Harrison slumped over the ruin of his study desk, elbows rolled up tight, waves of tension rolling from him as he glared at the flash drive as if it would, all of a sudden, spring to life and blow his head to kingdom come.

It wasn't the technology sucking the life from him.

It was her.

How she'd stared at him the previous evening—blinding, searing, heavy. As though she could see all her hypocrisy reflected in him. As though she no longer required him to cover for her.

He fumed with ...