Cody Walker's Woman

by Amelia Autin

  “So what’s up?” he asked.

  There was just the slightest hesitation on the other end. “Something we both thought was dead and buried is raising its ugly head again.”

  “What?” Cody sat up straight in his chair and gripped the phone a little tighter. He knew instantly what Callahan was referring to. “The New World Militia?”

  “Got it in one.”

  “Don’t B.S. me,” he said roughly, doing a rapid mental review of the facts as he knew them. “Pennington’s dead,” he said, referring to David Pennington, the founder of the New World Militia. Silently he added, We both killed him, though it wasn’t something he wanted to brag about or mention over the phone. “And the militia’s other high-ranking officers are all serving long prison terms. How—”

  Callahan cut him off. “Don’t ask me how I know, not over an unsecured phone line.” He let that sink in before adding, “Just trust me on this, okay?”

  Cody thought about it for all of half a minute. Callahan had once trusted him with his life six years ago, even though he’d known how Cody felt about Mandy, had known other things, too. Despite that, Callahan had saved Cody’s life after Mandy shot him—wasting precious seconds to apply a makeshift pressure bandage to the wound, even though both men had known Mandy was out there somewhere, in danger from Pennington. If he hadn’t done that, Cody wouldn’t be alive today.

  “Okay,” Cody said, but he knew that one word was enough—Callahan got the message. “We need to talk.”

  “Not over the phone.”

  “Where, then?”

  “Can you come to Black Rock? I’d come to Denver, but...”

  He didn’t have to finish. Cody knew Callahan would never leave Mandy and their three children, not if danger threatened them. And if the New World Militia really had been resurrected, Callahan, and anyone close to him, could be in grave danger.

  You, too, he thought for a second, before brushing it aside as immaterial. He’d been undercover himself for four years in the New World Militia before he and Callahan had killed Pennington and smashed the anarchist paramilitary organization that had also had its fingers in gunrunning and drug trafficking, as well as other illegal activities. If Callahan was in danger, so was he.

  “I’ll have to tell my supervisor, not to mention my partner.”

  There was a long, pregnant pause while Callahan considered this. “Isn’t Nick D’Arcy still the head of the Denver branch of the agency?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How about telling him first? This octopus could have tentacles everywhere,” he said, referring obliquely to the New World Militia. “I trust you and D’Arcy, and maybe one other person, but...”

  Cody’s first reaction was to hotly defend his colleagues, especially his partner, but then he remembered how insidious the militia had once been. If Callahan was right, if new life had been breathed into the organization, there was no telling where the infection had spread.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll try to get in to see him as soon as I get off the phone. I’ll let you know what he says.”

  “Don’t call my office,” Callahan warned, referring to the Black Rock sheriff’s office. “And don’t call the house. I haven’t told Mandy yet, and if you call there, she’ll suspect something. She’ll kill me when she finds out I’ve kept her in the dark this long, but...”

  Cody knew the other man well enough to know he was shrugging his shoulders. Neither of them had ever wanted to put Mandy in danger, so they’d both kept secrets from her. That hadn’t always been a good idea, and Cody had the scar to prove it.

  “And don’t call my cell phone, either,” Callahan added.

  “Then how am I—”

  “Call this number,” Callahan said, rattling off ten digits, and Cody jotted them down on a scratch pad. “That’s a throwaway cell. I probably don’t need to tell you this, but it would be a good idea to call me from a pay phone or another throwaway cell.”

  “You’re right,” Cody responded drily. “You don’t need to tell me that.”

  He hung up when Callahan did, then sat for a moment staring at the cell-phone number he’d just written down, memorizing it. “Damn it!” he cursed under his breath.

  He ripped the paper into tiny shreds, got up and strode toward the elevator, dropping the scraps of paper into the slot of the locked “burn barrel” nearest the door. He rang for the elevator, waiting impatiently until it arrived, his mind taken up with what Callahan had just told him...and what he hadn’t.

