Chapter 15 Atticus
ATTICUS
The drive south from Sausalito took two hours through Friday afternoon traffic that moved in waves—fast, then stopped, then crawling. Brenna sat beside me, her tablet balanced on her lap, though she hadn’t looked at it in some time.
“You’re doing that thing with your jaw,” she said.
“What thing?”
“The clenching thing.”
I forced myself to relax. It was no use. If I were alone, I wouldn’t be concerned. I’d done plenty of undercover ops. And I didn’t doubt Brenna’s abilities. But since yesterday’s revelations about Morrison looking into Luke’s company, I’d had a feeling of foreboding I couldn’t shake.
We passed through San Rafael, where traffic bottlenecked at the 580 interchange.
A Tesla in the next lane had its autopilot engaged while the driver typed on his laptop, completely oblivious to the road.
The hills on either side had turned that shade of California gold that meant fire season—one spark away from disaster.
“What specifically worries you?” Brenna asked, setting the tablet aside.
What could I say? That if anything happened to her, I didn’t know how I’d ever recover from it? That if I could, I’d abandon this mission here and now? Let Kodiak and Emma handle it? But I couldn’t. We couldn’t. It was Brenna’s mission, and I’d be damned if I’d do anything but see it through.
She reached over and took my hand. “It’s almost over.”
Was it? These people had resources. The wherewithal to disappear. To fade into the night, where even former operatives couldn’t find them.
“Are you worried about blowing our cover? Atticus, are you listening to me?” she added when, once again, I didn’t answer her direct question.
“No. The truth is, something feels off. If this were a different kind of op, I’d contact my CO and tell him or her my gut was telling me not to deploy.”
I glanced over at her, and she was studying me.
“I guess I’m your CO in this case.”
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. Too much 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.
“Cottage twelve is ready—one of our premier accommodations, with valley views. Mr. Morrison has arranged full access to all amenities. Golf, spa, tennis, whatever you desire.”
“What about riding?” I asked.
“Yes, of course. Would you like me to schedule something for this afternoon?”
Brenna put her hand on my arm. “Let’s get settled first, darling.”
I leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Whatever makes you happy, dear.”
The path to our cottage led us past a water feature and elaborate gardens that, like the other landscape, were made to look wild. Several cottages appeared and disappeared through the trees, each tucked into its own pocket of privacy.
As Bradley had said, ours was perched on a small rise that gave it views across the valley. Its stone and timber construction matched the main lodge, and it had an expansive deck with a hot tub. There was enough glass to make surveillance easy from multiple angles—in or out.
“This is lovely,” Brenna said as the bellhop unloaded our bags.
“The welcome reception begins at six in the main lodge,” Bradley informed us. “It’s in the Canyon Room, which is to the left of the main fireplace.”
“We’ll be there,” I assured him.
The moment the door closed behind them, I started my security sweep while Brenna went through the motions of unpacking.
The cottage was basically a high-end hotel suite masquerading as a rustic cabin.
It had a living area with a fireplace, a kitchenette we wouldn’t use, a bedroom with a king bed and more pillows than ten people would need, and a bathroom that belonged in a spa magazine, but was nowhere near as nice as the one in Sausalito.
I pulled out the electromagnetic scanner Kodiak had provided, a device about the size of a phone that could detect any audio or visual devices.
Moving methodically through each room, I watched the display.
Normal signatures for a Wi-Fi router in the closet, cellular from our phones, electrical wiring in the walls.
There was a minor spike near the bedroom window—probably a repeater for the resort’s network, boosting signal to the cottage, which was interesting, given we were warned cell coverage would be limited.
The deck was clean, but the sight lines were what really concerned me. The cottage faced the valley, which was beautiful, but it also meant anyone with binoculars or a scope could watch us through the windows.
“Well?” Brenna asked when I returned to the living room.
“Clean as we can verify. But I wouldn’t bet my clearance on it.”
She crossed to where I stood, sliding her arms around my waist. “Then we should probably kiss. You know, for appearances.”
“I’m nothing if not an excellent actor.” I kissed her longer than necessary, tasting the mint she’d eaten in the car. “The method approach is very demanding.”