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“It can’t be Walsh and Brooks,” Cody said. “They’re already dead—no reason for their names to be on a hit list now.”
Something was nudging Keira’s brain, but she couldn’t think what it could be. Something told her she knew whose names should be on that list—she just couldn’t put her finger on it.
Cody was still speaking. “The other two names depend on whose list it is. Since Tressler was in the New World Militia, we’ve assumed the list was related to that, but it doesn’t seem to fit somehow. Callahan—yes. And me. We were both undercover in the militia, and we betrayed the organization. So I see the connection there.”
He paused, as if marshaling his thoughts in order. “But Brockway and DeSantini—that’s more related to David Pennington personally, not to the militia per se. Especially after all this time. If their names were on the list—a reasonable assumption since they were killed in the same way the attempt was made on me—then the list has to be Michael Vishenko’s. Pennington’s son.”
“That’s it,” Keira whispered as everything coalesced in her brain. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
Cody glanced at her. “What?”
“You’re right—it’s Vishenko’s list,” she confirmed. “And the other two names on the list have to be Trace’s name...and yours, sir.” She looked D’Arcy straight in the eye.
D’Arcy looked at her sharply. “Why do you say that?”
“Trace told me that after Cody and Callahan killed Pennington, the two of you had to collect all the witness statements and physical evidence relating to his death, and get it ruled a justifiable homicide.”
She looked from D’Arcy to Cody. “Don’t you see? It’s the only logical conclusion. If Vishenko wants revenge for his father, it’s not just the men who put his father in jail, and it’s not just his father’s killers he wants dead. It’s also the men who helped his father’s killers—Callahan and you—get away with...murder.”
Cody’s brows drew together in a frown, and he opened his mouth as if to deny the allegation, but she spoke before he could. “I know it wasn’t murder,” she said. “But you have to look at it from Vishenko’s perspective. In his eyes it was murder, and the men who helped you get off the hook for it are just as responsible.”
She looked at D’Arcy again. “Walker told me Pennington was obsessed with seeing Callahan in hell. I can’t think of anything more hellish than an agonizing death by fire, and if I were Vishenko looking for revenge...” She took a deep breath. “I think you have to accept that someone will be coming after you, too, sir, the exact same way...if they haven’t already. You and Trace.”
D’Arcy picked up his phone and dialed a number. “I need an explosives team at my house now.” He gave the address. “I suspect something was done to my car similar to what was done to Special Agent Walker’s truck last night, so be extremely careful.” He gave the make and model, and a license plate number. “It’s parked in the driveway. Let me know what you find.”
He put the phone down. He was breathing a little faster than normal, and there was an expression on his face Keira had never seen there. “My car was low on gas when I got home last night,” he explained, “but it was late and I figured I’d fill up on the way to work. Then I got your call last night. My wife is visiting her sister in South Carolina. I knew her car had a full tank, so I drove her car this morning.”
Keira caught her breath. Her first thought was for her partner, and she turned concerned eyes on Cody. But before she said what she was thinking she realized her mistake and she relaxed a little.
“Trace hasn’t been home for two weeks,” she said, “because you assigned him to bird-dog Callahan. His car has been in the secure parking lot here at work all this time, ever since the three of us went to Wyoming. If not for that, I’d bet anything you want to stake you’d find his car rigged to explode, just like your truck.”
