Chapter 2
brENNA
The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the weight of an arm across my waist.
The second thing that registered was his body’s instinctive response to mine pressed against my bottom.
I lay frozen, hyperaware of every point where Atticus’ body touched mine—the solid warmth of his broad chest pressed against me, the feel of his muscular arms that spoke of serious dedication wrapped around me, and the steady rhythm of his breathing stirring the hair at my nape.
During the night, we’d migrated toward each other across the massive bed.
My fingers traced along what felt like a distinctive scar running over his left forearm before I caught myself. Maybe in his sleep, he thought he was with someone else—one of the women who undoubtedly moved through his life.
Luke had made sure I knew about them over the years.
The diplomat’s daughter in Prague. The CIA analyst who’d lasted three months.
The string of DC socialites who thought they could tame him.
Each story delivered with brotherly concern disguised as casual conversation, ensuring I understood exactly what kind of man Atticus was.
The memories stung more than they should have.
I needed to extract myself and regain my equilibrium. This was a federal investigation, not an opportunity to revisit adolescent fantasies.
I tried to slip away without waking him, but the moment I shifted, his arm tightened around me. A low, sleep-rough noise rumbled from his chest—not quite awake, but no longer asleep either. The sound sent heat spiraling through me.
Stop it. He’s asleep. This means nothing.
“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?”
“Like the dead.” His smile was easy, but controlled. “You?”
“Same.” I settled on one of the barstools. “We should discuss the parameters before the briefing. The legal framework for this case will be complex.”
“Multi-jurisdictional prosecution with international cryptocurrency flows,” he said, already ahead of me.
“I’ve been thinking about the preservation protocols we’ll need.
The target network is sophisticated—they’re using advanced persistent threat techniques and probably have contingency plans for data destruction. ”
“Exactly what I was thinking.” I found myself matching his analytical tone. “What’s your read on RICO applications for this type of enterprise?”
“Viable if we can prove they’re running a continuing criminal operation.
The money laundering through cryptocurrency should help us there, assuming we can trace where the money goes before they hide it.
” He sipped his coffee, then turned to look out at the view.
“Alice has tools that can follow digital transactions through most systems designed to obscure them, and I’ve got contacts at Treasury who specialize in tracking crypto money.
” His brow was furrowed when he focused his gaze on me again.
“The real challenge will be timing the takedown. These networks can disappear across a dozen countries in minutes if they realize we’re watching. ”
“That’s where having a lawyer leading the investigation becomes critical,” I said. “I’ll need to make decisions about seizing evidence and arresting suspects in the moment, often without clear legal precedent to guide me.”
“And I’ll need to coordinate simultaneous operations across multiple targets without tipping our hand too early.” He studied me. “Think you can handle making those decisions under pressure? Once we move, there’s no going back.”
As the question settled between us, I wondered if it was loaded with more than work implications. “Yes,” I said quietly. “I do. What about you?”
“Absolutely.”
“Tell me about your team,” I said, trying to refocus. “This is different from my previous investigations—they’ll be embedded with me instead of me coordinating from Washington.”
“They’re good people. Alice can hack into anything, Admiral has excellent strategic experience, and Kodiak…” He paused. “Kodiak will spend most of his time making comments about how we’re not fooling anyone.”
“About what?”
The look he gave me was unreadable. “About how unconvincing we are as newlyweds.”
Heat flooded my cheeks again. “Right. We should work on that.”
“We should.”
I was at a loss for words as we stared at each other across the kitchen island. I’d spent years navigating complex situations and multi-agency turf wars. I could handle working with one man, even if that man happened to be one of my brother’s best friends.
Even if that man made me question every instinct I’d developed over the past decade.