Working undercover with the last man she should trust…

Rescuing a “civilian” blew his latest undercover op—but when Special Agent Cody Walker next met the damsel in distress, he was astonished to discover she was a fellow agent! Now they are assigned to the same task force to track down a terrorist cell that has a personal connection to Cody’s past….

While Keira is grateful to Cody, she’s determined to prove she can handle herself professionally. But their sizzling chemistry is making it hard to keep things quiet. And as they hunt down the would-be terrorists, they are getting closer—and more personal—than ever….

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Kissing you again.” He didn’t give her a chance to escape.

She resisted at first but then surrendered.

Desire flooded him as her body softened against his. The yearning, the aching need, rose to the top, and he pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her.

He wanted. Needed. Yearned. His hands clasped her hips and pulled her closer so she couldn’t help but feel his desire.

He wanted to lay Keira down in a field of grass with a breeze rippling through it, the wide, blue Wyoming sky arching overhead and the sun warming their skin. He wanted to stroke her skin, to caress her until she cried his name and pulled him close, needing him as he needed her.

But all he could do was kiss her. Endlessly.

Dear Reader,

When I wrote Reilly’s Return years ago, my editor, Mary-Theresa Hussey, told me that Cody Walker was such a strong secondary character he deserved his own book. So who better to write about when I finally sat down to start writing romance again?

The problem was, part of Cody’s appeal was that he was so deeply in love with Mandy Edwards, the heroine of Reilly’s Return. How could I find a woman to replace Mandy in Cody’s heart? I reread Reilly’s Return until I finally found the clue to the kind of woman Cody needed. Someone very different from Mandy, and yet who in one crucial way was exactly like her—a woman who would kill or die to protect the man she loved.

Enter Keira Jones. I hope you’ll agree with me that Keira is the only woman who could penetrate the shell guarding Cody’s tender heart. And I hope you enjoy reading Cody Walker’s Woman as much as I enjoyed writing it.

I love hearing from my readers. Please email me at AmeliaAutin@aol.com and let me know what you think.

Amelia Autin

Cody Walker’s
Woman
Amelia Autin

www.millsandboon.co.uk

AMELIA AUTIN

is a voracious reader who can’t bear to put a good book down…or part with it. Her bookshelves are crammed with books her husband periodically threatens to donate to a good cause, but he always relents…eventually.

Amelia returned to her first love, romance writing, after a long hiatus, during which she wrote numerous technical manuals and how-to guides, as well as designed and taught classes on a variety of subjects, including technical writing. She is a long-time member of Romance Writers of America (RWA), and served three years as its treasurer.

Amelia currently resides with her Ph.D. engineer husband in quiet Vail, Arizona, where they can see the stars at night and have a “million dollar view” of the Rincon Mountains from their backyard.

MILLS & BOON

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For my editor, Mary-Theresa Hussey, who told me years ago that Cody deserved his own book. Tempus fugit. And for Vincent…always.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

“Scream.”

Keira Jones pushed the hair out of her eyes with both hands and stared in incomprehension at the man who’d just dragged her kicking and clawing all the way from the other room into this one. His hold had been brutal, crushing her bones as he’d thrown her onto the filthy bed in the corner of this room before moving to shut the door behind them and lock it.

And then nothing. Nothing except that one word uttered in a harsh undertone—scream.

“What?” she gasped.

He held one finger to his lips, pressing his ear against the wooden door. He cast a sharp glance around the room, grabbed a rickety chair and propped it under the door handle. Then he moved purposefully toward Keira.

She scrambled off the bed and backed away from him, away from what she thought was coming. If she was going to be raped, she wasn’t going to make it easy for him. She looked frantically around the room for something, anything to use as a weapon, but he was on her before she had a chance.

“I said scream, damn it!” His angry voice was pitched to carry no farther than a foot away as he plastered her body against the wall with his muscular frame.

But she couldn’t. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and her breath was coming in rapid pants, but no sound emerged from a throat dry with terror she refused to betray.

He made a sound of frustration deep in his throat. He held her squirming body captive with his while his powerful hands gripped the lapels of her cotton blouse and ripped it open from top to bottom. Then she screamed. And screamed again when one hand groped her breast through and beneath the fabric of her bra while the other moved to the juncture of her thighs.

She clawed at his face. He ducked, but she had the savage satisfaction of seeing her fingernails make contact with his skin and leave four red welts before he captured her flailing hands and pinned them both to the wall over her head with one iron hand.

“Damn it, I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispered in that same deep undertone.

Blood was oozing from two of the scratches on his face, but he ignored it. And to Keira’s shocked amazement he didn’t follow up on her physical helplessness. In fact, he turned away from her, listening intently to the sounds emanating from the other room.

Now Keira could hear it, too, over the rasping sound of her own breathing; coarse male laughter and guttural catcalls, as if Keira’s screams were entertainment for the men in the other room.

“What—” she began, but he covered her mouth with his free hand.

“Shh.” He pressed his lips to her ear, but not in a mockery of a kiss. “We have maybe five minutes to get out of here,” he breathed. “Unless you want me to leave you behind to be gang-raped by them,” he said, tilting his head in the direction of the other room, “or worse, promise me you’ll do exactly what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it. You got that?”

She swallowed as her panicked brain assimilated what he was saying as well as what he was not doing. Then she nodded. His hand came off her mouth but hovered close, as if he didn’t trust her not to ask questions in a voice that could be heard from the next room. But Keira wasn’t stupid. She knew in a flash that instead of trying to rape her he was trying to rescue her.

She didn’t know why he was risking his life this way, but she didn’t care. Going with him was infinitely preferable to the fate in store for her if she stayed here. And if she was going to die, as she had feared from the moment she’d been kidnapped from beside her car, she’d rather die running, fighting, anything except submitting meekly to being raped and murdered.

“Okay,” he whispered. His lean, muscular body was suddenly gone, and Keira sagged for a moment, her own muscles barely able to hold her up. Then she got control of herself and watched him move across the room.

For a big man he moved with incredible stealth. He had seemed to tower over her earlier, but now she saw that, while he was well above six feet, he wasn’t a giant of a man; his strength had fooled her into envisioning him as bigger than he actually was.

He was clean shaven, and while his angular features weren’t pretty-boy handsome, they were attractive in a masculine way. His sun-streaked blond hair was close-cropped, though not in military fashion. And the snug jeans he wore left no doubt that he was in perfect physical shape. The kind of man, in fact, she thought with hysterical abstraction, most women would give a second—and third—glance at if they passed him on the street.

He was trying to open the single window in the room, but it resisted his efforts, and Keira could tell he wasn’t using his full strength because he was trying to get it open without anyone in the next room hearing, and if he pushed too hard the glass might shatter.

She started toward him to help, but before she got there he reached down into his boot and came up with a wicked-looking six-inch steel-blade knife. He grimaced, as if he hated to sacrifice his knife in this way, then inserted the blade between the window and the frame and exerted downward pressure.

With a slight creak of warped wood, a crack opened up, then widened enough for him to get his fingers underneath. Then Keira was there, and together they got the window open far enough for them to climb through.

“Tie up your shirt,” he breathed next to her ear, and all at once Keira realized it was gaping open, all the buttons gone from when he had tried to make her scream. And her bra was awry, too, from when he’d mauled her. She quickly adjusted her bra and pulled the ends of her blouse together, knotting them beneath her breasts. It wasn’t neat, but at least she was decently covered.

“You go first,” he said in a whisper. “I’ll let you down nice and easy. Try not to make any noise when you move away from the window.”

She nodded, not trusting her voice. He put his hands on her waist and lifted her effortlessly, high enough for her to slide her feet through the window embrasure. He balanced her on the window sill for a moment while she ducked her head under the window, then his hands slid beneath her armpits and he lowered her to the ground.

Keira carefully backed away to allow him room to clamber out, trying not to brush up against anything that would rustle. Then he took her hand in his and looked down at her. There was barely enough moonlight to see a few feet in any direction, but there was enough light to see his determined expression as he whispered urgently, “Trust me.”

“I will,” she said. She knew it was crazy; they were still in imminent danger. At any minute someone might try to enter the room they’d just left and discover they were gone, and a murderous chase would be on. And she knew absolutely nothing about this man other than the fact he hadn’t raped her when he’d had the chance. But that one fact was enough, and she knew instinctively she could trust him with her life.

“Good,” he said, an unexpected smile slashing across his face. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Chapter 1

Cody Walker sat at his government-issued desk in his office in the agency’s sprawling complex on the northern outskirts of Denver Thursday morning, ostensibly rereading the revised report he’d just printed out to check it for errors before submitting it to his superiors. But instead of reading, he was thinking about the things he hadn’t put into the report.

Like the way Keira had looked at him in the moonlight, her face paper-white beneath a dusting of freckles, so scared and yet so brave, with that mop of red-gold curls no comb could tame. Like the way her brown eyes had met his when he’d told her to trust him and she’d said without hesitation, I will. Like the way her breast had felt beneath his hand when—

With a muttered oath, he cut off the memory. You’ve got no business remembering that, he told himself firmly. The fingers of his right hand brushed over the four barely visible welts on his left check where she’d branded him; the scratches were still there, but after nearly a week they were almost healed. Guess you deserved this after all.