  “Damn,” he said again, but it didn’t relieve his feelings one bit.

  Cody walked into the outer office and addressed the executive assistant who guarded Nick D’Arcy from unimportant interruptions like a dragon. “I need to see Baker Street,” he told her, using the nickname everyone in the agency used when talking about D’Arcy, and sometimes even when thinking about him. He was omniscient—so much so it was scary at times—and every agent who worked for him had experienced that omniscience at least once. So it wasn’t surprising he was known by the sobriquet of “Baker Street,” a tip of the hat to Sherlock Holmes.

  The executive assistant assessed Cody, noting the determined, set expression on his face. She picked up the phone and pushed a button. “Cody Walker to see you, sir.” She listened for a couple of seconds, then said, “No, he didn’t tell me what it’s about and I didn’t ask.” She hung up the phone. “You can go in,” she told him.

  “Come in, Walker,” Nick D’Arcy said when Cody entered and closed the door behind him. He indicated a chair in front of his desk and said, “Have a seat.” He sat down himself, and after Cody was sitting, he said, “Is this about what happened last Friday?”

  “No, it’s—” Cody broke off. “How do you know about that already?”

  “It’s my business to know everything, didn’t you know?” D’Arcy chuckled, his dark-skinned face breaking into a broad smile. “But seriously, you did the right thing. Oh, yes,” he said, holding up one hand, palm outward. “I know there are those who are upset your cover was blown and that we’ll have to start all over from scratch with that investigation, but...I’d have done the same thing under the circumstances.”

  “Thank you, sir. It’s good to know not everyone thinks I blew it.”

  D’Arcy smiled as if he knew something Cody didn’t. “So if this isn’t about last week, then what is it?”

  “The New World Militia.”

  That wiped the smile from the other man’s face. “How’d you hear about that?” he asked sharply.

  “Ryan Callahan. He called me a few minutes ago.”

  “Damn.” The word held no heat, but Cody could tell D’Arcy was not pleased. “I was hoping I was wrong, but if Callahan is involved...” He bent a narrow-eyed gaze on Cody. “What did he tell you?”

  “He wouldn’t tell me much over the phone,” Cody said, then repeated the conversation nearly verbatim, including Callahan’s statement about who he trusted...and who he didn’t.

  D’Arcy didn’t say anything after Cody finished, just sat there contemplating the pencil he picked up off his desk. He seemed to reach a decision, because he looked at Cody and said, “I’ve heard rumblings of this before today. I’ve already got a team working on it.” He leaned over and pressed a switch. “Can you see if you can locate McKinnon and Jones for me? If they’re in the building, I need to see them right away.”

  “McKinnon?” Cody asked after D’Arcy cut off the connection. “That wouldn’t be Trace McKinnon, would it?”

  “Yeah. You remember him from six years ago, don’t you? I’ve got a feeling he’s the third man Callahan was referring to, the other man he trusts.”

  “I remember him, but I thought he was still a federal marshal. I didn’t know he worked for the agency.”

  D’Arcy let out a bark of laughter. “Compartmentalization. I guess it does work sometimes.” He looked at Cody from under his brows. “McKinnon was the first person I recruited after I was recruited. He’d worked for me for years befo
re I came here—I’d trust him with my life. I knew he’d be perfect for this agency, just like I knew you would be, too.”

  The corner of Cody’s mouth curved up in a rueful smile. “Not so perfect—on my part, that is. Last week—”

  D’Arcy waved his hand. “I already told you to forget last week, didn’t I?” He hesitated. “I wasn’t going to tell you until all the paperwork was processed, but there will be a commendation in your personnel jacket if I have anything to say about it.”

  That means it’s a done deal, Cody thought, knowing how highly respected Nick D’Arcy was by the head of their agency in Washington, D.C. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” He thought for a second, then confessed, “I couldn’t have done anything else, but...I’m glad it won’t be a mark against me.”

  “Not to worry.”

  Then Cody remembered the other thing D’Arcy had said, and he asked, “Rumblings? You said you’ve heard rumblings about the New World Militia?”

