Three a.m. and breaking into the house on Cheyenne Trail was even easier than Chief Warrant Officer Nick
Cash thought it would be. There were no sounds from above, no lights throwing shadows, no floorboards whining, no water running or the snicker of late-night TV laugh tracks. The basement window, his point of entry, was open. The screws were rusted, but Nick had come prepared with his Gerber knife and WD-40; got the screws and the window out in five minutes flat. He stretched onto his stomach in the dew-wet grass and inched his legs through the opening, then pushed his torso backward until his toes grazed the cardboard boxes in the basement below, full of old shoes and college textbooks, which held his weight.

There’s an awful lot of eavesdropping going on in your stories: a character listens through the walls of her apartment complex to the most intimate details of her neighbor’s life, a woman hacks into her husband’s email account while he is deployed, a soldier breaks into his own home to spy on his wife and child. I am guessing you must have some privacy issues yourself?

Well, I think it’s fascinating how someone can piece together what they assume to be a particular reality from an outside vantage point. And they will never get the full story in this way, instead they will come up with a concoction of their own imaginings, which makes the reader’s understanding of the events even murkier, and therefore more fun for me to write.