He didn’t hold it against her. Sure, he’d been trying to rescue her, but she couldn’t have known it at the time. She’d fought him like a wildcat, and he respected her for it. Although they looked nothing alike, Keira somehow reminded him of his feisty best friend growing up. Mandy would have done exactly the same thing under the circumstances, he thought with a mixture of admiration and amusement.

Without realizing it, his hand went to the scar on his left shoulder. Beneath his shirt he could feel the raised edges of the healed bullet wound where Mandy had shot him six years ago because she’d thought he was about to kill the man she loved. Mandy hadn’t known the truth then any more than Keira had the other night.

Keira. He’d blown his assignment to hell and gone for her, but he couldn’t have done anything differently. Not and still call himself a man. He couldn’t have left an innocent woman there in that isolated shack in the mountains west of Denver with the incipient terrorist gang members he was meeting with in his undercover persona as an illegal arms dealer. They would have raped her at the very least, and probably would have killed her afterward—they wouldn’t want to leave a witness behind.

He remembered his first sight of her last Friday night when the three men had half dragged, half carried her into the shack where he’d been negotiating with two other gang members. She’d been fighting her captors every step of the way, refusing to surrender to them despite the terror any woman would have felt in that situation, struggling against ravaging hands and lewd suggestions, unwilling to give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry or beg for mercy she had to have known was nonexistent.

His desperate plan had been born in an instant. He’d had leverage because they wanted something from him—Stinger man-portable surface-to-air missiles, Kalashnikov AK-47 assault rifles and magazines, and other sundry weapons of destruction. And he’d used that leverage to claim “first rights” to Keira, using the coarse language they’d expected in that situation. Then he’d triumphantly claimed his “prize” and dragged her into the other room, and...

Well, that part was in his report, anyway.

He threw the papers on his desk, momentarily disgusted, and swiveled around to stare at the picture on his wall—a large, blown-up reproduction of his rustic cabin and the surrounding woods in the Big Horn Mountains of Wyoming. He wondered why he’d ever left it and the relatively easy job as sheriff back then.

He sighed. He knew why he’d left. Just as he knew why he’d taken this job. But sometimes it didn’t seem worth it.

He’d been unofficially reprimanded for compromising his assignment—no way would they have dared to make it an official reprimand under the circumstances, special rule seven notwithstanding—although what his immediate supervisor and his partner thought he could have done other than what he had done was a mystery to him.

He’d managed to electronically send the “abort mission” signal to his partner, waiting with a backup team a mile away, without Keira seeing him. He hadn’t wanted her to know she’d interrupted a covert operation, hadn’t wanted her to have any suspicions of what he was or why he was there. But he’d had a lot of explaining to do later that night about why the op had to be aborted.

He was just thankful he’d been at the right place at the right time. Thankful they’d both escaped and he’d seen her safely back to her car and on the road home. Thankful he hadn’t had to kill anyone in the process—the red tape on that would have included a mandatory desk assignment while the incident was thoroughly investigated. Not that he had any doubts he would have been cleared. But it would have been a time-consuming hassle, and he hated being chained to a desk.

Besides, he’d only ever taken one life, and he wasn’t in any hurry to repeat that experience unless he had no other option. Now if only he could get the feel of Keira’s taut, unyielding body beneath his out of his mind...

The phone on his desk shrilled. He swiveled around and picked it up automatically. “Walker,” he said crisply. He relaxed back in his chair. “Hey, Callahan,” he said, “I was just thinking about you.” He listened to the voice on the other end of the line for a second, then added, “Well, not you, exactly. I was thinking about the time your wife shot me.”

“No more than you deserved,” Ryan Callahan responded promptly. “At least from her perspective.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Cody replied. “Tell that to the marines.”

That was something he and Callahan had in common—they’d both served in the U.S. Marine Corps, but at different times, since Callahan was quite a bit older. Cody thought for a second. If he was thirty-seven, that meant Callahan had to be forty-five now, close to forty-six. We’re none of us getting any younger.

They’d also both worked the same undercover operation six years ago, bringing down the New World Militia together when Cody had been the sheriff of Black Rock, Wyoming, a position Callahan now held.

They had something else in common, too—they’d both been in love with Mandy Edwards. Mandy Edwards Callahan, Cody corrected himself with a wry smile. He wasn’t in love with Mandy anymore. Well, not much, anyway. There would always be a small corner of his heart devoted to her, but once Callahan had come back into her life, Cody had known there was no chance for him. He’d left Black Rock and had joined the Drug Enforcement Administration after he recovered from the gunshot that had almost killed him.

But his work in the DEA hadn’t satisfied him somehow. He’d been restless and had needed something more, so he’d been ripe for change when he’d been approached by Nick D’Arcy to join a newly created ultrasecret agency not quite two years later. His new job was more demanding, both mentally and physically, and more rewarding, too. And it had allowed him to forget about losing Mandy to Ryan Callahan.

“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 before 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.

At D’Arcy’s invitation, Keira sat down between her partner and Cody Walker. Then D’Arcy said four words, “The New World Militia.” Trace started to speak, glanced at Cody over Keira’s head and kept mum. “I’m bringing Walker in on this investigation,” D’Arcy explained. “Ryan Callahan called him.”

“Callahan?” McKinnon said. “Damn. That means the rumors are true.”

“Who’s Ryan Callahan?” Keira asked, looking from one face to the other and settling on her partner.

Before Trace could respond, Cody said, “Former cop. Undercover for five years with the New World Militia at the instigation of the FBI. Practically single-handedly brought down the organization six years ago.”

“I think you had something to do with that yourself,” D’Arcy said drily.

Cody made a dismissive gesture. “Maybe. But without him there wouldn’t have been much of a case to prosecute in the first place.” He looked at Keira. “He called me this afternoon, said that he knows the organization has been resurrected. He wouldn’t tell me how he knew, over what he said was an unsecured phone line, but I’ll tell you this—if he says he knows, I damn well believe him.”

A long silence followed his harsh statement. Then D’Arcy looked at Keira and Trace. “I know you haven’t been working this case very long, but what have you got?”

Keira glanced at Trace, who made a gesture signaling for her to go ahead. “We took the information you gave us,” she told D’Arcy, “and we checked it out. There’s no tangible proof yet, nothing we can take to a grand jury regarding the New World Militia. But there is a common thread connecting everyone on your list. They are part of a political action committee—a super PAC, actually—called NOANC. It can’t be a coincidence.”

D’Arcy leaned back in his chair, rubbed his hand over his face and sighed. “I was hoping I was wrong.” He looked at Cody and said softly, “Five senators, more than two dozen congressmen and I don’t know who all else.”

“What?” Cody sat up in his chair. “That’s not possible. The organization was destroyed six years ago. How—”

“That’s what you’re going to find out,” D’Arcy said. “You’re relieved of the rest of your case load as of right now, Walker. I’ll clear it down the line. And since Callahan prefers not to have your partner in on this...” He shrugged. “That’s the way it will have to be for now.”

He looked at Keira and Trace. “Because of his extensive background with the New World Militia and his connection with Callahan, I’m putting Walker in charge—you’ll report directly to him. Turn over any other cases you’ve got running to your supervisor. I’ll make sure he understands, but brief him thoroughly.”

His expression was deadly serious as he faced the three agents in front of him. “I’m sending you to Black Rock to talk with Callahan, find out what he’s got. Bring him in on the investigation, if that’s what it takes. No one knows better than him that this organization is a cancer, and if we don’t excise it—fast!—it might be too late.”

Cody glanced at Keira, then back at D’Arcy. “Callahan won’t like it,” he said. He looked at Keira again, an apology in his eyes. “Callahan doesn’t know you and he doesn’t trust you. I don’t think he’ll talk if you’re there.”

D’Arcy nodded, acknowledging the truth of Cody’s statement as far as it went. “He might not like it, but there’s one thing he knows as well as I do—the New World Militia doesn’t recruit women. There’s not a chance in hell Special Agent Jones is a member.” He looked at the two men. “I can’t say that about either of you.”

Cody and Trace looked at each other. Glancing from one man to the other, Keira saw the sudden suspicion in both sets of eyes. “Stop it,” she said, “both of you. I know Trace,” she told Cody. “He’s been my partner for three years, ever since I joined the agency. I know him like I know myself.” She looked at Trace. “I don’t know Cody the way I know you, but I trust him with my life, the same way I trust you.”

Trace’s eyes narrowed again, and he looked as if he were going to demand further elucidation of her statement, but Nick D’Arcy preempted him. “That’s enough,” he said. “I just wanted to make a point. That’s why I’m sending Special Agent Jones as well as the two of you. Even though Callahan might not trust her, I do. End of discussion.”

