Cody Walker's Woman

by Amelia Autin

  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.

  There had been a much longer article this morning that attempted to tie the two deaths together—some smart reporter had tracked the high-profile cases the two federal prosecutors had worked on, and had questioned the FBI about whether there was a connection between their deaths and the sensational trial of David Pennington eight years ago. The FBI’s “No comment at this time” response didn’t mean anything, but he wasn’t worried. Not yet.

  One and two—failure. Those failures hurt. DeSantini and Brockway were secondary targets, as were D’Arcy and McKinnon—five and six. Callahan and Walker were the primary targets. They had murdered his father in cold blood six years ago. Not to mention both men had betrayed his father’s organization, the New World Militia, through their undercover activities, and by Callahan’s testimony at his father’s trial.

  Not that Michael Vishenko cared about the New World Militia and the cause it espoused. The militia was just a tool. He knew there was little chance of a successful military overthrow of the United States government. But there was a way to power. The way he was pursuing through NOANC.

  He smiled coldly and let himself be distracted for a moment. NOANC had been a brilliant idea. Super PACs were the way to go, he’d realized, even before his father had been murdered. Power—real power—only came through controlling the political process.

  Even his uncle Alexei acknowledged that money and ruthlessness alone weren’t enough. The Russian Bratva couldn’t survive in this country without the payoffs to various government officials that allowed it to operate with impunity.

  So Michael Vishenko had used his father’s fortune to resurrect the New World Militia for one purpose and one purpose only—as a means of obtaining legal donations to NOANC. NOANC “owned” the politicians it had helped get elected. And he—through the Praetor Corporation—controlled NOANC.

  He was only thirty-four, but already his power was spreading. Congressmen, senators, judges. And...soon...if he played his cards right, perhaps even a president would owe NOANC—and Michael Vishenko—the election. No, not Michael Vishenko, he corrected himself with a grim smile. Mi
chael Pennington. Because by then I will have reclaimed my rightful name. He would be the power behind the throne, his dream ever since he’d been old enough to recognize his physical deformity would limit his own political aspirations.

  His smile faded. But first, he needed to avenge his father. Failure was unacceptable. If he couldn’t even manage to kill Callahan, Walker and the other two, he didn’t deserve to succeed elsewhere.

  With a halting step he walked to the library window and stared out into the garden, but he wasn’t seeing the imposing statuary his father had acquired years ago; he was wondering how his primary targets had evaded elimination. He needed data from the men on the ground, data that couldn’t be transmitted through code phrases. And then he needed to modify his plan.

  His targets were smart—he didn’t underestimate them. That was one of the reasons he’d waited this long, to lull them into a false sense of security. All the deaths had been timed to occur within twelve hours of each other. But now he had to assume the deaths of DeSantini and Brockway would put the other targets on the alert. His new plan would have to take that into consideration.

  * * *

  Five people sat around the conference table in D’Arcy’s office. Keira had watched D’Arcy’s greeting of Callahan with a tinge of surprise. They hadn’t just shaken hands; the two men had embraced before sitting down at the table next to each other. Not only that, they’d addressed each other by their first names. Knowing Callahan, as she was beginning to, and knowing D’Arcy, as she’d known him by his reputation since she joined the agency, she realized the two men had to be closer than they’d let on before. Was that related to the time Callahan had spent in the witness security program, when D’Arcy had been responsible for him? Or was there something else?

  D’Arcy turned to Keira and Cody. “Bring them up to speed.”

  Cody glanced at Keira. “Go ahead,” she said.

  “Tressler told you there were six names on the elimination list,” he said, facing Callahan, “but he only recognized yours. We had already surmised my name was on the list, and the attempt on me last night seems to confirm it. We think the other four names were Darrel Brockway, Al DeSan—”

  “DeSantini,” Callahan broke in. “I remember them. They were the lead prosecutors when I testified against Pennington. Smart guys.”

  “Yeah, well,” Cody said flatly, “they were murdered last night. Same M.O. as the attempt on me,” he said, meaning modus operandi, or method of operation. “And from what you told me on the phone, it sounds like the same M.O. as the attempt on you, too. We won’t know for sure until the FBI deconstructs your SUV, but we’ll assume it is unless we hear otherwise.”

  D’Arcy handed Callahan and McKinnon copies of the report on Brockway and DeSantini he’d given Cody and Keira that morning. Cody waited until the other men had a chance to read them before continuing. “We brainstormed about this, and we think the hit list doesn’t really come from the New World Militia. We think this is Michael Vishenko’s personal hit list to avenge his father.” He looked at Keira, and she took her cue from him.

  She turned to her partner. “Trace, remember when you told me you and D’Arcy had to clean up the mess after Pennington was killed?”

  He frowned and glanced at D’Arcy, then at Callahan, obviously regretting the wording he’d used to describe that situation. “Yeah. So?”

  “From Vishenko’s perspective, Callahan and Walker murdered his father. And you and D’Arcy covered it up, helped them get away with it. That puts the two of you on the hit list. It’s the only thing that makes sense.” She took a deep breath. “Six names, two of them dead.”

  D’Arcy spoke up. “Out of five attempts we know of—they found my car at home rigged the same way. It’s a miracle I’m not dead.” He quickly explained the circumstances to Callahan and McKinnon. Then he added, “I’m placing both of you in protective custody. Neither of you leaves this building without armed protection.”

  Callahan shook his head, his voice implacable. “That’s okay for my family, but I have to be able to operate on my own.”

