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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.