It was a dismissal, and all three agents rose and filed out. Cody walked toward the elevator and punched the button, Keira and Trace right behind him.

“Wait up,” Keira said. “We need to talk about next steps.”

Cody glanced down at her and gave her an assessing look. “I’ve got to talk to Callahan, see what he says.”

“Shouldn’t we talk about it first, the three of us?”

“Look,” he said, “don’t take this the wrong way. But O’Neill is a tad, shall we say, old-school?”

“O’Neill?” She knew her face reflected her puzzlement. “I thought his name was Callahan.”

Cody rubbed the bridge of his nose, his lips pursing at his mistake. “It is. But when I first knew him, he was going by the name of Reilly O’Neill. Sometimes I still call him that out of habit.”

“Oh, I see.” She thought a moment. “What do you mean he’s a tad old-school?”

The elevator arrived, and they all crowded in. “What floor?” Cody asked.

“Twelve,” Trace volunteered.

Cody pushed the button for the twelfth floor as well as the fifth-floor button for his own office.

Keira reiterated her question. “What do you mean he’s a tad old-school?”

Cody looked at Trace. “You know him, too, McKinnon. Wouldn’t you say he’s a throwback?”

Trace laughed. “That’s an understatement.”

Cody grimaced. “There’s no easy way to tell you, but...Callahan won’t like it that a woman is involved in the investigation.”

“You’re kidding, right?” She glanced from Cody to her partner, then back again. Both faces had that expression men hid behind when they didn’t know what to say to a woman because no matter what they said, it was suicide one way or the other. “That’s not just old-school—he must be a dinosaur.”

Cody laughed but said, “I have to talk to him about this, get his okay before we plan anything. I don’t care what Baker Street says—if Callahan says no, it’s no.”

Keira opened her mouth, then closed it again. She made a sound of disbelief, but she didn’t know what to say. She turned accusatory eyes on her partner. “Is that how you feel, too?”

Trace had that “deer in the headlights” look, but all he said was “It’s not my call,” then added in an undertone, “thank God.”

“I don’t believe this,” Keira said to him, hurt battling anger for dominance as she confronted him. “We’ve been partners for three years. I thought you trusted me.”

“I do,” Trace reassured her. “But I’m not Callahan. I can’t speak for him.”

“Look,” Cody began. “It’s nothing against you personally....”

The elevator door opened on the twelfth floor and Trace made his escape, but Keira stayed right where she was. She put her arm across the elevator door, preventing it from closing again, and when she did, her sleeve pulled up, exposing an ugly green-and-yellow bruise that encircled her wrist.

“God,” Cody said, suddenly distressed. “Did I do that to you?” He reached out and touched her wrist with two fingers, brushing the bruise so lightly it didn’t hurt. He raised a troubled face to hers.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “It might have been you. Or it might have been one of the animals who jumped me.”

He moved closer and held the elevator door open with his shoulder while he fit his fingers around her wrist. They matched the bruise exactly. “I am so sorry,” he said. She saw him swallow hard. “I didn’t realize...” He reached for her other wrist and pushed the sleeve back before she could stop him, exposing an even uglier bruise. His face contracted as if the sight hurt him.

“It’s okay,” she assured him. “I bruise easily. You did what you had to do to save me. I don’t blame you. I...” He was brushing his fingers lightly over the bruise, back and forth, as if he could erase it that way, and the touch of his fingers was somehow erotic. She drew her hand away and pulled down the sleeve. “I’d far rather have the bruises than what else might have happened to me.” Her chin tilted up.

There was just a second when she saw something in his eyes—a look of admiration tinged with frank, male appreciation—but it was gone so quickly she thought she must have imagined it.

“Besides,” she added, pointing to the faint scratch marks on his left cheek. “I hurt you, too.”

His hand rose involuntarily, as if he’d forgotten all about the marks she’d left on him. But then she could see him remembering what he’d done to her to make her scratch him so violently, and remorse filled his face.

“Don’t think about that,” Keira said swiftly, and repeated, “You did what you had to do, and—” she made each of her next words a separate sentence for emphasis “—I. Don’t. Blame. You.”

“I didn’t mean to be so...brutal.”

“What you did was nothing compared to what they had in mind,” she reminded him.

“Yeah, but...”

“But nothing,” she said firmly. “Forget about it. I have,” she lied.

He didn’t say anything, just looked at her in a way that reminded her of the moment when he’d told her to tie up her shirt that first night, and she felt her cheeks grow warm. That was the worst thing about having the pale skin that accompanied her red hair; any change in coloration was noticeable.

Two people approached the elevator, glancing curiously at Cody and Keira talking so intently. Keira brushed past the other two agents, and Cody followed her out. The elevator doors slid closed behind them.

“Wait,” he said. “We’re not quite finished.”

She turned around, darting a quick look around to see if anyone was watching them, then asked, “What is it?”

“I started to say it’s nothing against you personally why O’Ne—I mean Callahan probably won’t want to include you.” He punched the elevator button again. “It’s a long story, and maybe I’ll tell you sometime, but I’ve got a bullet hole in me because Callahan didn’t even trust the woman he eventually married with the truth.”

Keira shook her head in puzzlement. “I don’t get it. If he didn’t trust her, why did he marry her?”

Cody chuckled. “Good question. Seriously, though, by the time he married her, he did trust her. But it wasn’t easy for him.” The elevator doors swooshed open, and he stepped inside, holding the door for a minute while he finished. “Callahan doesn’t trust many people, and I’d say Mandy’s probably the only woman he does trust.”

The elevator doors closed, and Keira stood there for a moment, staring blankly at the brushed metal, her sixth sense humming. There was something in the way Cody had said Mandy’s name. Most people probably wouldn’t have noticed. But then most people didn’t work for the agency, either. It was just the slightest softening when he spoke her name. A certain inflection. And Keira knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Mandy, whoever she was, had once meant something special to Cody. Maybe still did.

She turned and walked down the hall toward her office. Without realizing it, her right hand touched her left wrist and felt the bruise there. She looked down at both wrists, thinking absently about the other bruises on her body hidden beneath her clothes that no one but she—and her doctor—had seen. Including the imprint of four fingers and a thumb on one still-tender breast.

Keira walked into her office and sat at her desk. She knew she should be upset that she might be unfairly excluded from this investigation because Callahan was a throwback to the bad old days and didn’t think women were up to the job. She knew she could prove him wrong—if she got the chance. She’d been fighting her whole life to be taken seriously, and she wasn’t ready to give up; not by a long shot.

But she wasn’t thinking about that at this moment. She wasn’t thinking about proving herself to Callahan. It made absolutely no sense to her because she’d never allowed her personal feelings to infringe on her work before, but all she could think about in that instant were the marks Cody had left on her body—and the way he’d said Mandy’s name.

Chapter 3

Cody stood at a pay phone ten blocks from the agency’s complex, dropping quarters into the slot. It was a good thing he had enough change on him—who carried much cash anymore in this day of plastic?

It also hadn’t been easy even finding a pay phone—almost everyone had a cell phone these days, so a lot of the pay phones had been removed because they no longer generated enough income to make them worthwhile—and he’d almost given up before he found one that was still functional...ten blocks away.

He’d noted the location without drawing attention to it, then had walked several more blocks in a random pattern, “checking six” every so often to make sure he wasn’t being tailed. When he’d been sure he was clear, he’d doubled back to the pay phone and dialed the number he’d memorized earlier.

“Yeah?” Callahan’s gritty voice sounded in his ear.

“It’s me.” Cody knew he didn’t have to identify himself. “D’Arcy gave me the green light, but there’s one small problem.”

“What’s that?”

Cody watched the passersby carefully without letting on he was doing it, making sure no one was evincing interest in his conversation or got close enough to hear him. “He’s sending three of us to Black Rock.”

“No.”

“Just wait,” Cody said. “Don’t say no until you know who.”

“Okay,” Callahan said. “Tell me who, so I can tell you no.”

Cody laughed and shook his head. “Damn, you haven’t changed.”

“I’m alive.” Callahan seemed to think that was explanation enough.

“Besides me, D’Arcy wants to send Trace McKinnon.”

A short pause was followed by a reluctant “I guess I’m okay with that. McKinnon can probably be trusted, especially if D’Arcy says so.” His voice sharpened. “That’s two. Who’s the third?”

“Keira Jones, McKinnon’s partner. You don’t know her, but—”

“No.”

“Just hear me out,” Cody said. “D’Arcy already had them working on this investigation weeks before you called, so they’re two steps ahead of me. I told D’Arcy you wouldn’t like having a woman involved—”

“Damn straight.”

“But he said,” Cody continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “there’s one thing you know as well as he does—the organization doesn’t recruit women.”

There was a long pause. “He’s got a point,” Callahan finally acknowledged grudgingly. “But I don’t know her. Do you?”

Cody rapidly reviewed his meager options. He could stretch the truth—lie, in essence, which he really didn’t want to do to Callahan—or he could come clean and play the odds. “I’ve known her less than a week,” he admitted, deciding only the truth would serve. “Before you say no,” he rushed to add, “let me tell you how I met her.”

