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She followed him onto the terrace, her stomach in knots as he dialed.

It rang twice before Atticus’s voice came through, rough with exhaustion. “Tell me you’re calling with good news, brother, because I’ve been awake for thirty-six hours and I’m too old for this.”

“You’re just now realizing that?” Brock asked.

“Remind me to punch you when I get back home. We’re just loading up here.”

“Somalia wrapped?” Brock asked, putting it on speaker.

“Clean as it could be. All nine men at the embassy, Titus’s body on transport home. Elena’s intel was perfection, by the way—those coordinates, that alternate route through the basin. It’s exactly what they needed.” There was genuine warmth in Atticus’s voice. “She saved those nine lives. Make sure she knows that.”

“I’ll tell her,” Brock said. “Listen, I need to talk to you about something. And you’re probably going to want to sit down.”

“I’m already sitting. Private jet, somewhere over the Atlantic. What’s going on?”

“I’m not in Dallas.” A beat of silence.

“Where are you?”

“Mexico. Cancun area. At a resort with Nate and Eden, pretending Elena and I are honeymooners. Mira flew us here.”

The silence that followed was profound. When Atticus spoke again, his voice had gone cold and flat—the tone he used when someone had crossed a line.

“You want to tell me why you requisitioned a company jet, pulled two of my best operatives off rotation, involved our chief pilot in an unauthorized international operation, and flew to Mexico without official clearance? Because right now, Brock, I’m trying very hard not to end this call and have security waiting for you when you land back in Dallas.”

Elena’s breath caught. She’d never heard Atticus use that tone with Brock. Brock’s fists clenched, but his voice stayed steady.

“Elena’s niece was kidnapped by what’s left of the Ramos cartel. They want access to the Dynamis database in exchange for her life. You were in Somalia running a live op with no way to coordinate an extraction. I made a tactical decision.”

“A tactical decision.” Atticus’s voice was dangerously quiet. “Do you have any idea what you’ve put at risk? We have government contracts that require strict operational protocols. We have liability insurance that doesn’t cover unauthorized missions. We have a reputation built on being professional, reliable, and legal. And you just threw all of that into question because you decided to run a cowboy op in a foreign country.”

“I know⁠—”

“Do you?” The anger was coming through now, controlled but unmistakable. “Do you know what happens if this goes wrong? If Mexican authorities catch you running a paramilitary operation on their soil? If someone gets killed and it traces back to Dynamis? We don’t just lose contracts, Brock. We lose everything. The company I’ve spent twenty-five years building, gone. My wife murdered for nothing. Every operative who depends on us for their livelihood, unemployed. Every mission we’re currently running, compromised.”

Brock’s hand tightened on the phone. “Atticus⁠—”

“I’m not finished.” A pause, and Elena could hear Atticus breathing, getting his anger under control. When he spoke again, his voice was still hard but more measured. “You should have called me immediately. Before you got on that jet. Before you pulled my people into this. I would have found a way to help. I would have made it official, gotten the proper clearances, coordinated with the right people. But instead, you made a unilateral decision that puts everyone at risk.”

“You were in the middle of extracting Alpha Team,” Brock said. “Nine men were counting on you. I couldn’t pull you away from that for a personal crisis. And Elena couldn’t wait. They gave her seventy-two hours.”

Another long silence. Then Atticus’s voice, quieter now but still edged with anger. “This is about Elena.”

“Yes.”

“Her niece. The girl from the convent?”

“Yes. You have every right to be furious.”

“I am furious,” Atticus said. “But I’m also trying to understand why my most reliable operator—the man who follows protocol to the letter—suddenly went rogue. So talk to me. What aren’t you telling me?”

Brock glanced at Elena, and she saw the struggle in his expression. Then he said, “They grabbed her niece to leverage Elena into giving them our entire network. Every operative, every mission, every classified contract. If Elena doesn’t comply, they’ll do to Marguerite what they did to Elena.”

The silence stretched. When Atticus spoke again, his voice had changed completely—still serious, but the cold anger had shifted into something else. Something that sounded almost like pain.

“And you didn’t think I’d move heaven and earth to prevent that?”

“I knew you would. But you were in Somalia with nine lives depending on you. I made a judgment call.”