Page 47 of Code Name: Atticus

I thought for a moment. “I almost quit. Third year. Not the academy—the whole military track.”

Her fork stopped moving. “What?”

“There was this instructor, Colonel Richards. Real hardass, old school, thought intelligence work was for people who couldn’t hack it in combat roles. He made my life hell for a semester. Failed me on a tactical assessment that I know I aced. Told me I didn’t have what it took.”

“But you stayed.”

“Luke’s doing actually. He found out what was happening and raised hell. He was wing commander that semester, so he had the commandant’s ear. Turned out Richards had a reputation for discouraging those he deemed ‘wannabes.’ He got a permanent change of station, and I got my grade corrected, and”—I shrugged—“here we are.”

“I never knew that.”

“Luke never told you?”

“No. He kept your secrets, even from me.” She smiled. “Especially from me, probably.”

“He was protective of you.”

“Still is.”

“Can you blame him?”

She considered that. “No. But it does get exhausting sometimes, being the little sister. Your parents’ baby girl. The one who needs protecting.”

“I don’t see you that way.”

“No?”

“I see you as the woman who became the youngest prosecutor in her division at the DOJ. Who got promoted three times in five years when most people are still figuring out where the coffee machine is. Who jumped into this insane undercover situation without hesitation.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Finch.”

“Earlier, you said it wouldn’t, Austen. However, I’m just speaking the truth.”

After breakfast,we took the main drag back to the safe house rather than the bay-side path. The walk took us past boutique shops where owners watered flowers in window boxes and set out sidewalk signs advertising sales on things nobody actually needed but tourists would buy anyway.

Once at the house, we settled into work mode. Brenna spread her stuff out on the dining table while I took over the kitchen island.

Our cover was solid. Seven years of strategic investments, starting small with seed funding for cybersecurity startups. A few spectacular failures that made us look human. Enough successes to justify our current supposed net worth. Alice had even created social media histories, photos from industry events we’d never attended, and testimonials from CEOs who didn’t exist.

“I need to review the investment structures Alice sent,” Brenna said. “Morrison’s going to expect us to speak fluently about our portfolio.”

“And I should go through our supposed client list. Make sure I can name-drop appropriately.”

“How are things looking?”I asked an hour later.

“If you mean with our investments, they’re believable. We turned down two companies that Morrison later invested in.”

“Why?”

“The valuations didn’t make sense.”

“Smart.” She highlighted the text on her screen.

I moved to look over her shoulder, trying not to get distracted by how good she smelled. Like vanilla. And roses. And sex. I cleared my throat.

The way she was looking at me, lips slightly parted, eyes dark with heat that had nothing to do with arbitration clauses, made me forget what we were talking about.

“We should probably—” she started.