He related the whole story in a few brief sentences, knowing he didn’t have to paint the entire picture for Callahan to get the point. “Physically she’s no match for a man,” he concluded, “but she’s got guts and brains. And she’ll fight to the death, if that’s what it takes. You can’t ask for much more than that.”

Cody heard Callahan breathe deeply on the other end of the line and knew the decision was hanging in the balance. He played his trump card. “She reminds me a lot of Mandy—she’d shoot me if she had to.”

Callahan laughed, and Cody knew he’d won this round. “Okay,” said the voice on the other end. “How soon can you get here?”

“I’m not sure. There aren’t a lot of flights to either Sheridan or Buffalo. It might be easier, and maybe even faster, if we drove, especially since we’ll need reliable transportation while we’re there. We can drive up in six hours, but I don’t know how soon we can leave.”

“Let me know. We’ll need to set up a place to meet.” Where we can’t be seen, he didn’t have to add.

“What about my cabin near Granite Pass?” Cody offered as the idea occurred to him. “I haven’t been up there in six weeks, but I assume it’s still standing. I figure you’d have said something before now if it wasn’t.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Callahan said slowly.

“The three of us could stay there, too. Then no one would know we were even near Black Rock,” Cody said. “If things are as dicey as you intimated earlier...”

Callahan chuckled, but there was little humor in it. “You know, Walker, for an amateur you’re not half-bad.”

“Thanks,” Cody said drily. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Both men hung up, and Cody laughed softly to himself. “Amateur,” he said and laughed again.

He walked back to the office listing in his mind all the things they needed to do before they left for Black Rock. D’Arcy and Callahan are right, he thought. We need to move on this fast. But he wasn’t so lost in thought he didn’t take every opportunity to check to see if he was being followed. And when he turned a corner two blocks before the outer gate of the agency’s complex, he let his gaze swing wide in the direction from which he’d just come, out of habit more than anything else. That was when he spotted him.

The man looked no different from anyone else on the street. He blended in—almost too well. There wasn’t a single thing that made him stand out from the crowd. Cody couldn’t have said what it was about him, but there was something...and he knew he was being tailed.

He didn’t let on he’d marked the tail, just kept heading toward the agency’s front gate. While he walked, he reviewed the scene at the pay phone in his mind, and his first spurt of adrenaline subsided. This man had not been there; Cody was sure of it. Or if he had, he hadn’t been close enough to hear Cody’s side of the conversation.

But Cody knew he wouldn’t risk using a public pay phone again. Throwaway cell phones and encryption software, he added to his mental list, which was growing longer by the minute.

Cody managed another glimpse of the man when he reached the front gate, and he imprinted the face, rough height and weight, and other general characteristics in his mind. That was when a cold, sinking feeling hit him.

He’d seen the guy before.

Two days ago when Cody was filling his truck with gas on the way to work, this man had been in the next bay over doing the same thing to a little blue subcompact. He hadn’t picked up on it at the time. But now that Cody realized he was being followed, the memory returned to him. How long? he wondered. How long has someone been following me? I should have picked up on it earlier—I’m getting too damn lazy. Is it related to Callahan somehow? Or a different case?

Either way, he didn’t like it. It meant he was slipping, and that was a bad sign for a special agent.

Cody flashed his ID badge to the guard at the gate, then badged into the building using the electronic stripe on his ID card, without which no one entered the agency’s building. No one. Early on in his career with the agency, Cody had forgotten his badge one morning and had been forced to return home to retrieve it.

But he still had to run the human gauntlet. Two agency security guards stood watch at the front desk, armed and alert. Even if someone stole an electronic ID card, they still had to match the photo on the badge, and both guards perused Cody’s badge carefully before allowing him to enter the elevator. In the morning there were always two sets of guards on duty to make the line move faster, but it was never quick. But that made the building ultra secure. And there were things that went on in the agency they didn’t want the general public to know.

Going up in the elevator, Cody clipped his ID badge to the lapel of his jacket, remembering what D’Arcy had said about interagency cooperation—or lack of it. The CIA and the FBI both knew about the existence of the agency—they just didn’t like it. Maybe that was why they grudgingly shared information, and only when they had to.

The agency was a hybrid, created in secret long after 9/11 to do what neither the CIA nor the FBI had managed to do alone before that catastrophe. The agency was the “suspenders” portion of a “belt and suspenders” defense. Or you could call it a “better safe than sorry” organization, Cody thought with a touch of wry humor, even though part of him was still turning over in his mind what it meant that he was being followed.

Either way you looked at it, the agency could legally do things the “alphabet soup” agencies—the CIA, FBI, NSA, DEA, ATF and DHS—couldn’t.

That didn’t mean the agency was above the law. Cody couldn’t have worked there if it was—he still retained a strict moral code about that, a holdover from the way he’d been raised and the small-town sheriff he’d once been. The agency’s goal was still to obtain prosecutable evidence of crimes and turn that evidence over to federal prosecutors. But...they had latitude.

It wouldn’t work if the agency didn’t have people like D’Arcy running it, Cody acknowledged to himself. He still believed in the old adage that power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. But there were a few absolutely incorruptible people, and Nick D’Arcy was one of them.

Cody started to get off at the fifth floor, then realized he had something else he had to do first. He punched the button for the top floor, riding the elevator all the way up impatiently. He walked into D’Arcy’s outer office and told his executive assistant, “I need five minutes of his time.”

She assessed him as she had earlier in the day, then picked up the phone and pushed a button. “Cody Walker is back. He needs five minutes.” She hung up the phone. “You can go in.” She glanced at her watch, and Cody knew she’d be timing him.

He didn’t waste any seconds on small talk. As soon as he closed the door, he said, “I talked to Callahan. He’s fine with McKinnon. I also convinced him we need Jones in on this, but it wasn’t easy.”

D’Arcy flashed his teeth in a smile. “I figured you’d manage somehow. How’d you swing it?”

“I reminded him of what you said—that she couldn’t possibly be in the organization.” He hesitated, then added, “And I told him how I met her. That I—”

D’Arcy frowned and interrupted him. “Was that absolutely necessary?”

Cody made a face of regret, but nodded. “He needed to understand the kind of woman she is.” He stopped short as he realized the other man knew how he’d met Keira. Then he remembered D’Arcy’s curious comment earlier, that Keira already knew Cody. “How do you know how I met her? I never said...”

“It’s my business to know everything,” D’Arcy said with a faint smile. Then he stated unequivocally, “I told her the story wouldn’t get out.”

“She told you what happened?” Cody was surprised.

“She came to me Monday morning. Said she felt she owed it to you to see that you didn’t get into trouble over blowing your cover. She even offered me her resignation, which I obviously didn’t accept.”

“I don’t follow you.” Cody’s brows knit in puzzlement. “How did she know I was a fellow agent?”

“She recognized your name when you introduced yourself afterward. Said she knew then who you were, that you had to be undercover. Said she wouldn’t let you take her to the hospital or to the police because she didn’t want to compromise whatever operation was in play any more than she already had.”

“Damn,” Cody said. “I wish I’d known.” He drew a quick breath. “But even if I had, I would still have needed leverage to convince Callahan.” He chuckled ruefully. “I told him Keira reminded me of his wife, that she would shoot me if necessary.”

D’Arcy was forced to laugh. He’d been there in the aftermath of what had gone down six years ago, when Mandy had shot Cody through a tragic misunderstanding. And he also knew there was no surer way to Callahan’s trust than to compare someone to the wife who would have killed her childhood friend to protect him.

Cody added, “I don’t need to tell you Callahan won’t reveal a word of this to anyone. Keira doesn’t have to worry about the story getting around.”

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

“Five minutes, sir.”

“Right.” D’Arcy hit the disconnect button and smiled at Cody. “I run this branch of the agency, but she runs me,” he joked.

“There’s one more thing,” Cody said quickly. “I’m being tailed.”

D’Arcy’s smile vanished as if it had never been there. “You’re sure?” he asked softly.

“Dead sure. I made him just now, on the way back to the agency from calling Callahan. And I’ve seen him before.”

“How long?”

Cody had already cast his mind back over the past weeks, then months, but couldn’t remember catching even a whiff of having been tailed until now, and he quickly recounted what little he knew.

D’Arcy assimilated this unwelcome news, trying to fit this puzzle piece in place with all the other little bits and pieces. He held out his hand, and Cody shook it. “I don’t need to tell you to be careful,” he told Cody. “Just remember one thing—Callahan was running the show six years ago, but this is your case now. The extent of his involvement is at your discretion.”

“Yes, sir,” Cody said.

“Keep me posted. If there’s anything you need, you have the full resources of this agency at your disposal. Just ask.” His eyes turned cold, and he added even more softly but with deadly intent, “I don’t need to remind you what the New World Militia was capable of six years ago. If they’ve really been resurrected as the same organization, all the agency’s special rules apply, especially seven and eight.”

