Fallon sits rigid in the passenger seat, watching the base roll past like she's seeing it for the first time. "Someone I work with is doing this. Someone I've probably talked to, maybe even shared data with during presentations."
"Maybe. Or someone with access who's been watching from a distance." I pull into the parking area, scan the lot before cutting the engine. "Either way, we treat everyone as a potential threat until proven otherwise."
The officers form up around us, professional spacing that creates a security bubble without being obvious. We move as a unit toward the building entrance, and I keep Fallon on my rightside, positioning my body between her and the most likely attack vectors. Just another day, just another detail, except my pulse is elevated and my hand hovers near my sidearm in ways that have nothing to do with standard protocol.
The briefing room is already full when we arrive. Hartwell at the head of the table, flanked by officers I recognize from base command. A woman with short blonde hair and focused blue eyes sits beside Hartwell, laptop open, projecting data onto the screen. Lennox Bradshaw, based on the British precision in her posture.
Thatcher's there too, along with Griff and several other team leaders. Whatever this is, it's big enough to pull multiple units.
Fallon takes a seat, and I position myself behind her. Close enough to intervene, far enough to maintain professional appearance. Every eye in the room tracks the movement, noting the proximity, the protective stance. Griff's mouth quirks in a knowing smile I ignore.
Hartwell stands, expression grim. "At oh-seven-hundred this morning, Dr. McKay's research was accessed via sophisticated cyber intrusion. Lennox Bradshaw has been conducting trace analysis. Ms. Bradshaw?"
Lennox stands, commanding the room despite her small stature. "The breach originated from servers in Eastern Europe, routed through multiple proxies to obscure the source. The methodology suggests professional training, likely state-sponsored actors or contractors working for foreign intelligence services. They accessed and copied Dr. McKay's complete research archive, including all coastal vulnerability assessments for Joint Expeditionary Base Tidewater."
She pulls up a map on the screen, highlighting every vulnerable point Fallon identified in her research. Training beaches where erosion compromises equipment storage. Dock facilities where storm surge could damage vessels.Infrastructure points where coastal degradation creates security gaps.
"This isn't environmental research anymore," Lennox continues. "This is an operational blueprint for attacking Tidewater using natural vulnerabilities. Storm timing, equipment positioning, infrastructure weaknesses. What an adversary would need to plan a coordinated assault disguised as weather damage."
The room goes silent. Then Hartwell speaks, voice carrying command authority. "Navy CID is launching a full investigation. NCIS has been notified. Dr. McKay's research is classified as of now. All copies, all backups, all presentations are restricted access. We're conducting background checks on everyone who attended Dr. McKay's briefings or had contact with her research."
"Including Daniel Rexford," I add. "Defense contractor, asked specific questions about vulnerability data during the presentation."
Hartwell nods. "Rexford will be brought in for questioning. Along with anyone else who showed unusual interest in Dr. McKay's work." She looks directly at Fallon. "Dr. McKay, your research makes you a target for anyone wanting intelligence on Tidewater's defenses. For your safety and for national security, I'm ordering you to a secure safe house until this investigation concludes."
Fallon's jaw tightens, but she doesn't argue. The shift from personal harassment to espionage changes the game. This isn't about her autonomy anymore. This is about preventing foreign actors from using her research to plan attacks on a military installation.
"Non-negotiable," Hartwell adds, reading Fallon's expression. "You'll be under protection, restrictedcommunications, full security protocols. Lieutenant Commander Lange will continue as primary protection."
Fallon turns in her seat, looks up at me. "You're coming?"
The question shouldn't need asking. Not after last night. Not after watching her work through this cyber attack with the same fierce competence she brings to research and arguments and refusing to back down from threats. Not when the thought of her in a safe house without me makes my chest tight.
"Where you go, I go," I tell her, and mean it more than any oath I've ever sworn.
She holds my gaze for a heartbeat, understanding shifting in her expression. Trust and acknowledgment that this stopped being just protection somewhere between the ocean and last night's kiss.
My phone buzzes. Text from the officer stationed outside the conference room.
Suspicious vehicle circling parking lot. No base decals. Running plates now.
I'm on my feet instantly, hand on Fallon's shoulder keeping her seated. "Hartwell. We have possible hostile surveillance in the parking area."
The room erupts into controlled chaos. Officers moving to windows, security personnel on radios, Griff already at the door scanning the hallway. Hartwell's issuing orders rapid-fire, coordinating with base security and the officers outside.
Another text.
Vehicle departed. Plates stolen. Registered to civilian reported missing yesterday.
"They're watching," I say quietly, for Hartwell's ears only. "They know we're onto them, and they're assessing our response."
Hartwell's expression goes hard. "Then we move Dr. McKay now. Safe house protocol, full security detail, route variation. I want her off this base and secured within the hour." She looks at Fallon. "This is no longer optional. Someone just proved they're actively monitoring your movements."
Fallon's face has gone pale but her voice stays steady. "I understand."
Hartwell's already issuing orders, security protocols snapping into place around us. Safe house. Lockdown. Armed escort. Griff and Thatcher volunteer for the security convoy without being asked, and I nod gratefully. The more operators we have, the better our chances of getting Fallon out safely.
And somewhere on this base, someone with military training is selling Tidewater's secrets to foreign enemies. Someone who's already proven they'll kill to protect their operation. They just lost access to Fallon's research, which means the most valuable thing they have left to trade is the woman who created it.
