Page 74 of Code Name: Atticus
I nodded and looked away, but she rested her hand on my arm.
“If you feel that strongly, we can turn around.”
That she had that much faith in me, trusted me enough to consider what my gut was telling me, humbled me. “I can’t pinpoint any one thing that worries me. It’s an overall feeling that we don’t know what we’re walking into.”
“Have you discussed this with Admiral?”
I shook my head. “Like you said, this is your investigation, Brenna. I’m talking to you first, but only because you’re relentless.” I winked, and she half smiled.
“Can we come to an agreement?” she asked.
“Absolutely.”
“If you are able to pinpoint whatever it is that’s worrying you the most and you tell me you want to leave, we’ll leave.”
I covered her hand with mine and squeezed her fingers. “Deal.”
The exit for Highway 156 came up fast. We curved inland, away from the bay, into agricultural land. Strawberry fields stretched for miles, punctuated by artichoke farms and the occasional vineyard. Valley Ridge Resort’s entrance materialized exactly where the GPS said it would be—stone pillars flanking a private road, discreet brass nameplate, and a guardhouse that belonged at a military installation more than a luxury resort. The uniformed guard stalked toward the car in a way that screamed former active duty.
He took our IDs, verified them against his tablet, and made a call that lasted thirty seconds. During the wait, I counted two visible cameras at the gate, spotted the license plate reader, and noticed the guard’s hand never strayed far from what definitely wasn’t a flashlight on his belt.
“Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Nolan. Mr. Morrison asked to be notified when you arrived. Proceed straight ahead to the main lodge for check-in.”
“Thank you,” Brenna said with the perfect tone of someone used to being expected.
As we drove through, I noted the reinforced gate that could stop a vehicle if needed, the spike strip system built into the road, and what looked like additional cameras hidden in the landscaping.
“Friendly place,” Brenna murmured.
“Five-star security with five-star prices. Though I bet their Yelp reviews leave out the part about the potential criminal activity from within.”
“One star—beautiful views, excellent food, light treason.”
I snorted. “Would not recommend it for an anniversary unless you’re into espionage.”
The private road wound through hills dotted with coast live oaks that had probably been here since before California was a state. The landscape was manicured to look wild—carefully controlled chaos that cost a fortune to maintain. We passed a golf course that most likely used more water than a small city, tennis courts with surfaces that cost more per square foot than most homes, and stables with a dozen horses that definitely cost more than the average retirement fund.
“Look at that,” Brenna said, pointing to a riding arena, where someone was taking a horse over jumps. “English style, perfect form.”
“You ride? Luke never mentioned it.”
“Used to. Before law school consumed my life.” She watched the horse and rider execute a perfect jump, and I filed the information away for future reference.
The main lodge—a massive structure trying to look like it had grown organically from the landscape—appeared when we drove out of the oak grove. The building was constructed with timber, stone, and glass, with multiple wings spreading out like it couldn’t decide if it wanted to be a hunting lodge or a modern resort. The architecture probably had a fancy name, but to me, it looked like what happened when you gave an architect an unlimited budget and no supervision.
A valet materialized before I’d fully stopped, opening Brenna’s door while another appeared at mine.
“Welcome to Valley Ridge Resort, Mr. and Mrs. Nolan. I’ll take care of your vehicle.”
I surrendered the keys while watching a bellhop who could have played linebacker in college, if not the NFL, load our bags onto a cart.
The entrance to the lobby was a sensory assault of inauthentic rustic luxury. Everything whispered money. Toomuch of it. Like the decorator had no more supervision than the architect had.
I cataloged exits—where we’d come in from, a hallway that led beyond a restaurant, a door to what looked like administrative offices. Emergency exits would be marked but discreet, and no doubt, each of the wings had its own ways in and out. I spotted six cameras, which meant probably twelve total in the main room alone. There were twelve visible staff members, all moving with purpose but watching everything. Four other couples stood near the desk, all in various stages of checking in.
“Mr. and Mrs. Nolan.” I glanced over my shoulder when a man approached. His expensive shoes on a thick carpet may have silenced his appearance enough for the average guest, but my training went way beyond above-average. “I’m Bradley, your concierge. Mr. Morrison asked me to personally ensure your comfort during your stay.”
“How thoughtful,” Brenna said with exactly the right tone—gracious but not surprised, like she expected this level of attention.