* * *

Cody pressed the button for the fifth floor and rode down in the elevator lost in thought. Special rules seven and eight. He knew what they were—every agent in the agency knew all eight of the special rules by heart—but he’d never had special rule eight apply to a case he was working before. It was too broad, too open to interpretation, and he didn’t agree with the basic concept.

And there was a part of him that didn’t agree with special rule seven, either—the part of him that had once sworn to uphold and enforce the law as a sheriff back in Wyoming. The part of him that had once bluntly told Ryan Callahan, aka Reilly O’Neill, there were other ways of taking David Pennington down...without killing him.

In the end it hadn’t been possible—he and Callahan had killed Pennington together. Whether Ryan Callahan’s .45 had done the deed or whether it had been the knife Cody had thrown while clinging to the side of a building nearly bleeding to death, neither of them knew, nor cared. They’d both been trying to save Mandy, held hostage by Pennington with a gun to her head and murder in his heart. The fact that Pennington had been the one to end up in the morgue rather than Mandy or Callahan was all they’d cared about in the heat of the moment.

But that didn’t mean Cody was happy how things had ended, even though Pennington’s death made a lot of good things possible. Cody would have preferred to go by the book: arrest, prosecution and incarceration. Long, long incarceration. It just hadn’t been in the cards that night.

Deal with it, Callahan had told Cody when Cody had expressed regret about the outcome. Cody could still hear him saying it in that disconcertingly direct way he had. Callahan had been visiting Cody in the hospital while he recovered from the gunshot wound that had nearly taken his life. You can’t ever second-guess yourself, Callahan had advised him. Not if you want to stay alive. If you do, you’ll be frozen with indecision when the chips are down. That’s the quickest way I know to end up dead. Even worse, someone who doesn’t deserve to die might pay the price for your screwup.

Cody had taken that advice to heart. He’d never allowed himself to second-guess his actions in all the years since. Not until today. Not until he’d seen the bruises he’d inflicted on Keira.

She doesn’t blame you, he reminded himself. She said it herself—you did what you had to do to save her. But after seeing the bruises on her pale, delicate skin, the reminder was cold comfort.

* * *

Cody checked the agency’s intranet listing for McKinnon’s phone number and picked up the phone. Then he changed his mind and looked up another number instead.

He heard a crisp “Keira Jones” in his ear, but for some reason he couldn’t help remembering those two words she’d spoken to him the night they met—I will. He pushed the memory ruthlessly to one side and told her, “You’re in.”

“You’re kidding,” she said, and he heard the little edge of excitement she couldn’t suppress in her voice. “I thought you were sure Callahan would refuse.”

“He’s not unreasonable, just stubborn—I should have remembered that. If you get to know him the way I do, you’ll realize unpredictability could be defined by watching him.”

“Is he really that good? What I mean is,” she explained, “the way you and Trace and D’Arcy talk about him makes me wonder why he’s not working for the agency.”

Despite everything Cody was worried about, he laughed. “If you ever meet his wife, you wouldn’t ask that question. Mandy is...” Pictures of Mandy flashed through his mind, from when they’d been toddlers together, through their high school years, to the last time he’d seen her after the birth of her third child, the daughter she and Callahan had been hoping for. “Let’s just say any man married to Mandy could be forgiven for wanting a job that kept him home nights.”

“I see.”

There was an odd inflection to the innocuous words. I wonder what that’s about, Cody thought before dismissing it as unimportant and moving on to why he’d originally called her. “Can you and McKinnon meet me down here? I’ve started a list of things we’ll need, but now’s the time for the three of us to make plans. I want to move on this as soon as possible. And there’s something I just learned about that I need to share with the two of you,” he added, knowing he needed to inform them he was being followed.

“I think Trace went to get coffee, but I’ll round him up and we’ll be down there shortly. Where’s your office?”

He told her. After they hung up he started jotting down cryptic notes of the things he’d mentally listed, but then he paused, pen in hand, and stared at the phone for a few seconds as it hit him. The odd inflection he’d noted earlier but had dismissed suddenly made sense.

She didn’t like hearing you talk about Mandy, he told himself as his pulse unexpectedly kicked into gear. She didn’t like it, and that must mean—

Cody tried to shut down that train of thought. Keira was a fellow agent; not only that, she was also working for him now—that made her off-limits. Fraternization between agents was frowned upon and was strictly forbidden between supervisor and subordinate.

I’m not really her supervisor, though, he temporized. I’m just the agent in charge. It was a fine distinction, a legal nicety, but...it meant he could at least think about her without feeling he’d crossed a line he shouldn’t cross.

He’d been involved with a few women since he’d left Black Rock...and Mandy. But nothing that had touched his emotions. Nothing that had made him feel. He’d blocked off his heart from the moment Mandy had married Ryan Callahan and had told himself he was better off that way—a lone wolf traveled farther and faster. But deep inside he hadn’t really believed it. That hard, cynical edge was just a facade. Mandy had known the truth about him; but Mandy belonged to Callahan, heart and soul.

He’d finally, finally cured himself of loving Mandy, but he wanted a woman like her for his very own. A woman who would make him her first priority. A woman who would love him fiercely with every beat of her heart, the way Mandy loved Callahan. A woman who would kill to protect him, just as he’d kill to protect her. A woman like...

He told himself he was overreacting. That it was just the circumstances surrounding their first meeting coloring his perspective, when a vision of a woman rose in his mind. Translucent skin with a sprinkling of pale freckles; red-gold curls that made a man want to tangle his fingers in them and see if they were as soft as they looked; brown eyes fringed with gold-tipped lashes untouched by mascara—soft brown eyes that refused to cry.

And faintly pink lips without a trace of lipstick. Firm lips. No-nonsense lips. Lips that hadn’t trembled even when she’d believed she was about to be raped and killed. Lips he’d give a sizable chunk of his next paycheck to discover if he could soften under his.

You’ve got no business daydreaming about her, he warned himself with stern resolution. He’d barely managed to relegate her to a corner of his mind when a slight movement caught out of the corner of his eye made him look up. Walking toward his office was Trace McKinnon. And right beside him was the woman with the unkissable lips Cody wanted suddenly—and urgently—to kiss.

Chapter 4

Cody stood at the firing range in the soundproofed subbasement of the agency. Safety glasses and noise-canceling headphones in place, he raised his right hand and fired his Glock 17 at the silhouette target fifty feet away until the 33-round high-capacity magazine was empty. He reeled the target in, noting with disgust that roughly half his shots weren’t in the ten ring, although he had nothing outside a nine.

He liked the Glock better than the standard-issue revolver he’d carried when he’d been the sheriff of Black Rock—more accurate at a greater distance and more firepower, even without the high-capacity magazine—but guns had never been his thing. Knives had always been his first love, ever since he’d been a kid.

Cody could remember practicing until both arms were sore and aching, and then practicing some more until he was nearly as good with his left hand as he was with his right. He hadn’t even stopped when his father had roughly told him that knives weren’t much use anymore, not when throwing a knife left you disarmed and gave your attacker a weapon to use against you.

That had just added to the challenge. Even as young as he’d been, Cody had figured out that if you were deadly accurate, you didn’t have to worry about having your own knife turned against you. A well-balanced knife in the hands of a marksman was a potent weapon.

Knives also had other uses, as he’d known when he’d used his to pry open the warped window the night he first met Keira. Using a good throwing knife as a pry bar didn’t do much for its balance, but it sure came in handy.

And knives could be concealed more easily than guns.

He glanced down the line at the other two agents on the firing range. McKinnon was doing rapid, five shot strings with a SIG SAUER P226; Keira was using the two-handed Weaver stance to empty her smaller, compact Glock 19 with deadly precision.

Unlike the FBI, the agency didn’t have a standard-issue firearm—each field agent requisitioned his or her own weapon based on fit and functionality, the agency’s position being that what worked for one agent wouldn’t necessarily work for another—but they did keep records of all guns issued.

And every field agent was responsible for staying sharp with the weapons of his or her choice. Cody was sure Keira and McKinnon didn’t need today’s practice rounds, but with special rule seven invoked...and it wouldn’t hurt, anyway; you never knew when just the tiniest fraction of an edge might make a difference.

One of the great things about working for the agency was that a lot of the bureaucracy and red tape involved in requisitioning assets for a covert operation had been minimized or eliminated entirely. And the agency had a whiz of an acquisition and supply team. Cody couldn’t recall a time when he had requested something he needed for an op that hadn’t been forthcoming in less than twenty-four hours.

His small team already had in their possession most of the assets the three of them had figured they might need, and he’d been assured the rest would be ready and waiting for them first thing in the morning, along with the two vehicles they’d requisitioned. Neither vehicle would be new enough, or old enough, to draw unwanted attention, he knew without asking. But under the hood—where it counted—both would be impeccably maintained. McKinnon and Keira would drive the truck with its retractable, locking tonneau cover over the truck bed, concealing their gear. Cody would drive the SUV, chosen more for its power, agile handling, corner-hugging ability and near-perfect manual transmission—things a vehicle needed in the mountains around Black Rock—than for its amenities.

