Code Name: Admiral (Special Forces: Operation Alpha) (K19 Sentinel Cyber #1)

19. Alice

19

ALICE

I tried to go back to sleep when I woke before dawn, but my mind wouldn’t stop churning. Pershing’s steady breathing beside me was both comfort and temptation. Part of me wanted to stay curled against him, safe in our shared space, but Vincent Castellano’s sudden disappearance nagged at me. When a person went dark, it meant one of two things: either they were hiding, or they wanted people to think they were. Then again, a third option was that he wasn’t hiding at all. He was dead, and whoever had killed him didn’t want his death discovered yet.

After gently extracting myself from Pershing’s arms, I pulled one of his sweaters on that I’d found draped over a chair. It hung almost to my knees and smelled like him. Sure, it kept me warm, but wearing it made me feel connected to him even when I was about to get lost in my own little digital world.

I settled at my workstation, feeling more at home, more comfortable, more like I fit here in a way I never had in my apartment in the city.

“Focus,” I muttered, holding the piece of clear quartz while I ran my morning system checks. They’d just completed when my computer pinged with an alert. Someone was using high- level encryption protocols to move large sums through a series of shell companies.

“Get the hell out,” I muttered when the tracking code immediately traced the money directly to accounts held by Alessandro Castellano. But something was off. The paths were too clean, too easy to follow.

I reached for my Matcha and sighed, remembering I’d gotten straight to work without making it. I couldn’t take a break now, though. I opened another window to start a deeper trace, using a new algorithm I’d designed to identify patterns in seemingly random data—the digital equivalent of finding a needle in a haystack by analyzing the way the hay was stacked.

“What the fuck?” I muttered when the routing information revealed an encrypted communication thread between none other than Drake Harrison—aka Grit—and Alessandro. This was way too convenient, and more, far too perfectly aligned.

I sat back, rubbing my eyes. The evidence screamed that Grit was the mole—meticulous financial trails, communication patterns, precise timing. But that perfection was exactly what bothered me. In my years exposing corporate corruption, I’d learned that genuine evidence had rough edges. People made mistakes, left gaps, covered their tracks clumsily. This felt manufactured, like someone had created an idealized template of what exposing Grit should look like.

However, once I dug deeper, cross-referencing the communication signatures with verified Castellano operations, discrepancies were revealed. The encryption methods matched those used in the FBI leaks, but the implementation differed subtly—as if someone had copied the style without grasping the underlying architecture.

Remembering what Pershing had said about Vincent Castellano’s disappearance, I switched gears, wondering if the chaos I’d created in their world resulted in the brothers turning against each other. What I found when I peeked surprised me. Someone else was feeding Alessandro information that was worse than what I’d planted. “Very interesting,” I muttered to myself.

“You’re up early.”

Pershing’s voice made me jump before his hands settled on my shoulders, melting away the tension I always carried in them.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I said. “Too many loose ends.”

“What have you found?”

I needed more time to analyze what felt like artificial perfection before I shared the evidence against Grit with Pershing, so I took a different tack.

“Alessandro Castellano’s operations show increased chatter. His people are mobilizing for something.”

“And Vincent?”

“Still invisible. But here’s the interesting part—someone fed information to Alessandro’s crew about his brother’s movements before he vanished. Almost like they’re orchestrating conflict between them.”

Pershing pulled the only other chair in the room close enough that our bodies touched, scattering my thoughts in the best possible way.

“Do you think it could be our mole?” he asked.

I shrugged, unable to focus on this new information when my mind was still spinning with how to decipher what I’d found about Grit in a way that made sense.

“Alice? What aren’t you telling me?”

I turned to face him, struck by how quickly he’d read me. “I found evidence about the leaks that feels wrong. It’s too pristine. My gut is telling me it was planted.”

“To incriminate Grit?”

Again, his perception stunned me. “In my experience, when evidence appears this flawless, it isn’t real.”

Pershing’s hand moved through his hair as though he was working to wrap his head around what I’d just told him. “If someone is setting him up, that means…”

“They’re onto us and are redirecting our attention.”

“And gauging how we handle what we find.”

A chill ran through me. This could be a way of mapping our investigation methods. “Fuck,” I muttered for the second time this morning, pulling up real-time network-traffic analysis. “There are anomalies in the background noise around here. It could be interference, or it could be surveillance hiding in the static.”

A branch snapped in the predawn darkness, making me jump like Pershing had.

“It’s just a deer,” he said, showing me the video feed on his phone.

I shuddered. “Right.”

“I know the last thing you want to do right now is take a break, but I want you to anyway.”

I opened my mouth to balk, but immediately closed it. It was the kind of thing Sarah would’ve said. And, as I predicted Pershing would, she’d be relentless until I finally gave in.

He was right about my needing a break. Between my tight shoulders and scattered energy, I desperately needed both mat time and a cup of Matcha, not necessarily in that order. I stood when Pershing did, and took his hand when he held it out to me.

“Shit,” I said under my breath when a new alert pinged on one of the computers. “Hang on. Let me look at this real quick.” I wriggled my hand from his and sat back down.

Another large transaction was moving through a suspected front company, but this one had natural flaws and organic routing. Either someone had grown sloppy, or this was genuine activity separate from the planted trail. I had to figure out a way to differentiate authentic evidence from false leads. And as fuzzy as my brain felt, I needed help.

I was about to reach for my phone to text Tex, then stopped. Until I had a better idea of how the data was being manipulated, I couldn’t involve him. Not to mention Tank’s continued insistence that we use satphones.

I glanced up at Pershing, realizing he hadn’t moved a muscle.

“Sorry,” I said, standing again and taking his hand this time.

“Coffee’s ready,” Tank announced from the other room. “And Bryar dropped off breakfast burritos.”

As I walked away from my work area, my feet trudged like I was wearing heavy boots or as though a bungee cord was pulling me back to my keyboard.

We weren’t all the way out of the room when Pershing stopped, turned to face me, and embraced me. “I don’t know which of us needs this more,” he said.

The longer he held me, the more I felt my need to get back to work lessen. Yes, I believed someone had gone to great lengths to make Grit appear guilty. I was certain the real evidence was there, buried under false trails. I’d find it eventually. It didn’t have to be right this instant.

“Feel better yet?” Pershing asked.

“Getting there.”

“What would make it happen faster?”

“Hmm. Let’s see. A cup of tea, a half hour on my yoga mat, a bath in that ginormous tub…”

He grinned. “Want company?”

“I don’t think it would be safe for me to be in there alone.”

“No?”

“It’s so big I might drown.”

“Then, Alice, as the man who’s vowed to protect and care for you, I have no option but to join you.”

His words took my breath away. “Really?”

He scooted me back into the room and shut the door behind us. “I know this will sound crazy, but…”

I put my finger on his lips. “It doesn’t.”

“You don’t know what I was going to say.”

“Yeah, I do, and I could say it too, but now isn’t the right time.”

He nodded once. “Come on. Let’s go get your tea, my coffee, grab a couple of Bryar’s burritos, and have breakfast in bed.”

“God, that sounds heavenly.”

Pershing’s eyes flared, and he looked up at the ceiling.

“What?”

“I was just thinking what would make it more so, but…”

“Now isn’t the right time.”

“We’ll get there, Alice. As soon as we figure out who this mole is…”

“And bring down the Castellanos.”

He nodded. “Then you and I are going to disappear…”

“Something I’m quite good at.”

“And spend days on end making love.”

“Pershing, I…”

“I promise I won’t rush you.”

“It isn’t that. I’m not sure how I’ll be able to wait that long.”

He pulled my body flush with his. “Me either.”