Cody Walker's Woman

She quickly scraped the last bite out of her bowl, washed it and followed the two men out the front door. Cody was leaning against the porch railing; Callahan was standing at the bottom of the stairs. Both men were staring outward, at the forest that surrounded the clearing around the cabin’s perimeter.

Callahan was saying, “I never cared for the isolation of this place. Hated being out of my element the first time Mandy and I stayed here.” He turned to face Cody and Keira, a rueful smile on his face. “I was a New York City boy...until I came to Wyoming.”

With a twinkle in his eye, Cody said, “You didn’t do too badly...for an amateur.”

Callahan’s booming laugh lightened his face, and Keira suddenly realized what Mandy saw in him. In many ways he was a lot like Cody, just more cynical in how he perceived the world. She wouldn’t pick him over Cody, but...she could see the attraction.

“So am I ever going to hear that story?” she asked. When both men turned inquiring expressions toward her, she explained, “You rag each other about being amateurs. But you’re both highly trained professionals—anyone can see that. So what’s the story?”

The smiles faded from the faces of both men and Keira knew she’d asked the wrong question. Mandy, she thought suddenly. It has to do with Mandy somehow. “Never mind,” she said before either man could respond, wishing she’d never opened her mouth.

“Ancient history,” Cody said lightly, but Keira could tell the lightness was an effort.

“Then tell me about the New World Militia. I’ve heard bits and pieces from Trace and you,” she said quickly, looking at Cody. “But I’m not getting the full picture. And I think I’m going to need it.”

Cody glanced at Callahan. “You want to tell it?”

“How much have you already told her?”

“Just about taking Pennington down, the trials and a few other things. Your former partner, for one.”

Callahan’s tawny eyes narrowed, an attempt to hide a flash of pain, and Keira realized the cold exterior he projected to everyone but his family was a facade. He cares, she thought with insight. Steve Tressler. Josh Thurman. He can be hurt. That’s what Mandy sees in him, too.

“It’s not pretty,” Cody continued. “But she needed to know the kind of people we’re up against.”

Callahan nodded. “Okay.” His hand indicated the porch steps. “You might want to have a seat. The whole story will take a while.”

The sun was well advanced in the sky by the time he finished. He told the story succinctly but well, and occasionally Cody threw in a comment or two to elaborate on some point Keira could see he felt Callahan wasn’t giving enough detail on. Keira hadn’t had to ask many questions.

She sat quietly afterward, her chin propped on one hand, thinking. Then she asked both men, “So if the militia was shattered six years ago, how is it possible it’s been revived so quickly? Especially without Pennington’s money.”

“You see that, too? It’s a good question.” Cody looked at Callahan, who nodded.

“It all comes down to the money,” Keira said. “No terrorist organization can survive without it. Look at al Qaeda. Look at the Irish Republican Army, the IRA. Look at FARC,” she said. “No matter how fanatically someone believes, without money it all falls apart. Follow the money trail.”

“That’s first on the list as soon as we get out of here,” Cody confirmed.

“We already have something on that,” Keira reminded him. “Remember that super PAC I mentioned in D’Arcy’s office yesterday, NOANC? In the last election every senator and congressman on the list he gave us received campaign support from it. Not direct contributions—super PACs are prohibited from donating money directly to any political candidate. But they can raise unlimited amounts of money from any source and spend that money to openly advocate for or against any political candidate—and they did. We know they were the deciding factor in at least three elections, and Trace and I had just started digging.” She looked at Callahan. “Ever hear of it?”