Even though everything was lined up for their early departure tomorrow morning, Cody chafed at the delay. When he’d called Callahan back to let him know they wouldn’t be arriving until midafternoon the following day, the other man’s disappointment had been obvious.

“That the best you can do?”

“Just about, unless you tell me something more than you’ve told me so far,” Cody said reasonably. “Which, in essence...is nothing.”

“Okay.” Callahan wasn’t one to waste time on nonessentials. “I’ll be waiting.”

* * *

Mandy Callahan had just laid her sleeping daughter in her crib when she heard the front doorbell ring, and then ring again. She glanced at her watch as she went to answer it, wondering who could be stopping by way out here at this time of night. The hallway light was out, and she didn’t bother turning it on. But the living room was also shrouded in darkness when she entered, and her brows wrinkled into a puzzled frown. I thought Ryan was in here reading the paper. I wonder where he—

A hand closed over her mouth, and her husband’s arm encircled her waist. “Shh,” he mouthed against her ear. “Stay here and don’t move.”

Mandy froze. No! she thought as her pulse began to race, memories of six years ago as fresh in her mind as if they had occurred yesterday—firebombs ripping her world apart, vengeful murderers after her husband. Not again. Her thoughts flew to the bedroom she’d just left, where her innocent daughter, Abby, lay sleeping; and the bedroom next to it, where her two sons, five-year-old Reilly and little Ryan, only three, were asleep in their bunk beds. My babies, she thought frantically, wanting to run back to protect them, to throw her body over them and shield them from whatever danger threatened, but she knew better than to disobey her husband when his voice sounded the way it had.

His body pressed against hers for a second more, and Mandy could tell her husband was already strapped—the leather holster and the gun it contained had once been Ryan’s constant companions. But it had been years since he’d felt it necessary to be armed to the teeth in their home.

Mandy swallowed hard. She wanted to ask him why, but she was afraid she already knew the answer. Ryan hadn’t said anything, but something had been weighing on his mind this past week. She’d just been so tired and distracted trying to wean Abby, she hadn’t taken the time she normally would to demand he tell her what was going on. And now...now it might be too late....

Her husband took her right hand and wrapped it around something cold and hard—the butt of a pistol. “Use it if you need to,” he whispered. “I’ll be right back.” With that, he was gone, moving down the hallway like a shadow, slipping out the back door into the night.

Her eyes flickering every which way, straining against the darkness and starting at every creak, she waited for Ryan’s return. Not my husband, God, she prayed as she waited. And not my babies. Please, don’t let anything happen to them. Please.

She sensed more than heard movement on the front porch, and her heart began hammering in her breast. Then she heard a low, pained moan, and she almost screamed, thinking it could be her husband making that sound. She darted to the front door, stopping herself just in time as she remembered what Ryan had long ago trained her to do. She flattened herself against the wall beside the door but not too close to it, then waited, gun hand up and ready, counting seconds.

“It’s okay, Mandy,” she heard Ryan call softly. “Open the door.”

She twitched the dead-bolt lock and threw the door open. A large shadow walked through carrying something even larger in its arms. “Shut the door and lock it,” her husband said. She did as he bade her, then followed him as he carried his burden through the dark hallway into their lamp-lit bedroom and gently lowered it onto the bed.

“Oh, my God!” Mandy covered her mouth with one hand to prevent herself from saying anything more. She barely recognized the young man bleeding on their bed as Steve Tressler, their nearest neighbor. His face was a bloody mask, as if it had taken a terrible beating. And there were three wounds she recognized as gunshots tracing across his chest.

She dropped the gun she was holding onto the bed and stumbled to the bathroom, grabbing towels off the shelf and knocking a couple onto the floor in her haste. When she got back to the bedroom, Steve had a death grip on Ryan’s shirt. Ryan was bent over, Steve’s other hand in his and his ear pressed to Steve’s lips, which were moving between gasps for air. And then she saw it—one long, shuddering breath, and Steve’s body went limp.

“No!” she whispered, appalled.

Ryan stood up, his face hard, cold and deadly, the way she’d seen him look six years before. Blood stained his shirt where Steve had gripped it, and he slid something into his jeans pocket, but she couldn’t see what it was.

“Pack some clothes and things for the kids,” Ryan ordered in a voice she hadn’t heard in six years, and it sent icicles down her spine. “You’ve got ten minutes.”

Mandy didn’t hesitate. She’d been there when her home had been turned into a raging inferno by members of the New World Militia. She’d been there when Ryan and Cody had confronted and killed David Pennington, the militia’s founder. And she knew when Ryan looked and sounded like that, questions—and answers—would have to wait.

* * *

They drove through the stillness of the night, the children fast asleep in their car seats. “Where are we going?” she asked finally.

“Walker’s cabin.”

“Why there? Why not Sheridan or Buffalo?”

Ryan didn’t answer at first. Then he said, “Because I need to get you and the kids out of harm’s way. And because Walker will be there tomorrow, with a couple of other agents.”

Mandy felt the stirrings of anger. “How do you know that?” she asked, trying to keep a lid on her temper. “What haven’t you told me?”

Ryan’s voice was harsh in the darkness. “I called him this afternoon and asked him to come up here.”

She breathed deeply. The fear-induced adrenaline that had kept her going at fever pitch for the past hour had finally drained away, and she felt weak and shaky. But not too weak to remind her husband, “Six years ago you swore you’d never keep secrets from me again. So you’d better start talking—fast.”

* * *

Cody jolted awake when the phone rang beside his bed. He fumbled the receiver to his ear and darted a quick look at his alarm clock. After midnight, he thought. Who could be call—

A deep growl sounded in his ear. “DEFCON One.” A click at the other end told him the caller had hung up. But he knew that voice. And he was pretty sure he knew what the code phrase meant.

He bunched a pillow behind him and lay back against it, staring at the phone in his hand, deeply perturbed. Callahan wouldn’t call him at this time of night unless something had happened, something deadly important he needed to warn Cody about.

Cody looked at the phone in his hand, then punched in a number every agent in the agency had memorized, but which few had ever been called upon to use. Cody never had, either, until now.

The phone rang for a few seconds before it was answered by a crisp voice, unmuffled by the dregs of sleep. “D’Arcy.”

“It’s Special Agent Walker, sir. Sorry to wake you, but you did say to keep you posted, and something has come up.”

“That’s okay. What is it?”

“Callahan just called me. He said two words—DEFCON One—then hung up.”

There was a distinct growl at the other end. “How soon can you get up there?”

“It’s a six-hour drive, but we don’t have everything we requisitioned yet. I was told we’d have it first thing in the—”

“Get your team mobilized and be at the agency in one hour. I’ll make a call—if everything you need will be ready in the morning, it can be ready and waiting for you now.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m also going to send up two more teams—one to Buffalo and one to Sheridan—as backup, just in case. They’ll be a few hours behind you, so I don’t want you to wait for them, but don’t hesitate to call for help if you need it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And, Walker, one more thing.” There was a pause at the other end. “I know you don’t agree with special rule eight.”

Cody was surprised into asking, “How did you kn—”

“It’s my job to know everything,” D’Arcy replied. “You might not agree with it, but I also know you’ll follow it...if you have to. Go with your gut.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Get going,” D’Arcy said. “You’ve got fifty-seven minutes.”

* * *

Cody’s team assembled in the ready room on the fifth floor, just down the hall from his office. He noted with approval that despite the late, or rather, early hour, both Keira and McKinnon were alert and sharp, as if they’d had eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. They were both dressed casually in jeans, sweaters and sturdy hiking boots, as he was, with the warm jackets they’d need in the mountains when they got close to Black Rock thrown over the backs of their chairs.

Both agents already had their Bluetooth earphones in place, and Cody fitted his in his ear as he briefed them quickly. He really didn’t have a lot that was new to share, other than Callahan’s warning and D’Arcy’s order, but he reiterated the plan they’d come up with earlier that afternoon, making one change.

“Two vehicles and three drivers means we can drive in shifts, and each of us can get a little sleep on the way,” Cody said. “McKinnon, you’ve got the GPS coordinates for my cabin already loaded?” McKinnon nodded. “I want to drive one of the vehicles on the last leg—I don’t care which one. Even with a GPS it won’t be easy finding the turnoff, so I might as well lead the way. You two sort out who drives when.”

They left just before two in the morning, Cody driving the SUV and McKinnon driving the pickup truck, with Keira trying to sleep in the cab of the truck her partner was driving. Cody had been very careful to make sure no one followed him from his apartment to the agency, and he did the same thing now, just in case. He drove with part of his mind on the road and making sure he had no tail, but another part wondering what could have happened to make Callahan call him in the middle of the night. And what did that mean for Mandy and their three children?

They stopped to switch drivers at a gas station about a half hour before Wheatland, Wyoming. McKinnon quickly downed a cup of black coffee and said, “I’m still good. I’ll sleep on the last leg, if that’s okay with the two of you.”

