Page 9 of Code Name: Admiral

“Affirmative. I have several dummy profiles set up, so it will take her a little longer to navigate through.”

“Keep me posted, Tank.”

“Will do, sir. There’s one other thing.”

“Go ahead.”

“The one she’s been on the entire time belongs to you. There’s nothing factual in there, but she’s still looking.”

Given we hadn’t picked up any security footage showing her, Sarah, and Bobby together, I doubted she’d ever met my cousin. However, if she was looking, it had to mean she’d figured out my connection to him and his to her sister. The realization that she was investigating me while I investigated her sent an unexpected thrill through me. It was like a chess game where both players were trying to figure out their opponent’s next move, except the stakes were far higher.

“What’s the name of the place she’s at?”

“Method Tea and Coffee.”

“I’m headed there now.”

“You sure about that, boss?”

“I’ll only engage if she does.”

“Copy that.”

I printed one of her photos, only lying to myself for a minute that it was for identification purposes, before slipping it into my jacket pocket, not really giving a shit whether I’d overstepped. Like the first time I saw her, I felt a pull I couldn’t explain. She wasn’t what I’d call my type. In fact, she was the opposite. Yet, I was so intrigued I almost felt giddy over seeing her in person. My usual iron-clad self-control was slipping, and the weirdest part was that I couldn’t bring myself to pull it back.

From the cornerof my eye, I saw Alice raise her head when I walked in the door of the coffeehouse. There was a short line, and while I waited to order, I could feel her gaze on me. It was as though the air crackled with electricity the moment our awareness of each other registered. I wondered what she thought of me. I was attired the same way I normally was on a workday: black suit, white dress shirt, and plain black tie. Since it was warm for mid-winter in the city, I hadn’t donned an overcoat before leaving my apartment. My familiar “uniform” felt like armor now, as if it was protection against the intensity of her scrutiny. Except it was probably the opposite. It told her more about me than I’d wanted to reveal.

After ordering a double-shot espresso, I stood at the opposite end of the barista bar, where, in order to see me, she’d have to turn her chair. Or at least look over her shoulder, both of which she couldn’t do discreetly.

I, on the other hand, could study her all I wanted. She wore faded and frayed blue jeans, a white T-shirt, and hiking boots. A coat was draped over the chair beside her. The confident way she occupied the space and the subtle grace in her movements as her fingers flew over her keyboard captivated me.

Her red hair was longer than I thought, almost waist-level, and while the pink streaks were subtle, the way the light from the window hit her, I could see them more clearly than in her photos.

The image of that hair wrapped in my hand while I bent her over and took her from behind had me shuddering. The fantasy was so vivid I could almost feel the silk of her locks against my skin and hear the sounds she might make. I shut my eyes, wanting to hold onto the image a little longer. When I opened them, Alice was studying me. Her green eyes met mine with an intensity that suggested she could read every inappropriate thought running through my mind.

“Double espresso,” I heard the barista say. I reached to my right without looking, unable to tear my gaze away—not until she did. Once I held the cup, I raised it in her direction before taking a sip of the scalding brew. The heat of the coffee was nothing compared to the laser-focused intensity passing between us.

That half smile I’d so often seen in the security footage had me wishing I could walk over, pull out a chair, tell her who I was, and explain that if she’d let me, I’d spend every minute I could getting to know her. The urge to cross those few feet between us was almost overwhelming, protocol and professionalism be damned.

Instead, I took another sip of my coffee and walked out of the shop. Each step away from her felt like I was fighting against a magnetic pull. Once I rounded the next corner, I dug out my cell and called the one person I knew wouldn’t give me shit when I told him about the cataclysmic shift in my personality—my college roommate, Diesel Jacks.

“Admiral, Bryar and I were just talking about you,” he said when he picked up my call.

The woman Diesel married used to work for me in another branch of the bureau. Admittedly, I hadn’t been a great boss to her, something I still regretted, no matter how many times she said she forgave me a long time ago. The memory of those days still stung—I’d been younger then, more rigid, more convinced that following the rules was the same thing as doing the right thing. Still, I learned a lot about trust and loyalty from her and her husband.

“What’s up, man?” he asked.

“On a case. An undercover agent died of an overdose we believe was actually a staged murder.”

“Shit, that’s tough. Sorry, Pershing.”

“That’s not the half of it, Deez. I’m pretty sure Bobby’s responsible.”

“Fuck,” he said under his breath, but I still heard him. “What can I do to help?”

“The victim has a sister. A world-class hacker.”

“Yeah?”

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