He spots Ethan Burke and Kate Hewson standing off to the side, just the two of them, Kate laughing as Ethan gestures his way through what appears to be a story or a joke.

Hassler closes the distance between himself and Theresa.

“You’re not having much fun, are you?”

She shakes her head.

Hassler says, “These work parties must be weird for the families. My agents see each other day in, day out. Probably spend more time together than with their own spouses. Then you come here, feel like an outsider.”

Theresa smiles. “You pretty much nailed it.”

She starts to say something else, but stops short.

“What?” Hassler prods, venturing a step closer. He can smell her conditioner, whatever body wash she used that morning.

Theresa’s eyes are clear and green. The electricity goes in through his eyes and travels down into the pit of his stomach. He feels, all at once—sick, exhilarated, terrified, alive.

Radiantly so.

“Should I be worried?” she asks.

“Worried?”

She lowers her voice. “About them. Ethan and”—it’s like she doesn’t even want to say the word, like it brings a bad taste to her mouth—“Kate.”

“Worried how?”

He knows. He just wants to hear her say it.

“They’ve been partners, what? Four months now?” she asks.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“That’s an intense relationship, right? Partner-partner?”

“Can be. You work cases together. Often long hours. You have to trust each other with your lives.”

“So she’s like his work wife.”

Hassler says, “I’d be hard-pressed to name any pair of agents under my supervision who aren’t close. The nature of the job pushes people together.”

“It’s just hard,” Theresa says.

“I can’t imagine.”

“So you don’t think . . .”

“I haven’t personally seen anything that would make me suspect Ethan is anything other than a devoted husband to you. He’s a lucky man. I hope you know that.”

Theresa blows out a sigh, puts her face into her hands.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“I shouldn’t have—”

“No, it’s fine. Please.”

“Do me a favor?” Theresa asks.

“Name it.”

“Don’t tell Ethan about this conversation. You don’t know me that well, Adam, but I’m not a jealous person. It’s just . . . I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Lips are sealed.” Hassler smiles. “And you should know, I’m pretty good with the whole confidentiality thing. The word ‘secret’ is in my job title, for chrissakes.”

Now Theresa smiles at him and he can barely stand it, knows he will think of little else in the days to come.

“Thank you,” she says, and puts her hand briefly on his arm.

He could live a year in this moment.

“I could stay here,” he offers. “Keep you company . . .”