"Dr. McKay, I have Lennox Bradshaw on the line." Hartwell's voice is crisp, controlled. "She's going to access your system and track this breach."
A new voice comes through, British accent clipping the words with precision. "Dr. McKay, this is Lennox Bradshaw. I need you to grant me remote access to your laptop. There should be a prompt appearing on your screen now."
Fallon clicks something, then steps back from the laptop. "You're in."
"Right. Let me work." The screen flickers as Lennox takes control. Windows open and close at rapid speed, command prompts scrolling with text I can't follow. Fallon and I watch the screen as Lennox executes procedures remotely that make no sense to either of us.
Minutes pass. The file transfers continue but slow as Lennox's countermeasures kick in. She mutters something under her breath, typing audible through the line, then makes a satisfied sound.
"Got a partial trace," Lennox says finally. "IP routing through multiple servers. Primary origin appears to be foreign. Eastern European region, possibly Russian or Ukrainian infrastructure."
"Foreign actors?" Hartwell's voice sharpens. "This is espionage?"
"Sophisticated enough to suggest state-sponsored or professional contractors." Lennox's typing is audible through the line. "The encryption protocols, the routing methodology, the precision of the attack. This isn't hacktivists or script kiddies. This is someone with resources and training."
Fallon's hands still on the keyboard. "They're not trying to hurt me. They're stealing intelligence."
"Your coastal vulnerability research," I say slowly, pieces falling into place. "It's not just about erosion patterns. It's a blueprint for where Tidewater's defenses are weakest. Where storm surge could compromise infrastructure. Where physical vulnerabilities exist."
"Base attack plans," Hartwell finishes. "Disguised as environmental research. Dr. McKay, how detailed are your assessments?"
"Very." Fallon's voice is quiet, strained. "I mapped every vulnerable point along the coastline. Identified where erosion could undermine facilities. Projected how severe weather would impact operations. It's all there. Every weakness, every potential failure point."
Silence fills the line. Then Hartwell speaks, voice harder than I've ever heard it. "Lennox, I need what you can give me on that trace. Dr. McKay, disconnect your laptop from the base network immediately. This research is now classified, effective immediately. Holden, keep Dr. McKay secured. I'm bringing in Navy CID and notifying NCIS. This just became a national security issue."
The call ends. Fallon sits frozen, staring at the laptop. Maybe it betrayed her. Maybe we all did by not seeing this sooner.
"Bruce was a distraction." The words come out hollow. "The stalking, the harassment, the restraining order violations. All of it was real, but it wasn't the main threat."
"He gave someone else cover." I pull out a chair, sit beside her so we're eye level. "While we were watching for a stalker ex-boyfriend, someone else was systematically stealing classified intelligence disguised as marine biology research."
"Who?" She looks at me, green eyes sharp despite the exhaustion. "Who has the access, the knowledge, the connections to pull this off?"
Rexford's name surfaces immediately. "Defense contractor, coastal infrastructure consulting, asked pointed questions during your presentation about specific vulnerability data."
"He was fishing." Fallon's expression hardens. "Trying to assess what I knew, what I'd share publicly versus keep restricted."
My phone buzzes. Text from Hartwell.
Emergency briefing. Oh-nine-hundred. Conference room B. Bring Dr. McKay. Full security detail.
I show Fallon the message. She nods, already closing her laptop with careful precision. "I need to get dressed."
She stands, hesitates, then looks at me with an expression that's hard to read. "Holden? Thank you. For being here. For believing this is important."
"It is important." I hold her gaze. "And so are you."
The admission sits between us, acknowledgment of what we both felt last night and are both trying to ignore this morning. She holds my gaze for a heartbeat, then retreats to the bedroom.
I drain my coffee and start planning security protocols for moving Fallon through base with an active espionage threat.Standard protective detail procedures, armed escort, route variation. All the elements I've trained for years to execute.
Except this isn't standard. And Fallon isn't just a principal I'm protecting. She's the woman I kissed last night. The woman whose research someone wants badly enough to launch a sophisticated cyber attack. The woman whose safety has become personal in ways that violate every professional boundary I'm supposed to maintain.
The officers arrive within minutes, full tactical kit and weapons ready. I brief them quickly on the threat level while Fallon finishes getting ready. "Eyes open. We're looking for anyone showing unusual interest, anyone breaking pattern, anyone who doesn't belong. Threat is likely military or former military with operational training."
The senior officer nods grimly. "Understood, sir. We'll take point and rear. You stay close to the principal."
The drive to the conference building is short but I'm hyperalert to every vehicle we pass, every person on the sidewalk, every window that could provide a sniper's angle. Old habits from too many rescue missions in hostile territory, except this time the hostile territory is a U.S. military base and the principal beside me is someone I can't afford to lose.