Cody nodded, finishing his own coffee and tossing the cup in the trash. Keira came over to the SUV and got into the driver’s seat. “You might want to stretch out in the back here,” she told Cody. “The truck’s not all that comfortable for sleeping.”

Cody did as Keira suggested, but found it impossible to sleep—his mind was still trying to analyze Callahan’s cryptic warning and plotting out ways and means; and the backseat of the SUV wasn’t wide enough to stretch out in, either, not for someone as tall as he was. And there was something else on his mind, too. After ten minutes he broke the silence. “I wanted to thank you,” he said.

“For what?” Keira glanced at the rearview mirror.

“For telling D’Arcy the whole story about what happened last Friday night,” he explained.

A long silence followed his words. “I owed it to you” was all she said finally.

“Maybe so, but I appreciate it. Not everyone would have done it.”

She seemed uncomfortable talking about the subject. “He told you, I take it?”

“Yeah.” Cody thought about his conversation with Nick D’Arcy, then added quietly, “He also said you offered to resign.”

“He told you that, too?” From the tight way the words came out, he knew she was embarrassed.

“Only in passing and only because I had to tell him Callahan knows about how you and I met.”

“Great.” The one word spoke volumes, her tone conveying not only embarrassment but deep humiliation.

Compassion for her welled in him. It can’t be easy for a woman in a man’s job, he thought. “I had to tell Callahan,” he explained. “It was the only way to convince him to keep you on the team.”

She didn’t respond right away, and when she did she said drily, “I would have thought telling him that story would have the opposite effect.”

Cody cast his mind back to his conversation with Callahan. “That’s where you’re wrong about him. He might be a throwback where women are concerned, but he respects courage and quick wits.” Then he added, “I also told him you remind me of his wife.”

The silence was electric, and Cody knew somehow he’d said the wrong thing. But all she said was “I guess that’s a compliment.” There was just a hint of something in her voice he couldn’t put a name to, and he realized anew that Keira had picked up on his onetime attachment to Mandy...and didn’t like it.

Putting his theory to the test, Cody said, “If you meet her, you’ll understand just how much of a compliment it really is,” adding more warmth to his voice than he would otherwise have done. “Mandy Callahan and I grew up together.”

“I see.”

She didn’t say another word, and the silence in the SUV was deafening. Cody lay back, pillowing his head on one arm, using his jacket as a blanket. He had a million and one things to worry about, not the least of which was how he was going to keep his team safe if all hell broke loose as it had once before with the New World Militia.

But a tiny smile played over his lips as he dozed off in the darkness.

Chapter 5

An hour outside Buffalo, Wyoming, they switched drivers again, Cody taking the wheel of the pickup while McKinnon moved to the passenger seat. “You could try the backseat of the SUV,” Cody offered. “I won’t mind.”

“That’s okay,” McKinnon said, stretching out his legs and reclining back against the passenger door, bunching his jacket behind his shoulders as a cushion. “I probably won’t sleep much, anyway. Besides,” he added, “I want to talk to you before we get there, without Keira around.”

Cody didn’t speak, just drove up the on-ramp to the highway, watched to make sure the SUV was following him and waited. Eventually McKinnon said, “She told me what happened last week.”

There was an edge to his voice that Cody sympathized with. A man’s relationship with his partner could sometimes be closer than his relationship with his wife, especially when he trusted that partner with his life. And it was a two-way street. Anything bad that happened to a man’s partner was conversely a reflection on him. Cody wasn’t sure exactly how much Keira had confided in McKinnon, but he sensed the other man was berating himself for not being there when his partner needed him. Cody made a noncommittal sound that could have meant anything. No way was he going to reveal what he knew, not even to Keira’s partner.

“I saw the bruises,” McKinnon said softly. “Did you have to hurt her like that?”

Cody kept his face impassive, but it was an effort. There was just a hint in McKinnon’s voice that betrayed the fact he wasn’t sure; he was fishing, and Cody wasn’t rising to the bait.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He kept his eyes on the road, knowing McKinnon was watching him like a hawk for any sign he knew more than he was letting on. He signaled a lane change and passed a slow-moving diesel truck on the left, then steered back into the right lane.

Eventually McKinnon sighed and said, “Maybe you don’t at that.” Then he slipped in a question so neatly Cody almost didn’t see the trap. “So, how do you know her?”

He almost answered that he’d met her in the agency cafeteria, or something innocuous like that, but then he remembered Nick D’Arcy had mentioned the day before that Cody and Keira already knew each other, and how would D’Arcy know that unless it was related to a special op, or...?

And Keira’s partner since she joined the agency would know Cody hadn’t met her on a special op. “Sorry,” he lied, making light of it. “That’s classified.”

“Mmm-hmm.” The sound conveyed that McKinnon unmistakably knew Cody was lying, but wasn’t going to pursue it further.

Both men were silent for so long Cody thought McKinnon must have fallen asleep, but when he glanced to his right, he saw the other man was wide-awake. “I was surprised when I heard you worked for the agency,” he said on the spur of the moment. “I thought you were a fixture in the U.S. Marshals Service.”

McKinnon laughed a little. “I heard your name mentioned within the agency last year in reference to a couple of cases that earned you a commendation, and I figured it had to be you—how many Cody Walkers can there be out there? But before that, the last I knew, you were in the DEA. How long since D’Arcy recruited you?”

“Just over four years.”

“Going on five for me, ever since the agency debuted.” He was silent for a moment. “My wife didn’t want me to take the job, but...I’ve worked for D’Arcy ever since I got out of the service, and when he asked me I couldn’t tell him no.”

Cody spared him a quick look. “I didn’t know you were married.”

“I’m not.” McKinnon’s tone was dry. “Not anymore.”

“Sorry to hear that,” he replied automatically.

“Yeah, well, you know how it goes. Most women want a man home nights and don’t understand this job isn’t a nine to five you can just leave at the door.” Cody laughed with wry understanding. “And when I teamed up with Keira,” McKinnon continued, “that was the last straw as far as my wife was concerned.”

Cody suddenly wondered if... But McKinnon answered the question before Cody could voice it. “Not that there was ever anything between Keira and me, not the way my wife suspected.”

“You’ve been with her three years. Isn’t that what she said yesterday?” Cody asked in a casual tone he was far from feeling.

“Yeah. We’ve closed some tough cases together. I’ve never had a better partner, but that’s as far as it goes.”

Cody glanced in the rearview mirror, noting the lights of the SUV that had been following him at a safe distance for the past half hour, ever since he’d pulled onto the highway. There were no other vehicle lights in sight, so he knew they weren’t being tailed—covert tailing at night on a long, lonesome stretch of highway was nearly impossible.

“What can you tell me about her? As a special agent,” he added quickly, not wanting to reveal his personal interest in Keira to the other man.

McKinnon shifted positions, adjusting the jacket behind his shoulders and settling back against the door again. “She’s got a knack for figuring things out that has come in handy more than once. I’ve never known anyone better at putting a few pieces together that don’t seem to fit and solving a riddle that has everyone else stumped. Except D’Arcy, of course. Nobody can touch him.”

“I know what you mean.” He was quiet for a moment, then asked diffidently, “What else can you tell me about Keira?”

Cody could feel the other man’s eyes on him in the darkness. That was a mistake, he acknowledged. But he hadn’t been able to help himself. He wanted to know more about Keira, about what made her tick. Who better to ask than her partner?

“She’s twenty-nine, served two tours of duty overseas—she was in the Corps, just like you and me—military police. Then she came back to the States and got a degree in criminal psychology. She joined the agency right after college, three years ago,” McKinnon rattled off.

Then he added, “She comes from a large family—four brothers, all older, all former marines, too. Maybe that’s why she has a thing about wanting to do her job as well as, or better than, a man could. Maybe that’s why she jumps at every chance for a field assignment, even though her strength is research and analysis. And I know that’s why it galls her, what happened last week.”

McKinnon’s not stupid, Cody thought. He knows I’m interested—he wouldn’t be sharing personal information about Keira otherwise. And he suspects I know something.

“You keep referring to something that happened last week. What’s that about?” he asked, lying through his teeth.

“If you don’t know, it’s not my place to tell you,” McKinnon replied. “Keira can tell you if she thinks it’s important. But it won’t interfere with her job performance. That much I can tell you.”

“Fair enough.”

“I just have one more thing to say, and then I’ll keep my thoughts to myself,” McKinnon said slowly, and Cody stiffened at the tone in the other man’s voice. “I’m curious—how did you get those scratches on your cheek?”

Cody had no answer.

* * *

Shortly after eight Friday morning, Cody drove the pickup truck toward a dead-end clearing at the end of a winding muddy road that still had traces of snow in the ruts even though it was nearly the end of May. Then he braked so abruptly the SUV following him almost rear-ended the truck—another vehicle was already reverse-parked in the clearing, a large four-by-four.

“Wait here,” he told McKinnon softly and saw the other man reach for his SIG SAUER. Cody drew his own gun. He left the engine running and got out, signaling to Keira to stay in the SUV with his left hand.

