Chapter 7 Atticus
ATTICUS
Istood in the kitchen, staring out at the deck where Brenna was having an animated conversation with whoever she was on the phone with. My jaw clenched as I watched her pace back and forth, gesturing with her free hand. A private conversation in the open, where anyone could listen.
But what really bothered me wasn’t the security breach. It was the way she’d fled when I appeared, the guilty flush on her cheeks, and the way she’d sprinted outside to avoid talking to me.
Who the hell was she talking to at twenty-one forty-seven?
The jealousy burning in my gut was unfamiliar and unwelcome.
I’d never been that type—when you kept things casual, there was no reason to be.
A few months max, then a clean break. No messy emotions, no one got hurt.
But watching Brenna through that window, imagining her talking to another man, made me want to put my fist through something. What the hell was wrong with me?
After five minutes stretched into ten, I found myself checking my watch like I was her boyfriend instead of her mission partner, which was both pathetic and terrifying.
The sliding door finally opened, and she slipped back inside, ending the call. Her cheeks were still flushed and her breathing elevated like she’d been arguing or—Christ—flirting.
“Sorry about that.”
“At almost ten o’clock on a work night?”
She pulled out a mixing bowl from one of the cabinets, avoiding my gaze. “Time zones. You know how it is.”
Time zones. Right. She was having intimate late-night conversations with someone in a different time zone. We were on the West Coast. Where the hell were they? Not to mention, it was someone important enough that she’d risked security to talk to them privately.
“Boyfriend?”
Her hands stilled on the cabinet handle. “What?”
“The friend you were talking to. Is he your boyfriend?”
Her blue eyes flashed. “That’s none of your business.”
“You’re hiding.”
That got her attention. She spun around and raised the spatula like a weapon. “I’m not hiding.”
“No? Then, why won’t you look at me?”
“I didn’t like what you did.”
“Did?”
“Don’t play stupid with me, Mason Finch. You were playing games. Like a jerk.”
My eyes opened wide. “Like a jerk?”
“Stop repeating me. Yes. Actually, no. Like an asshole.”
“Explain.”
She huffed, picked both pancakes up from the pan, and dumped them back in the bowl. “I lost my appetite,” she said, tossing the mix in the sink after turning off the heat on the stove.
I followed her up the stairs. “This conversation isn’t over.”
“The hell, it isn’t.”
She tried to shut the bedroom door on me, but I held it open. “You want to know the truth?”
“I already know it. Your goal was to humiliate me, and you accomplished it with flying colors.”
She sat on the edge of the bed, and I sat down beside her. “You’re wrong.”
“You’re a liar.”
Her words hurt, but I knew the place they were coming from—her hurt. “I need you to listen to me,” I said in a lower tone of voice. “Please.”
Brenna shook her head. “It doesn’t matter what you say; I don’t want to hear it.” She got up from the bed, but before she could get away, I put my arm around her waist and pulled her onto my lap.
“The truth is, if I hadn’t stopped when I did, I would have kissed my way up your thigh until I reached the spot that’s been driving me crazy since you walked into that bar. I would have spread you open on that bed and tasted you until you screamed my name.”
Her lips parted, and a soft sound that went straight to my cock escaped.
“It’s the same thing I’ve wanted since that night on your parents’ back porch. I want your hands on me and mine on you. I want to hear the sounds you’d make when I’m inside you and see what you’d look like the morning after I’ve spent all night making you come.”
“Don’t do this.” Her voice was breathless.
“Want me to prove it?”
She searched my face for a long moment, and I could see the exact instant she made her decision. Her walls went up, and she shut me out as if she’d slammed a door.
“No. Because then what? Then we sleep together and complicate everything even more? Then we have to pretend to be married while dealing with whatever mess we’ve made?”
“It doesn’t have to be a mess.”
“Yes, it does. Because I’m not someone who can separate feelings from sex, Atticus. And you’re not someone who sticks around.”
“A person can change.”