  D’Arcy grimaced. “The FBI has been keeping a watchful eye on certain individuals for years,” he said. “But even after all this time since 9/11, we still don’t have the interagency cooperation we should have. They don’t tell us everything they know, and we’re not much better.”

  “But if they aren’t telling you what they know...”

  “I have my own sources within the FBI...and a few other places” was all D’Arcy would say.

  The phone buzzed, and D’Arcy pressed the intercom button. “Yes?”

  “McKinnon and Jones are here, sir.”

  “Send them in.”

  Cody stood up as the door opened and Trace McKinnon walked in. Cody recognized him immediately, even though it had been almost five years since he’d last seen him. Along with Callahan, Cody owed his life to this man, who’d given him first aid before the medevac chopper had airlifted him to the hospital in Sheridan. He had thanked McKinnon afterward, but except for seeing him at the trials that followed the arrests of the upper echelons of the New World Militia, their paths hadn’t crossed until now.

  Cody started forward, his hand outstretched. “Good to see you, McKinnon,” he said. Then he stopped as abruptly as if he’d been shot. Following McKinnon into the room was the woman with the mop of red-gold curls no comb could tame. The woman he’d blown his assignment to rescue. The woman he couldn’t get out of his mind.

  Keira.

  Chapter 2

  “Special Agent Keira Jones,” Nick D’Arcy was saying. “I think you know Special Agent Cody Walker, don’t you?”

  Keira held out her hand to Cody. “Good to see you again” was all she said as she shook his hand.

  “Same here,” Cody told her.

  Cody threw a sideways questioning glance at D’Arcy, which Keira caught, but he didn’t say anything. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her partner stiffen and his eyes narrow, and she knew she’d made a mistake admitting she knew Cody. She wondered if Trace was making the connection.

  She’d told him the bare bones about her kidnapping and near-miraculous escape, but hadn’t given any specifics. And she hadn’t told him the name of her rescuer for a very good reason—she’d recognized Cody’s name as soon as he said it, had known he worked for the same agency as she did, and had hoped and prayed the story wouldn’t make the rounds of the office.

  It was hard enough even now for a woman to make a career in a job that had traditionally been a man’s world, especially within the agency; she didn’t want to become the butt of office laughter over allowing herself to be kidnapped in that fashion and needing to be rescued by a fellow agent. A male agent.

  She hadn’t recognized him that night. She and Cody had never met before; they didn’t work in the same division and their case loads hadn’t overlapped. But she’d heard the name Cody Walker when he’d received an agency commendation the year before, and Cody was an unusual name. When they’d made it to his car, breathless and panting after running through the night, he’d introduced himself almost as an afterthought.

  She’d known then who he was, but she’d only told him her name was Keira. The Jones part would probably have been safe enough, but...she didn’t want to risk it.

  They’d driven in silence for a few minutes before she’d even thought to say thanks. That was when he’d apologized for manhandling her, and she’d apologized for scratching him. But when he’d tried to take her to the hospital, she’d adamantly refused. The same for going to the police.

  She’d asked him to drop her at her car instead, and he’d reluctantly agreed. When they’d reached her car, he’d insisted on finishing changing the tire for her and then had followed her all the way to I-70 to make sure she got back safely on the road to Denver.

  She’d reported the incident, of course. Even though she hadn’t been working when she’d been kidnapped, once she’d made the connection between her rescuer and a fellow agent, she’d realized he had probably been on an undercover operation himself. If so, his cover had been blown, and she owed it to him to make sure he didn’t suffer any disagreeable consequences as a result.

  But she hadn’t reported it up the chain of command. She couldn’t bring herself to do that; it would have been too humiliating. Instead, she’d made an appointment to see Baker Street himself—Nick D’Arcy—first thing Monday morning and had confessed everything. While McKinnon and Walker exchanged a few words, her thoughts winged back to that stark interview.

