by Amelia Autin
And he had almost died six years ago. He made light of it, even joked about it with Mandy. But Trace had been there that night, after the fact, and in the truck he’d told her it had been a very near thing for the onetime sheriff.
Yes, Keira told herself with a smile she couldn’t repress, I know a lot about Cody already.
Cody and Callahan walked in the back door just then, and Keira quickly heaped the two plates with the combination stew and filled one of the bowls for herself.
“You’ve got to be starving,” she said, laying a spoon on each plate.
Callahan took a plate. “Yeah,” he said. “Looks good. Thanks.”
Cody took the other plate and told Keira, “There are only two chairs. You and Callahan can sit at the table. I’ll stand.”
“I don’t mind,” she said quickly.
“My cabin, my rules.” He smiled to take away the sting.
Keira sat across from Ryan Callahan and watched him covertly as they ate in silence. From time to time she glanced from him to Cody, standing by the kitchen sink, and back again. She thought it was just habit, at first; always wanting to know what made people tick. But then it came to her. You’re trying to see what Mandy sees in him, she told herself with a shock of revelation. To figure out why Mandy would choose him—or any man—over Cody.
She couldn’t see it.
Oh, Ryan Callahan was physically intimidating, she’d give him that. But no more so than Cody, whose strength she’d experienced firsthand. And Callahan had impressed her earlier with his ability to move as quietly as a jungle cat. But Cody had great stealth, too. He’d slipped silently across the bedroom of the shack that first night, with her kidnappers in the next room, to pry open the window for their escape.
And whereas Callahan was saturnine and displayed a cynic’s view of the world, Cody was golden-haired with an unexpected grin that lit up his face and made you want to smile, too. Somehow you just knew the world was a better place when Cody smiled. No, she thought, Mandy must see her husband differently than I do. She had to, if she was willing to kill her best friend—to kill Cody—to protect him.
Callahan stood abruptly, the chair rasping across the floor, breaking Keira’s train of thought. He went to the stove to refill his plate. He offered the pot to Keira first, but she shook her head. She was nearly full and still had some left in her bowl. Cody allowed Callahan to add half of what remained in the pot to his plate. Then Callahan scraped out the last of the stew, placed the pot in the sink and ran water in it.
He didn’t come back to the table, but stood next to Cody and asked as he ate, “What time do you think McKinnon will get back?”
Cody looked at his watch. “It’s just over two hours to the agency’s safe house in Casper—say two and a quarter. Figure another hour to get your family settled in and squared away, and a couple of hours back. Five and a half hours at the least. My guess is somewhere between three and four.” He looked at Callahan. “About the same time the backup team will be done at your house.”
“You’re sure the safe house is safe?”
“There are no guarantees in this world,” Cody said with a level stare. “You know that. But I know the agents who run that safe house. Even stayed there once on an op. You’re going to have to trust some people unless you decide to hole up in a cave somewhere.”
“Fair enough.”
Cody resumed eating and said, “I told Keira while you were sleeping we need to head to where we at least have internet access. We can’t do much of anything here.”
“I won’t be much help in that investigation,” Callahan said. “Steve was my only link to the new militia, and he’s dead. Unless we can figure out what his last words mean or what that key opens...”
His face expressed his frustration at not knowing as well as his desire to do something. Keira knew he wasn’t the kind of man to sit patiently on the sidelines while others ran the football. But at this point there wasn’t a lot he could do.
“I don’t even know who else might be a member locally,” he growled. “For all I know, one or more of my deputies might be involved. The militia is that insidious.”
“That’s why I’m leaving McKinnon with you,” Cody said. He held up his hand as Callahan started to protest. “It’s not open for debate. We can’t afford to have anything happen to you. Not if we ever solve Tressler’s murder and want to bring his killer or killers to justice. You’ll need to testify.”
That silenced Callahan. Keira could tell he wasn’t happy about it, believed he could take care of himself now that he didn’t have to worry about his family. But a man who always calculated the odds, as she’d already realized Callahan did, knew that he couldn’t always be on guard, knew that he’d have to sleep sometimes.
“He’ll need a cover story to stay with you,” Cody said. “And you’ll need an explanation for why Mandy and the kids are gone.”
“I’ll come up with something,” Callahan said. “Don’t worry.” Finished eating, he turned to wash his plate and the pot in the sink. He stacked them neatly on the dish rack, and Keira thought with a tiny inward smile how incongruous he looked doing mundane kitchen chores. When Cody followed suit, her smile grew. Neither man even thought of leaving KP—kitchen patrol—for her to do, and a good thing, too.
She quickly scraped the last bite out of her bowl, washed it and followed the two men out the front door. Cody was leaning against the porch railing; Callahan was standing at the bottom of the stairs. Both men were staring outward, at the forest that surrounded the clearing around the cabin’s perimeter.
Callahan was saying, “I never cared for the isolation of this place. Hated being out of my element the first time Mandy and I stayed here.” He turned to face Cody and Keira, a rueful smile on his face. “I was a New York City boy...until I came to Wyoming.”
With a twinkle in his eye, Cody said, “You didn’t do too badly...for an amateur.”
