You've Got Male. Elizabeth Bevarly

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      So far, so good, Dixon thought. “And how long have you been corresponding with him?”

      She hesitated. “What business is that of yours?”

      Dixon ignored the question. Thanks to the OPUS techies at her apartment, who were currently combing through every computer she owned, it wouldn’t be long before they knew every detail of her correspondence with and relationship to Sorcerer anyway. But he wanted her to talk about it, too, to see if her version corresponded to what the techies discovered.

      He tried a different tack. “Why were you building that virus?”

      Had it not been for the two bright spots of pink that appeared on her cheeks, Dixon would have thought she hadn’t heard the question. “That’s none of your business, either,” she said softly.

      “It could send you back to prison, Peaches,” he said. “It’s highly illegal. That makes it my business.”

      “No, that makes it a matter for the feds,” she said. She hesitated only a moment before adding, “And stop calling me ‘Peaches.’”

      He bit back a smile. He honestly hadn’t been aware he was calling her that. “When it’s a matter of national security, it becomes a matter for OPUS, too.”

      “That virus wasn’t a matter of national security,” she said.

      “It was last time you built one,” Dixon reminded her. “Hell, it was a matter of international security then. We still get calls from the Vatican.”

      “Not to mention Greenland,” his boss added.

      Avery expelled a soft sound of capitulation and closed her eyes. Then she lifted a hand to her forehead and rubbed hard at a place just above her right eyebrow. Very wearily, very quietly, she said, “If you want me to explain this, it’s going to take a while.”