Page 5 of Code Name: Atticus
“Brenna?” His voice was gravelly, and I felt rather than saw him come awake behind me, his body going tense as he realized our position.
“Good morning,” I managed, my voice steadier than I felt. “We seem to have…drifted.”
He was off me and out of the bed so fast one would think I had a highly contagious disease. I caught a glimpse of his powerful, athletic physique—over six feet, with broad shoulders that strained against the fitted T-shirt he’d slept in.
“Sorry. I don’t usually—I mean, I don’t move around much when I sleep,” he muttered.
“It’s fine.” I sat up, pushing my hair out of my face and trying to ignore how the loss of his warmth left me feeling bereft. “Big bed. These things happen.”
I wondered if now he’d get the air mattress he’d threatened to yesterday. I caught another glimpse of him, muscles rippling across his back as he took off one shirt and put on another. I forced myself to look away. This was Atticus. Luke’s best friend. The boy who’d once threatened to tell my parents when I asked him to buy me beer.
Now, he was my partner in an assignment requiring us to convince Silicon Valley sophisticates that we were madly in love. How was I supposed to maintain objectivity when just standing next to him had my pulse racing?
“Take your time,” he said, already heading for the door.
“Uh, sure,” I muttered, but he was long gone. He’d probably sprinted down the hall and tripped over himself getting downstairs as fast as he could.
I grabbed the clothes I planned to wear today. Jeans and a sweater, given it was chilly next to the bay, even in summer.
While I dressed, I forced myself to focus on the requirements ahead. The videoconference I’d scheduled with the K19 Sentinel Cyber team would establish our framework. I needed to brief them on the legal parameters, the proof standards for the eventual prosecution, and the multi-agency coordination that would make or break this case.
Cybercrime prosecutions were notoriously complex, requiring real-time legal guidance as evidence was gathered. Unlike traditional prosecutions, where materials could be analyzed for months before charges were filed, cyber cases moved too fast for standard DOJ protocols. Digital files could be deleted in seconds, cryptocurrency transfers could disappear across international borders, and sophisticated criminals could adapt their methods faster than traditional law enforcement could respond.
That’s why I’d requested this partnership with K19. They had the technical expertise we needed, but I’d be making legal decisions without the luxury of research or consultation. One wrong call could invalidate months of effort or, worse, let criminals escape prosecution.
The bathroom was a marvel of modern luxury—marble countertops, a shower big enough for six people, and heated floors that felt like heaven under my bare feet. But all I could think about as I brushed my teeth was how natural it had felt to wake up with Atticus’ arm around me. How right.
No. God. Federal prosecutors didn’t mix business with pleasure.
What had I been thinking, requesting him specifically?
I could still hear the voice of my boss, Soledad Torres, when we were standing in the sterile DOJ conference room three weeks ago.
“This is highly irregular, Brenna. You’re asking for a specific agent from a classified unit for a case that could make or break your career. Are you sure this is about his qualifications?”
I’d given her all the right answers about his cybersecurity expertise and multi-jurisdictional experience. What I didn’t tell her was that when I’d seen his name on the K19 roster, something shifted inside me—equal parts professional confidence and personal curiosity I had no business entertaining.
But here we were. I checked myself in the mirror one last time before heading downstairs.
I found him in the kitchen, fully dressed for our workday. His short military buzz cut with sun-bleached highlights looked like it required minimal maintenance, his alert eyes continuously scanned the environment even in our supposed safe space, and his chiseled jawline, clean-shaven to show off his strong bone structure,
unraveled me while he appeared completely unrattled.
He must’ve changed while I was still in the bathroom. When I saw two mugs sitting on the counter, I almost reminded him I didn’t drink coffee. Until I saw one was with tea. Beside it was a small pitcher, like those used in restaurants, filled with cream. No sugar. How I liked it.
“That’s for you,” he said, motioning to the cup I was studying as though I was trying to solve one of the great mysteries of life.
“Thanks,” I said, taking a sip. It was even perfectly steeped. “So, um, I have to ask.” I lifted the tea in his direction. “I know you’re in intelligence, but how…?”
He grinned. “Spies never reveal their sources.”
“Even under threat of a DOJ subpoena?”
He laughed out loud. “You’d have to torture me to get me to come clean.” When he wriggled his eyebrows, my cheeks felt like they were on fire.
“Settle down, Bug. Just teasin’ you.”
His use of the nickname only my brother called me by made me feel like the gangling, annoying teenager I’d once been. I wrapped both hands around the warm ceramic, grateful to have a place to put them. “Sleep well?”