“Maybe so, but your job won’t. You’ll still disappear for months at a time on assignments you can’t talk about. I get that part of it. It’s the rest I can’t deal with.”
I rested my head against hers. “What do you mean?”
“The revolving door of women. The ‘no strings attached’ philosophy you apparently share with them upfront. Luke jokes about it, but I know he’s warning me. ‘Perry’s not the settling-down type, Bug. Never has been.’”
“That’s not fair—”
She wriggled from my arms, and I let her get up. “It doesn’t matter what’s fair. I don’t want this, Atticus. I’m saying no.”
And that, I couldn’t argue with. But I could defend myself. “You think this is just some kind of conquest for me?”
“Isn’t it?” The vulnerability in her voice stopped me cold.
This brilliant, fierce woman who could take down white-collar criminals was looking at me like she expected to be hurt.
“Jesus, no.” I forced myself to step back, to give her the space she needed. “Brenna, despite wanting you more than I’ve wanted anyone else in a long time, maybe ever, I won’t force you. If you don’t want this, want me, I’ll back off.”
She stepped farther away, until she was close enough to rest against the wall behind her. She folded her arms, and tears spilled onto her cheeks.
“Hey.” I stepped forward, wanting to comfort her, but she held up a hand to stop me.
“Don’t.”
I raised both my hands. “I’m sorry. From now on, I’ll keep it professional.”
She nodded and wiped at her tears.
“I’ll find somewhere else to sleep tonight. Give you some space.”
“The couch isn’t exactly built for comfort. You don’t have to—”
“Trust me, I’ve slept in worse places. This’ll be luxury compared to some of them. Afghanistan teaches you to appreciate any surface that isn’t sand.”
She looked like she wanted to argue, but nodded. “Okay.”
“Get some sleep.” I went downstairs, cursing myself for handling the situation so badly.
I’d pushed too hard, too fast, and now, she was crying and I was sleeping on the floor.
Real smooth, Finch. Maybe I should add relationship destroyer to my resume right after expert marksman and professional disaster magnet.
I grabbed a pillow and throw from the sofa and spread them out on the area rug. The throw was more decorative than functional, barely big enough to cover my chest, and the pillow felt stuffed with concrete.
I’d just shut my eyes when my phone chimed.
For a split second, hope flared that it might be Brenna. Maybe she’d changed her mind, maybe she wanted to talk.
I checked. The message was from Luke.
Coffee tomorrow? 0600 at Blue Bottle in Tiburon? Still an early riser like academy days.
I stared at the message, remembering our brief encounter at the restaurant. Yeah, see you there.
Perfect. Looking forward to actually catching up properly this time.
I set the phone aside and stared up at the ceiling, then shifted on the floor, trying to find a position that didn’t feel like medieval torture.
The hardwood under the rug was unforgiving, and every time I moved, it creaked loud enough to potentially wake Brenna.
Though that was doubtful. I was sure she was snuggled under the covers, maybe in the middle of the bed, since the pillow wall of separation wasn’t needed tonight.
At least one of us was getting some use out of the six-million-dollar taxpayer investment in luxury accommodations.
Me? I was getting acquainted with what had to be the least comfortable place to sleep in Northern California.
Apparently, crypto billionaires don’t factor floor-sleeping into their architectural plans. Shocking oversight, really.
Minutes crawled by. Then hours. The floor got harder, my back started cramping, and my brain wouldn’t shut off.
Around zero three hundred, I gave up on sleep and just lay there.
At zero five hundred, I gave up completely and dragged myself off the floor. Every muscle in my back was screaming, but I moved quietly around the main level, checking the security system and scanning the perimeter cameras. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Meeting Luke for coffee. Back by 0730. - A
I scribbled the quick note, left it on the kitchen counter, then slipped out into the predawn darkness, closing the door as quietly as possible.
Morning traffic made the drive to Tiburon take longer than I’d expended. When I arrived, Blue Bottle Coffee was already busy with the tech crowd grabbing their caffeine fix before heading to their startups.
