Cody Walker's Woman. Amelia Autin
“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