  * * *

  D’Arcy listened in silence until she was done, then asked a few questions. She tried to keep emotion out of her responses, as if she were merely an agent reporting to a superior officer regarding an assignment.

  “You weren’t raped? You can tell me the truth.”

  She flinched but answered him honestly. “No, sir. But I would have been, probably killed, too, if not for Walker.”

  “You didn’t lose your service weapon?”

  “No, sir. I wasn’t carrying it. I was on mandatory use-it-or-lose-it vacation.”

  “What were you doing out there?”

  “My family has a cabin near Dillon Reservoir, closer to Keystone than to Silverthorne. My partner called me Friday afternoon, asked me to come back early from vacation because he had a hot lead on one of the cases we’re working and wanted my assistance following up on it. He knows me, knows I’d want to be involved if... Well, anyway, he wanted us to get together early Saturday. I was driving home to Denver Friday evening when I had a flat tire on Loveland Pass Road. I was in the middle of changing the flat when a car pulled up behind me. The driver got out and asked if I needed help. I told him no, thanks, but then...the other two men got out of the car.”

  She hesitated, knowing she could never tell D’Arcy the fear that had gripped her in that instant...and the despair. Fear and despair she’d refused to give in to, but which she would remember forever. “I do have a carry permit for a personal weapon, sir, but the gun was locked in my glove compartment. Maybe I should have had it handy, but it’s not as if Loveland Pass is deserted—cars pass there all the time. I didn’t think...just changing a tire... And it wasn’t even dark yet at that point...”

  “They didn’t get your gun?”

  “No, sir. They didn’t touch my car. Not even to get my wallet. Just me.”

  “How did you recover your car?”

  “Walker dropped me there. He didn’t want to, but I insisted. He followed me all the way to the highway to make sure I was okay.”

  D’Arcy sat in silence for a few minutes, digesting her answers. “Thank you for telling me this,” he said finally.

  In a small voice, Keira said, “I realize it doesn’t reflect well on the agency, sir, or on me. If you think I should resign, I will.”

  He frowned. “I don’t think that’s necessary. We all make mistakes. And you weren’t even on duty at the time.”

  “No, but—”

  “No,” he said. “It’s not a mistake you’ll repeat. And the fact that you’ve reported it to me is a plus. It says a lot about you.” />
  “I just didn’t want Walker to get into trouble,” she said. “It wouldn’t be right—not after he saved my life.” She glanced down at her hands, saw the bruises around her wrists that her long-sleeved blouse didn’t cover and surreptitiously pulled down her cuffs.

  But she wasn’t fast enough, and D’Arcy said, “Have you seen a doctor?”

  She nodded. “Walker wanted to take me to the hospital Friday night, but I wouldn’t let him. And I wouldn’t let him take me to file a police report, either. I figured his cover had been blown, but I didn’t know what else his operation had entailed. I didn’t want to draw police attention to that area, just in case there was something else going down. But I did see my own doctor first thing Saturday morning, before I met my partner.” Her lips tightened, then she added as if she couldn’t help herself, “Trace and I closed that case yesterday, sir.” It wasn’t much compared to how she felt about botching Walker’s operation, but it was something positive at least.

  D’Arcy rubbed his chin with his long fingers, then said, “Okay, then.” He smiled encouragingly at her. “You’ve done the right thing by telling me, but that’s as far as it goes. Don’t be afraid it will get out—I’m not even going to put a notation in your jacket,” he said. “You’re an excellent agent and you’ve done some outstanding work for this agency. I don’t want to lose you. And don’t brood about it. Take a lesson from it and move on.”

  * * *

  Now, in Nick D’Arcy’s office for the second time in a week, Keira remembered the sense of relief that had flooded her when he’d refused her resignation. She loved her job, loved the challenge, the excitement of solving cases no one else could solve. But most of all she loved making a difference, making the world a safer place—the same reason she’d joined the Marine Corps right out of high school. She’d felt honor bound to tender her resignation to D’Arcy but was grateful it hadn’t come to that.