Page 1 of Code Name: Atticus
ATTICUS
I’d been shot at, blown up, and once, memorably dangled upside down from a helicopter over hostile territory, but nothing—absolutely nothing—had prepared me for this particular assignment.
“You want me to do what?” I stared at Admiral, my boss at K19 Sentinel Cyber, across his polished desk, certain I’d misheard.
“Play devoted husband to DOJ prosecutor Brenna Austen.” His weathered face remained impassive. “For as long as it takes to infiltrate Silicon Valley’s tech community and expose a classified data theft network.”
While I searched for any excuse to turn down this assignment, Admiral laid out the investigation details. Classified military algorithms and weapons systems data were being stolen from government contractors. The perpetrators were using exclusive Silicon Valley social events—yacht parties, private club events, luxury resort weekends—to find accomplices with security clearances. Traditional surveillance was ineffective because it was impossible to distinguish between legitimate networking and criminal recruitment.
“There’s an AI Summit in Santa Clara that starts in nine days, but the networking events begin the preceding weekend. According to Brenna, the first opportunity to connect with the persons of interest she identified is at a mixer on Friday night. She already made contact with one and arranged to meet. Your covers as a defense tech venture capitalist and cybersecurity consultant fit the conference profile perfectly. The criminals we’re tracking use these types of conferences as hunting grounds—work both the summit itself and the exclusive side events. That’s where the real recruiting happens.”
This was right up my alley. The kind of work I’d love to do if it weren’t for one thing. One person—Brenna Austen.
My former roommate’s little sister. Luke had been my best friend at the Air Force Academy—the one person who could make me laugh when the pressure of military discipline threatened to crush what little humor I had left. His sister, Brenna, was the sharp-tongued, know-it-all brat who’d annoyed the hell out of me every time she visited us.
When she was seventeen and first visited Luke at the academy, she’d been all sharp elbows and attitude, challenging everything we said with relentless logic and too many philosophy books. She’d been tall for her age but skinny, with a smile that seemed too wide for her narrow face. Her hair had been longer then, always falling in her face when she got animated about some injustice she’d discovered in the world.
Now, she was…fuck…beautiful in a way that made my mouth go dry and my brain forget how to form coherent thoughts. Brenna had curves that her professional attire couldn’t hide, and those piercing blue eyes that used to dissect my every argument now seemed to see straight through me to things no one else noticed.
She’d been all business that day, but I’d caught her watching me when she thought I wasn’t looking, tracking my every movement with an intensity that made my pulse spike.
“Sir, with all due respect, there have to be other qualified?—”
“She specifically requested you.” Admiral slid a file across the desk, and I caught the hint of amusement in his expression. “She said you made quite an impression on her the last time you saw each other. Plus, she mentioned the two of you had history.”
History.That was one way to put it. I flipped open the file and immediately regretted it. The photo clipped inside showed a woman in a sexy getup that revealed everything the suit she wore two weeks ago had managed to hide.
I slammed the file shut. “There has to be someone else who can?—”
“Negative, Atticus. The cover is already in motion. You’re newlyweds, just relocated from DC. She’ll be posing as a venture capitalist, you as her private security specialist turned devoted husband.”
“Thorough,” I muttered under my breath. Still didn’t make playing house with Luke’s sister any easier.
“The DOJ considers this a priority. They want their best prosecutor working the legal angles while we gather intelligence. And she wants you.”
While I knew what he meant, the way he phrased it made my stomach queasy. Once—just once—Brenna had taken a walk on a ledge we both would’ve crashed and burned on if I’d acted on the seduction she’d attempted. If I had and her brother ever found out about it, I’d be the same dead man I would be if I tumbled from a thirtieth-floor balcony.
“You’ll need to move into the cover house by Thursday, which gives you five days to prepare. Alice has your digital identity ready to go.” He paused. “And, Atticus? Try not to let personal feelings compromise the mission.”
If he wouldn’t have immediately noticed, my eyes would’ve flared. Personal feelings?Jesus.Pretending I was married to Brenna, sharing a living space, was going to test every ounce of restraint I possessed. Unless, of course, she still hated me for turning her down that night all those years ago.
If that was the case, why had she specifically requested me? Punishment? Yeah, that would be her MO. Well, two could play that game if that was what she had planned.
I shook my head hard enough for my neck to crack. What was I thinking? This was an assignment—work—there’d be no time for games. Or fun. I prayed.
I spentthe next seventy-two hours trying to convince myself this was just another undercover op. I reviewed Silicon Valley’s social hierarchies and memorized tech industry terminology. I learned about angel investing, and that particular brand of paranoia Admiral mentioned that seemed to infect anyone with a nine-figure net worth.
Five days later, I was adjusting my wedding ring, a prop that felt heavier than my sidearm, while waiting for Brenna—aka Bronwyn Nolan, according to our fabricated marriage certificate. I checked the time. She was five minutes late, which I chalked up to Bay Area traffic at nineteen hundred hours. Moments later, she swept into the bar, and I felt my breath catch in my throat.
The woman who approached my table bore no resemblance to Luke’s little sister. Golden-blonde hair with natural honey highlights caught the ambient lighting as it fell in soft waves to her shoulders, framing a heart-shaped face with high cheekbones that belonged on a magazine cover. Her tailored navy suit somehow managed to emphasize every elegant curvewhile maintaining professional authority—the kind of figure that made men forget their own names.
When she spotted me, those striking blue eyes that seemed to see everything—intelligent with long dark lashes—lit up with pure mischief. “Well, well,” she said, dropping her briefcase and looking me up and down with the confident sensuality of a woman who owned every room she entered without trying. “You’ve aged well, Mason Finch. Or should I call you Atticus Nolan?”
I’d filled out considerably in the time since I left USAFA—sixty pounds of muscle and a routine that kept them hard as a rock—but I felt like that same awkward cadet being evaluated and found wanting.
“Still breaking hearts across multiple time zones, I imagine.” Her tone was light, but there was something sharp underneath it, like she’d been keeping score of my dating life. Thanks, Luke. Nothing like having your best friend turn your personal life into cautionary tales for his sister. The diplomat’s daughter had been a mutual decision to part ways. The analyst? We both knew it was temporary from the start. But I doubted Luke had shared those details.
“Counselor,” I said with a smile that didn’t reach my eyes.