Callahan’s booming laugh lightened his face, and Keira suddenly realized what Mandy saw in him. In many ways he was a lot like Cody, just more cynical in how he perceived the world. She wouldn’t pick him over Cody, but...she could see the attraction.
“So am I ever going to hear that story?” she asked. When both men turned inquiring expressions toward her, she explained, “You rag each other about being amateurs. But you’re both highly trained professionals—anyone can see that. So what’s the story?”
The smiles faded from the faces of both men and Keira knew she’d asked the wrong question. Mandy, she thought suddenly. It has to do with Mandy somehow. “Never mind,” she said before either man could respond, wishing she’d never opened her mouth.
“Ancient history,” Cody said lightly, but Keira could tell the lightness was an effort.
“Then tell me about the New World Militia. I’ve heard bits and pieces from Trace and you,” she said quickly, looking at Cody. “But I’m not getting the full picture. And I think I’m going to need it.”
Cody glanced at Callahan. “You want to tell it?”
“How much have you already told her?”
“Just about taking Pennington down, the trials and a few other things. Your former partner, for one.”
Callahan’s tawny eyes narrowed, an attempt to hide a flash of pain, and Keira realized the cold exterior he projected to everyone but his family was a facade. He cares, she thought with insight. Steve Tressler. Josh Thurman. He can be hurt. That’s what Mandy sees in him, too.
“It’s not pretty,” Cody continued. “But she needed to know the kind of people we’re up against.”
Callahan nodded. “Okay.” His hand indicated the porch steps. “You might want to have a seat. The whole story will take a while.”
The sun was well advanced in the sky by the time he finished. He told the story succinctly but well, and occasionally Cody threw in a comment or two to elaborate on some point Keira could see he felt Callahan wasn’t giving enough detail on. Keira hadn’t had to ask many questions.
; She sat quietly afterward, her chin propped on one hand, thinking. Then she asked both men, “So if the militia was shattered six years ago, how is it possible it’s been revived so quickly? Especially without Pennington’s money.”
“You see that, too? It’s a good question.” Cody looked at Callahan, who nodded.
“It all comes down to the money,” Keira said. “No terrorist organization can survive without it. Look at al Qaeda. Look at the Irish Republican Army, the IRA. Look at FARC,” she said. “No matter how fanatically someone believes, without money it all falls apart. Follow the money trail.”
“That’s first on the list as soon as we get out of here,” Cody confirmed.
“We already have something on that,” Keira reminded him. “Remember that super PAC I mentioned in D’Arcy’s office yesterday, NOANC? In the last election every senator and congressman on the list he gave us received campaign support from it. Not direct contributions—super PACs are prohibited from donating money directly to any political candidate. But they can raise unlimited amounts of money from any source and spend that money to openly advocate for or against any political candidate—and they did. We know they were the deciding factor in at least three elections, and Trace and I had just started digging.” She looked at Callahan. “Ever hear of it?”
He shook his head. “What does it stand for?”
“National Organization for the Advancement of New Ideas—NOANC.”
“Sounds pretty vague.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “Trace and I couldn’t find out much about it or what they stand for in the short time we’ve had to work on this. But super PACs have to report their donors to the Federal Election Commission at least quarterly. NOANC received thousands of donations from individuals all over the country, so it sounds fairly grassroots, except...”
Her eyes widened with sudden excitement as she made the connection, and she could hardly get the words out. “Except for one thing. There were huge donations every year from a limited-liability corporation—an LLC. The Praetor Corporation.”
Cody and Callahan looked at each other, puzzled. “Praetor is Latin,” she said. “Like veni, vidi, vici. It has two meanings,” she explained, her eyes sparkling. “One of them is an elected official, a magistrate. The other meaning is the commander of an army.” She looked from one man to the other, her face alight, willing them to follow her logic. “Don’t you see? It’s got to be connected somehow.”
The two men stared at Keira, then at each other. “I think she might be onto something,” Cody said, his expression reflecting his growing belief that Keira was right—there had to be a connection.
Callahan nodded slowly, and a tiny smile started in his eyes. “It’s a good working theory, anyway.”
“We have to get back to Denver,” Keira told Cody with a sense of urgency. “I don’t just need internet access. I need access to government data banks I can’t get into except through the encrypted connection at the agency.” She pulled a notebook from her back pocket and started jotting down notes to herself on things she wanted to check, everything forgotten except the job at hand.
The silence made her glance up. “What?” she asked, looking at the two men, realizing they were both staring at her in rueful discovery.
Callahan answered for both of them. “Walker was right,” he said softly. “Guts and brains. You can’t beat that combination.”
Keira flushed but made a quick recovery. “You’re just now figuring that out?” she said, raising her chin in a challenge.
Cody cast a look at Callahan. “That puts you in your place,” he said with a grin.
“Like you weren’t thinking the same thing?” Callahan growled back at him.
Chapter 10
McKinnon returned just before four, and Cody quickly brought him up to speed on the revised plan. “Makes sense,” he said. “But what’s my cover story?”
Cody glanced at Callahan. “Whatever the story is needs to explain why he’s shadowing you, but what?”
