell him about you rescuing me. What will he think of me now?’” His voice roughened. “She’s the most conscientious agent I know. I would hate to think this would affect her career.”

D’Arcy didn’t say anything at first. Then he smiled slightly. “It’s almost funny,” he said. “When she told me you rescued her, she was determined to defend your career with the agency, no matter what happened to hers. And now you’re defending hers the same way.” He nodded. “You’ve made your point. I’ll keep it in mind.”

Cody took that for a dismissal, turned and walked out. Keira was waiting for him in the outer office, along with Sabbatino and Moran. He knew from her face that she had questions—not to mention a protest he could see she was dying to lodge. But she wouldn’t say anything, not in front of Sabbatino and Moran. He knew her well enough to know that.

“I don’t know about you,” he told her, ‘but I’m starved.” He included Sabbatino and Moran in his invitation. “Let’s grab some breakfast in the cafeteria before we do anything else.”

* * *

Michael Vishenko listened dispassionately to the voice on the phone speaking in code phrases. “One and two—failure. Three and four—success. Five and six—no data yet.”

“Thank you,” he said, then hung up. Even though the house was swept daily for listening devices, even though the men reporting to him were supposed to use disposable cell phones as he did, the lessons learned by the New World Militia years ago, along with his uncle’s training, stayed with him. The FBI could easily have him under surveillance, electronic and otherwise. Vishenko wasn’t risking anything being said that could incriminate him.

Three and four—success. He already knew about DeSantini and Brockway. The internet was a wonderful tool for getting news about anything, anywhere, anytime. He’d found the short articles on the explosions in New York and New Jersey, and the deaths of the two men, a half hour apart, late last night. He hadn’t even tried to repress the sense of exultation that had swept through him as he read the articles.