A detailed time line of all of Freedom Overdrive’s movements over the last few months.

But that wasn’t all.

There was an IP trace. Freedom Overdrive’s IP.

How had this other hacker done what the FBI couldn’t?

Did it matter?

I was about to learn the identity of the person I had been hunting.

It was a local IP. Freedom Overdrive lived in Richmond.

He had been under my nose this whole damn time. It was almost insulting.

My mysterious benefactor went a step further, doing my work for me. He had given me an address.

210 Willow Park Lane.

I stared at the address, not able to believe what I was seeing.

210 Willow Park Lane.

Pretty blue eyes. Soft, dark hair. The sounds of pleasure when I touched her. The breathy moans as I fucked her.

Watching her with her sister and knowing she was exactly who I wanted to be with.

The lies.

Her job. Her sister being a gymnast.

The root kit.

It all added up.

And then shattered apart.

My brain—my heart—went into meltdown.

I stood up from my desk in a rush, knocking over my chair. The few other agents in the room stared at me as I backed away from my computer.

“Mason, are you okay?” Perry asked, standing up at his desk.

“Just leave me alone,” I rasped. I covered my face with my hands and let out an agonized cry.

All the lies.

All the times I had known something was off about her.

And I hadn’t listened.

Because she was perfect.

She didn’t push to know about my job. She gave me space when I needed it. She listened to stories about my brother. She gave me comfort when I craved it. She let me meet her family.

It was all so orchestrated.

I could see that now.

210 Willow Park Lane.

I rushed into the bathroom and turned on the faucet, splashing my face with cold water. Then I retched, my stomach turning inside out.

My knees were weak; I felt like I was going to pass out. I gripped the sink, trying to stay upright.

210 Willow Park Lane.

All this time I had been hunting a ghost, having no idea that the flesh-and-blood woman I was falling for was the one keeping me in the dark.

I took deep breaths. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. I wouldn’t lose it. Not now.

Now that I had exactly what I had been searching for.

Her soft, sweet lips. The taste of her in my mouth. How safe I felt when I was with her.

I was a fucking fool.

Hannah Whelan was Freedom Overdrive.

I pulled my hand back, my fingers curling, clenching into a fist. I slammed it into the mirror above the sink with a guttural yell. I hit it again. And again. Shards of glass rained down. Blood dripped on the floor.

I was devastated.

I was grief stricken.

I was really fucking angry.

Hannah was Freedom Overdrive.

She’d made me look like an idiot.

She had taken my trust—my heart—and she had annihilated it. I hadn’t wanted to care about her. Fall for her. But I had.

I did.

Because she was everything I wanted. Everything I needed. All rolled up in a pretty package.

Hannah was Freedom Overdrive.

She had played me for the dumb-ass that I was. Part of me thought I deserved what I had gotten, not being able to see what was right in front of my face.

A devil hiding behind a beautiful face.

Hannah was Freedom Overdrive.

I stared at my fractured reflection in the broken mirror. I hated the man I saw there. An idiot.

A fool.

Because of Hannah Whelan.

But then I smiled.

It was painful. My hand throbbed. My heart ached.

The hurt was what I needed.

To remind me of who she was. Of what she had done. Of what I had to do.

I would deal with Hannah Whelan.

My broken heart—my ravaged soul—demanded it.

It’s Only the Beginning

The Shadow Partner

It was easy to watch someone.

To observe their habits. Their routines.

To trace their movements.

To know what they ate for dinner. Where they pumped gas. What movies they watched.

Thanks to the Internet, our lives had become an open book.

And when you wanted to keep track of someone, a few clicks of a mouse and their entire life was there for you to witness.

Their address. Their phone number. Their tax returns. Every tiny detail was available if you just knew where to look.

Medical records. Mortgage statements. Traffic tickets.

Security cameras that observed every single move.

For some of us it was so simple.

For people like me.

For people like her.

She could find out anything. She could be anyone.

She was a mystery to everyone else.

But not to me.

She and I were the same.

She watched others.

I watched her.

She took delight in breaking the unbreakable.

I would take pleasure in watching her lose.

For someone so intelligent, she was disappointingly oblivious.

I had expected more from her.

She thought she had it under control.

She didn’t.

I would ruin her.

I would take away everything.

Because I loved her.

Because I would destroy her.

First I would take her boyfriend. He would know the serpent he slept with.

Then I would take her reputation. Everyone would know the truth. She would have nowhere to hide.

After that her fame would crumble. She’d lose everything she had worked so hard for. With the click of a mouse, it would be over.

Then I would take her family. Her sister. Her mother. They wouldn’t be able to shield her from what I had in store.

Finally I would take her freedom. That would be the sweetest part.

In the throes of her devastation she would realize I was all she had. That in her betrayal she had made her only friend her greatest enemy.

She should have known better than to cross me.

I had built her up.

I would tear her down.

And I would drink her tears.

One by one.

Author’s Note

For the conclusion of Mason and Hannah’s story, look for Aftermath, being released this fall. For more information, visit the author at penguinrandomhouse.

To my Grandmother. My first and biggest fan. I miss you.