I spotted Luke right away, sitting at a corner table, sipping on a latte. He looked more relaxed than he had at the restaurant, dressed in jeans and a polo shirt that had his company’s logo on it.
“Thanks for making time,” he said as I approached with my own coffee.
“Of course. Good to be able to catch up.” I took the seat across from him. “So you mentioned you’re here on business?”
“Yeah, funny story actually. I came out for a quick meeting, expecting to be here a few days at the most. Then Trevor gets us a last-minute invite to an AI summit.”
“Trevor?”
“Collins. My business partner. We own Redpoint together.”
“Right. So, AI?”
“Yep. We use it for federal grant management.” Luke took a sip of his coffee. “Trevor’s been running everything on the West Coast for about a year now, and he’s killing it.”
“That’s good, right?”
Luke shrugged. “He wants me to spend more time out here. Not really my thing, ya know?”
I chuckled. “I remember our days at the academy. Even Colorado was too far west for you.”
“Only positive thing is how much good climbing there is to do out here. Not that I’ll have time to do any, with this conference.”
“How long does it go on for?” I asked, even though I already knew.
“A week or two, I think. It doesn’t actually start until Monday, so I don’t have the whole schedule yet. All I know for now is there’s a party tonight I’m expected to attend.”
“Party doesn’t sound like a bad thing.”
He shrugged for the second time. “Some high roller’s hosting it on his megayacht. But from what I understand, we aren’t even leaving the docks.”
When he laughed, I did too while, at the same time, processing what this meant for Brenna and me. There was no way we could be at the party tonight if Luke would be. Not only that, but we’d need to rethink how much time we’d be able to spend at the regular conference events.
“So when’s the last time you actually climbed?” I asked.
“Two months ago? Three? Running a company eats your life, man.” He studied me. “What about you? Your work thing keeping you busy?”
“You know how it is. Can’t really talk about it.”
“Same old Finch. Never left the intel game.” Luke grinned.
“Something like that.”
“You seeing anyone these days?”
“It’s complicated.”
“When isn’t it with you?” He laughed. “Love ’em and leave ’em Perry Mason, we always called you.”
“Most of the leaving was mutual.”
“Sure, it was.” Luke’s expression grew more serious. “You know, Bug had a pretty big crush on you back in the day.”
I scowled at him. “And you did your best to fill her in on all my lesser qualities.”
“It’s a big brother’s duty.”
“Yeah, thanks for that.”
“Just looking out for her. On the other hand, a guy can change, right?”
The comment stunned me, but it was probably best not to read too much into it. “So they say.”
We talked for another few minutes about safer topics—his parents and mine, mutual friends from USAFA, the football team’s chances this fall. Normal friend conversation that felt both familiar and strange, given everything I couldn’t tell him.
“I should get going,” Luke said an hour later, checking his watch. “Trevor scheduled a breakfast meeting with some potential investors.”
“The joys of business development.”
He stood, and we shook hands. “Hey, maybe we can grab dinner later this week? When things calm down a bit?”
“I’d like that. Text me.”
After he left, I sat in the coffee shop for another few minutes, processing what I’d learned.
I pulled out my phone and started to dial Kodiak’s number, then stopped. This wasn’t a logistics problem—this was a strategic disaster that required command-level decisions. I switched to Admiral’s number.
“Morning, Atticus. What’s up?”
“Mornin’. We have a complication.”
“How big?” he asked.
“Luke Austen—Brenna’s brother—just informed me he’s in town for the AI summit.”
“Shit.”
“No kidding. It gets worse. He’s going to the same party Brenna and I are supposed to attend tonight.”
“What’d Brenna say?”
“She doesn’t know yet. Luke just left.”
“Copy that.”
“So, what do we do?” I asked.
“The first thing you do is inform the person in charge of the investigation.”
I scrubbed my face. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“Check in after you have, and we’ll get this figured out.”
“Thanks, sir.”
“You’re welcome, and, Atticus?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t tell her you called me first.”
“Roger that,” I said, but Admiral had already ended the call.