Eyes flicking left and right, Cody approached the abandoned vehicle with caution. A quick glance inside at the two car seats in the middle row told him everything he needed to know, and he relaxed his guard a fraction. Callahan’s here already, he realized. Who else could it be? Who else knows where this cabin is located?

He sheathed his Glock and quickly returned to the truck. “Callahan’s here,” he told McKinnon briefly. “Let Keira know, will you?” If you can get cell-phone reception in these mountains, he thought but didn’t say. If they couldn’t, they had other communication equipment in the back of the truck they could substitute, but it wouldn’t be as convenient.

McKinnon tapped a button on his Bluetooth earphone and relayed the message to his partner as Cody shifted into gear and drove the truck forward, then reverse-parked it next to the four-by-four, just in case they needed to make a fast exit. The air had an early-morning mountain chill as both men got out and were joined by Keira, who had parked the same way and was now shrugging into her warm jacket, although she didn’t zip it up.

“You were right,” McKinnon admitted. “I don’t think the GPS could have found this place.”

“And we’re not even at the cabin yet,” Cody confirmed. “It’s about fifty yards in that direction,” he said, pointing. “But the fact that Callahan’s four-by-four is here already isn’t a good sign. One of us had better stay with the gear while we reconnoiter.” He started to give Keira the assignment, but instantly thought better of it. “You stand guard, McKinnon,” he said. “Keira, come with me.”

Cody led the way along the rough path he could have followed blindfolded. He used to come here often when he lived and worked in Black Rock, but his visits had been sporadic ever since he’d moved away. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to sell his cabin, especially after the economy took a downturn and the real-estate market headed south with it. Damn good thing I didn’t sell after all, he told himself. It was a bolt-hole for Mandy and Callahan six years ago, and it looks as if it’s being used for the same thing again.

The path narrowed in a couple of places, so they were forced to walk single file, but eventually it widened, then opened into a clearing, and Cody’s split-log cabin suddenly came into view. Snow still clung to the roof, and patches of snow were scattered around the clearing. There were footprints in the snow leading up to the front porch, too, none of them fresh.

Cody stopped and put a hand on Keira’s arm. “Hang tight,” he said. Then he called out, “Callahan!” He waited a few seconds, but there was no response from the cabin, so he called again. “Callahan!”

“Right behind you,” said a soft, deep voice.

* * *

Cody and Keira whirled. Keira’s Glock was in her hand before she realized she’d drawn her weapon; she had only a split second to notice that Cody hadn’t drawn his. And only a fraction of a second later Cody’s left hand came down on her gun hand, making sure she didn’t shoot the tall, dark man confronting them with a Smith & Wesson semiautomatic.

Then she realized the semiautomatic wasn’t aimed at them, and Cody was holding out his hand to the other man. When Cody said, “Callahan,” Keira slowly holstered her own weapon, but kept a watchful eye on the other man’s gun until he sheathed it in his shoulder holster.

“Walker.” The two men shook hands before Callahan turned his eyes to Keira, his brows raised enquiringly.

“Special Agent Keira Jones—Ryan Callahan, sheriff of Black Rock. Among other things.”

Callahan shook her hand and glanced back at Cody, a look of approval in his eyes. “She’s quick, but not reckless” was all he said, but Keira knew she’d passed some kind of internal test on Callahan’s part.

In an undertone she told Cody, “That’s dried blood,” nodding in the direction of the dark splotch on Callahan’s shirt.

“Yeah,” Callahan said. “And the body it came from is lying in my bed at home.” Cody raised one eyebrow in a question that Callahan answered with a slight shake of his head before adding, “Our nearest neighbor—he lived about a half mile away. He showed up at our door late last night, already bleeding out. He was dead before Mandy and I could do anything to save him.” Keira had never heard a colder, harder voice, and Callahan’s face matched his voice. “That’s why we’re here.”

Keira assessed the man in front of her in a way that was second nature to her now. He was older than Cody—somewhere in his mid-forties, she estimated, although it wasn’t always easy to judge ages with men, especially this man. He was tall, too, just a shade shorter than the man beside her. He was as dark as Cody was fair, and there was an alert, wary watchfulness in his tawny eyes that told her he took no risks where he hadn’t already calculated the odds. And while many men his age had started to let themselves go physically, he was as lean and muscled as Cody was—a memory flash of Cody’s lean, muscular frame holding her prisoner the night they’d met made her heart skip a beat.

Callahan looked to be a formidable ally, but looks could be deceiving. And was he as impressive as Cody had already proven himself to be? Keira couldn’t be sure until she saw him in action. She knew from firsthand experience that Cody was incredibly strong, but he was also quick off the mark, with courage to spare. He’d already risked his life for her once, and—

“Where’s McKinnon?” Callahan asked, interrupting Keira’s memories of that night a week ago.

“Guarding our escape route,” Cody replied. “I figured that was your four-by-four, but I didn’t want to take any chances, especially not with the gear we brought with us.”

One corner of Callahan’s mouth twitched into a grin. “You know, Walker, for an amateur you’re not half-bad.” His tone and words were deliberate provocation, but Keira realized Cody wasn’t responding to it. He merely grinned back, the unexpected smile slashing across his face the way she remembered it doing once before.

Callahan was speaking again, and Keira took herself sternly to task. Stop thinking about Cody and focus on why we’re here.

“Mandy and our kids are in the cabin,” he was saying. “She’ll be relieved to see you—she’s been terrified ever since last night that something will happen I can’t handle on my own.” Keira was quick to note the way his voice softened when he mentioned his wife and children. “There’s coffee already made. Why don’t you go in and let Mandy know you’re here while I help McKinnon unload the truck?”

Cody glanced at Keira. She read his unspoken message and turned away to call McKinnon on her Bluetooth earphone, relaying the news that Callahan was on his way there. Then she followed Cody through the muddy, semifrozen clearing toward the cabin. As they picked their way carefully, avoiding the worst of the mud, Keira asked, “Want to tell me what that was about?”

“What?”

“That remark about amateurs. He knows you work for the agency, so I don’t get it.”

“Long story. I’ll tell you sometime.” He smiled at her as they mounted the porch steps. He reached for the front door and opened it without knocking.

“Cody!” One of the most serenely beautiful women Keira had ever seen raised a relieved and thankful face from the baby nursing at her breast to greet them as they entered the one-room cabin. The woman slid something beneath her thigh before adding, “Thank God you’re here.”

Keira felt an unexpected wave of...not envy, exactly. More like wistfulness. Not for the other woman’s classic features and all-American blonde beauty, but for the expression Keira caught on Cody’s face before he controlled it and dropped a quick kiss on the top of the other woman’s blond head. No man ever looked at you that way, a little voice said inside her head. It hurt. And that surprised her. She’d chosen her life deliberately, so it made no sense for her to now long for other things. Soft things. Man-woman things.

Mandy had a small towel draped modestly over her breast as she nursed, and it puzzled Keira until she saw the two other children still asleep on the double bed behind her. Boys, both of them, with hair as blond as Mandy’s. That must be why she’s covered up—in case the boys wake up. The pink-and-yellow outfit on the dark-haired baby in Mandy’s arms was a dead giveaway the baby was a little girl.

Keira could no more help assembling random bits of data into a clear picture than she could help breathing. Three children in six years, she thought, remembering what Cody had told her about Mandy and Ryan Callahan. That’s some serious commitment between them. She wondered why the knowledge lightened her mood immeasurably.

Mandy smiled a welcome at Keira before glancing inquiringly up at Cody, who quickly introduced them. Then she adjusted the towel and deftly switched the baby to her other breast. “Sorry about this.” She indicated the nursing baby and gave Cody and Keira a rueful look that held only a trace of embarrassment. “I’ve been trying to wean Abby, but we left in such a rush last night I didn’t have time to pack any formula or baby food.” Her face turned troubled. “Did Ryan tell you what happened?”

“Not all of it—not yet—but enough.” He moved away from Mandy’s side and headed to the kitchen area to pour himself a cup of coffee, and Keira was unaccountably glad.

“He didn’t tell me until last night, after Steve—” She caught her breath, but went on. “We were already on the way here before he told me he called you.” Her blue eyes darkened. “I gave him hell for keeping this thing a secret from me, after he promised...” She stopped, a hurt expression on her face, and then started again. “Don’t be like him,” she begged Cody. “He can’t help being who he is—it’s the way he’s made. But you’re not like him. Don’t keep me in the dark. Not this time.”

Cody swallowed coffee from the mug in his left hand and grimaced, and Keira wasn’t sure if it was in response to the coffee or Mandy’s statement. Then his right hand briefly touched his left shoulder, and Keira remembered Cody referring to a bullet hole, Mandy and a lack of trust. Mandy had shot Cody, and she knew it hadn’t been an accident. She only knew what Trace had told her—that Cody and Mandy had been best friends growing up, but that she’d shot him the night David Pennington had been killed, thinking she was protecting Callahan. But there was more to the story. A hell of a lot more. Keira was sure of it.

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