Callahan smiled at McKinnon. “That one’s easy. Pick a small town from some other state, become its newly elected sheriff and say you’re here to learn how to operate your department more effectively.”
When McKinnon looked doubtful, Callahan explained, “We met each other at the New Sheriffs’ Institute last month—I taught two of the training sessions, so that part is based in fact. Anyone who knows me, knows where I was last month. The New Sheriffs’ Institute is a weeklong training program put on by the American Sheriffs’ Association specifically to train first-term sheriffs from all across the country. It’s an ideal cover and even explains why you’re staying with me—your department’s limited budget won’t stretch to cover living expenses.”
McKinnon looked at Keira. “Do you see anything wrong with that story?”
She shook her head. “It sounds plausible.”
“Sounds good to me, too,” Cody said. “Since there’s nothing more we can do here, I think we’ll head back to Denver tonight—the sooner the better. We’ll leave our gear and the truck with you, McKinnon, and take the SUV. We’ll get in late, but we can switch off driving and nap along the way.”
* * *
They left a half hour later. The sun was already setting behind the mountains, and Cody turned on the headlights before setting the cruise control for five miles above the speed limit. He drove in silence at first while Keira continued to make notes in the rapidly dimming light. When it got too dark to see, she sighed, sat back against the seat and slid her notebook into her pocket.
“How long do you expect Trace to stay with Callahan?” she asked. “That cover story won’t work for more than a couple of weeks at the most.”
Cody considered her question. “I don’t know. It all depends on how much manpower D’Arcy is willing to assign to the case and what we can uncover about the New World Militia in that time. It’s possible Tressler’s death doesn’t have anything to do with the militia—although I doubt it. It would be too much of a coincidence. But if Callahan and McKinnon solve the murder, then the immediate danger will be over. It doesn’t resolve the issue of the hit list, but...”
“It would be a start,” she finished for him.
“Yeah.”
Keira yawned unexpectedly. “Sorry,” she said. “I guess last night is catching up with me. Maybe I should nap now, so I can drive later.”
He cast her a sideways glance and realized she looked tired...about as tired as he felt. But they still had more than five hours of driving ahead of them, so it was probably a good idea for her to nap even though part of him wanted her to stay awake so he could talk to her.
But what would he say? Callahan had told him he couldn’t fight what he was starting to feel for Keira but he could lock it away, and he’d agreed it was what he should do. You just don’t want to, a little voice inside his head told him.
Should he tell her Callahan had witnessed the kiss they’d shared in the cabin? Bad idea, Walker. She’d already been embarrassed enough when he’d confessed he’d told Callahan about how they’d met. She’d be devastated to learn the other man had seen the two of them in a compromising situation. Keira was so sensitive about being taken seriously as a member of the team, she might even request D’Arcy remove her from the case. And that was the last thing he wanted.
Cody let his eyes stray from the road in front of him for a second and saw that Keira was already asleep. She must have been more tired than she would admit, he thought with sudden tenderness. In sleep her face was soft, sweet and defenseless, and he knew she would hate it—would hate knowing he’d seen her vulnerable again.
The corner of his mouth twitched into a half smile. Guess that will have to be my secret.
* * *
Not quite two weeks later Cody sat in his office staring at his computer screen, but his thoughts were only partially on the document he was skimming. The other part of his mind was miles away, wondering how Callahan was holding up without his wife and children, wondering how Man
dy was doing without her husband.
Callahan had been right—Memorial Day had come and gone with no trouble from the New World Militia. But he had adamantly refused to let Mandy and the children return home, insisting it wasn’t safe for them, especially since McKinnon was going to have to return to Denver Sunday—his cover story had lasted for two weeks, but beyond that was going to look suspicious.
“I can take care of myself,” Callahan had told him when Cody had suggested sending another agent to guard him. “But my family can’t come home. Not until we know who killed Steve Tressler. Not until we know what he tried to tell me before he died and what that key opens. It’s been almost two weeks, damn it, and we don’t know any more now than we did then!”
The statement wasn’t quite true. The backup team that had cleaned up Callahan’s house had determined the original crime scene was Tressler’s cabin, just as Callahan had surmised. They’d returned the body there but left it in his truck, as if he’d tried to drive away but died before he could. Callahan and McKinnon had “discovered” the body and had opened an investigation into his death as if Tressler had never appeared at Callahan’s house, as if he’d never had a chance to utter those cryptic words.
There were more agents assigned to the case now. The original two backup teams D’Arcy had dispatched to Buffalo and Sheridan had been joined by two dozen more teams spread across the country. And Cody now spent most of his time coordinating everyone’s actions and reading reports generated by the agents in the field rather than doing any fieldwork himself.
In all this time they’d managed to uncover a whole lot of...nothing. Yes, Callahan had been correct. The New World Militia had risen like a phoenix from the ashes of six years ago. But they hadn’t uncovered any evidence to link it to illegal arms stockpiling, drug trafficking or any of the activities the militia had been involved in before. In fact, if Tressler hadn’t been murdered the way he had, D’Arcy might have pulled the plug on the investigation. But he was dead. And somewhere there was a clue as to why. They just had to find it.