  Keira saw D’Arcy’s face change and knew a fight was brewing. She said quickly, “What if the four of us operate as a team?” The men at the table looked at her, then at each other. “You’re all targets,” she explained. “I’m not.” Cody frowned, and she emphasized, “My name isn’t on the list.”

  She looked at D’Arcy. “All of us have been working this case already. Trace and I are partners. Walker and Callahan have worked together before, as have Trace and Callahan. Between the four of us, I think we can guard each other and not get in each other’s way in the investigation.”

  “It’s a risk,” D’Arcy began, but Callahan spoke up.

  “I’d go for that.”

  Keira cast him a grateful look before turning her eyes to her partner. “Trace?”

  “If you and Callahan think it’s a good idea, I’m fine with it.”

  Keira turned to Cody. “What do you think?” She could tell by his expression that he was torn, and her eyes pleaded with him. Please, don’t, they said. Please, don’t object. I love you, but, please, don’t humiliate me. Not again.

  Cody glanced down at the notepad in front of him, and when he raised his eyes to hers again she saw pride and respect overcoming his fear for her. “Fine by me,” he said lightly, and only Keira knew what it had cost him to say it.

  She turned back to D’Arcy. “Sir?” He gave her a long, considering look, and she remembered her private interview with him just under three weeks ago. “I took your advice, sir,” she said as if they were the only ones in the room. “I’ve moved on.”

  He smiled slightly, acknowledging her point. Then he nodded. “Okay.” His eyes encompassed everyone at the table. “You are all responsible for each other. And each of you is answerable to me.”

  Keira knew Cody’s eyes were on her, knew he wondered what she meant by her statement to D’Arcy that she’d moved on. But she also knew he wasn’t going to ask. Not when anyone else was around.

  She allowed herself a tiny smile, remembering that morning and the questions she’d been burning to ask him but couldn’t because Sabbatino and Moran had been there all through breakfast. And then afterward, Cody had made sure they were never alone, so she hadn’t been able to ask him why D’Arcy had wanted to speak to him privately. Two can play that game, she thought. Now maybe he’ll understand what it’s like.

  At least he hadn’t humiliated her just now, the way he’d done this morning when he’d told D’Arcy they could be guarded together. She had wanted to contradict him then, but something had held her back. Maybe it was the way he had refused to look at her before he answered. Maybe it was the way his jaw hardened in profile. Or maybe it was because he’d told her this morning in the car that she seemed to be ashamed of loving him, and she didn’t want him to think that. Whatever the reason, she’d held her tongue, and she was glad now.

  Cody was speaking to Callahan. “We’ve had more than two dozen teams working this investigation, and in two weeks we haven’t found anything indicating the New World Militia is a threat. Not the way it was when Pennington was running it. No illegal arms. No drugs. Nothing of that nature.”

  He held up a hand as Callahan started to speak. “I know, I know. Tressler’s dead. I’m not ignoring that. But what if that was something separate—maybe still connected to the militia—but not directly related to the big picture?”

  “It’s possible,” Callahan admitted.

  “The militia has been resurrected, no question.” His voice dropped a notch. “But what if it’s a blind? A cover-up hiding the real scheme?”

  Keira saw the light come into Callahan’s eyes, saw him make the connection Cody was leading up to. She didn’t get it yet, but she knew Cody and Callahan were somehow on the same wavelength already.

  Cody was smiling, and his eyes blazed with the same light as Callahan’s. He turned to her. “Didn’t you say that super PAC, NOANC, has received thousands of sma
ller donations from across the country?” he asked her.

  “Yes,” she answered, glancing at her partner, hoping for a sign he knew where this was leading, but he shook his head. “Trace and I saw the donors lists filed with the Federal Election Commission going back to its inception.”

  “Grassroots,” Callahan said softly. “Wasn’t that the word you used?”

  Then she got it, and her eyes widened. “The militia? Vishenko’s using the militia to fund his super PAC?”

  “Not entirely,” Cody said. “The Praetor Corporation still has to kick in big-time. But it fits beautifully. If the super PAC was only funded by one company, that would be a red flag. But with thousands of individual donors across the country...NOANC flies under the radar.”

  “And Vishenko’s hit list?” she asked.

  “Personal, just as we thought. Nothing to do with the New World Militia.”

  Trace spoke up. “What about Tressler’s death?” he asked. “Maybe it’s not related, but can we take that chance? There still could be a connection somehow, something we’re not seeing.”

  Callahan nodded and looked at Cody. “He’s right. We can’t completely ignore it. Steve was dying, but he didn’t drive to the hospital. He drove to my house to warn me. To tell me whatever it was and to give me that key. It was important enough to him, that...” He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, and Keira realized again that he wasn’t as cold and uncaring as he appeared to be.

  He couldn’t be, she thought suddenly. Or Cody wouldn’t care about him the way he does. And Cody did care about him. It wasn’t just Mandy and her children he’d been worried about, it was Callahan, too. What had Cody said last night? “We probably could have been friends if not for...” If not for Mandy. That’s what he almost said. But Cody doesn’t love Mandy anymore. He loves me. And Ryan Callahan is his friend, whether he realizes it or not.

  D’Arcy had been listening quietly this whole time. Now he spoke. “I’ve seen the autopsy on Steve Tressler, same as you. He didn’t die from those gunshot wounds—not directly. None of them hit a vital organ. He died from loss of blood.”