Free Just Like a Man by Elizabeth Bevarly

time hadn't diminished, he moved through the house, placing tiny listening devices where they would be least likely to be discovered. Of course, Hannah couldn't possibly have any idea that she would be under surveillance, so Michael could probably drop a few bugs right in the open, and she'd have no idea what they were. Nor would she guess that two tiny, undetectable cameras could record her daily life.
    Gadgetry really wasn't his milieu, but he'd always found the technology created by OPUS to be nothing short of amazing. He himself had been in statistics and examination, one of the people who took the information the field agents gathered and who analyzed and scrutinized, calculated and estimated, and then put everything together. Assimilate, evaluate, articulate, just as Adrian had said. Those had been the code words of his job classification. And that part of the job he did miss.
    Not that Michael—or anyone else at OPUS—was interested in Hannah's statistics, or her daily life. Well, except for those parts of her statistics and daily life that included Adrian Padgett. Other agents were watching Adrian in other capacities, but Michael had been assigned to keep tabs on his activities that revolved around the Emerson Academy. And, by extension, on his activities that revolved around the Emerson Academy's director. Because judging by the way Adrian himself had revolved around the Emerson Academy's director at the potluck three nights ago, he was certainly no stranger to Hannah. Therefore one might conclude that he was also no stranger to Hannah's house. And wherever Adrian Padgett went, OPUS needed to be as well. Even if it was Hannah Frost's house. Even if it was Hannah Frost's living room.
    Even if it was Hannah Frost's bedroom.
    Michael really, really hoped he wouldn't need to activate the bedroom cam over the next few weeks. Hell, he hoped he wouldn't need to activate the living room cam, either. Bad enough he'd be listening in on her. But for the first few days, at least, he'd sit in his van parked a block or two from Hannah's house, and he'd listen to Hannah's life. If he found no reason to think Adrian was sharing that life, Michael would bow out of the surveillance and feel relieved and remove all the surveillance equipment from her home. And he'd hope like hell that Hannah never found out about any of it. If there was any indication, however, that he might uncover more about Adrian by watching Hannah, then, by God, he'd keep watching Hannah.
    And he'd hope like hell that she never found out about it.
    Once he had everything in place that needed to be in place, Michael moved through the house a final time, giving it a once-more-over to make sure nothing was obvious to the casual observer. Or to the intent observer, either, since Adrian would certainly know what to look for, should he decide to look. But even after a close scrutiny, Michael was confident his work was well hidden. So he began to make his way back to the kitchen…
    … and then realized he might never have an opportunity like this again. He might never have another chance to get a look at Hannah's life up close and personal.
    Not that it was any of his business what her life was like even far away and impersonal. But he couldn't resist stealing a few more moments to see the place not from the point of view of someone working, but from the point of view of someone who might have been invited as a guest. And what he saw as a guest—however uninvited—made Michael puzzle even more over Hannah.
    Her house was very nice, he'd grant her that. But it looked like a photo spread from a decorating magazine. The furnishings and appointments evoked the feel of a cottage in the English countryside—or, at least, of a photograph of a cottage in the English countryside. But it was just a little
too
quaint, a little
too
tidy, a little
too
charming, a little
too
perfect. Almost as if it were a set for a TV show or movie instead of someone's actual living