“Just a bit of a headache.”

“I think I should go home,” Chloe said, already reaching for her coat.

“I have some errands to run.”

“Stay for a minute,” I said.

My voice was quiet, but there was a weight to it that made her stop.

Her hands froze on the zipper of her jacket.

“What is it, Anne?” she asked, trying to force a smile.

“I found something interesting on my computer this morning,” I said, leaning forward.

“Before I came to meet you.”

The sleet outside tapped harder against the windowpane.

Chloe’s smile faltered, her fingers tightening around her phone.

“What kind of files, Anne?” Chloe asked.

She tried to pull her coat over her shoulders, but her hand shook.

“The bank accounts in Palm Springs,” I said.

I took my phone out of my pocket and laid it on the scratched wooden table between us.

The screen was dark, but we both looked at it as if it were a weapon.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.

Her voice was too high, too thin.

“You do,” I said. “You’ve been helping him.”