“I don’t discuss clients or targets,” I say. “It’s unfortunate enough that you know who he is.”

“Come on,” he prods. “Who am I going to tell? I’m in a lab all day and talk to molecules and cells.”

I stay firm. “Absolutely not. You don’t want to get involved in this, Alex.”

His mouth tips into an endearing grin.

“What?” I ask.

“I like how you said my name. Sounds like we’re friends.”

I reach for my mug. “You need to guard yourself better.” I drain the rest of the now-cold cappuccino. “Or else you’ll keep winding up in supply closets.”

He watches me while he drinks the rest of his coffee. The waitress offers us a refill and I shake my head. “Just the check. Thanks.”

“You don’t have to cover me,” Alex says.

“It’s the least I can do,” I say, reaching into my tote. “I mean, after I drugged you and all.” I pause while holding my billfold. “Although you did botch my job…”

“For that, I’m sorry I got in the way,” he says, but that little grin conveys he’s not sorry in the least.

I pay the tab and put my credit card away in my bag. “It was…interesting to meet you, Dr. Alex Chambers. Have a nice life, and try not to end up on my list.”

“Wait—” He goes to reach for my wrist, but holds his hand up at the last moment. “Sorry. Reflex. But I’m a quick learner. No touching.”

Halted, I stare down at him. Waiting.

“When can I see you again?” he asks.

I bite the corner of my lip. Does this guy have a death wish, or is he just that bored with his life? “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Alex…” I sigh. “Look, you’re a clever guy. And honestly, I’m tempted to offer you some kind of monetary compensation for that application you developed. It’s definitely a program that interests me. But—”

“But you’re not interested in making new friends.”

“I don’t do friends. Like you, I work a very solitary job. I happen to like it that way.”

He considers this a moment, then: “But I know who you are, Blakely. I know what you do. I’m a loose end…just dangling out here in the wild.”

I sit back down. “Are you trying to blackmail me? Just for the record, that’s a terrible way to try to make a friend.” Even so, I’m curious to find out just what he thinks he has on me.

He leans forward. “You’re either going to have to create a whole new identity or kill me.” When I stay silent, he laughs awkwardly. “Sorry. Terrible joke. I’m really bad at this.”

“You really are,” I agree.

He reclines back in the chair and crosses his arms. “What I mean is, you’re going to have to develop a new revenge scheme for Ericson, right?” He arches an eyebrow. “It’s not as if you can bait him as an escort again.”

I don’t like that he’s put this much thought into it, but he’s right. I doubt Ericson will call on my services again after the way I left him…holding his aching balls. I have to devise a different strategy to get access to his office computer, or construct a new revenge plan altogether.

“That’s not really any of your concern,” I say, and start again to stand.

“Hear me out.” His wide eyes implore me to listen. “I have a mandatory week of vacation time, and I know I’m going to lose my mind just sitting around my apartment. Let me make last night up to you. Let me help you with this one job for the next few days.”

I shake my head. “I don’t need help.”

“I believe you.” His gaze touches mine, a depth there that I envy. “But I do have a number of programs that just might sweeten the deal.”

I inhale a deep breath as I consider his offer. He did track me down, an ability that requires a certain notable skillset, I admit. I should’ve felt threatened—any other rational person would—but I was impressed. That’s ultimately why I set up this meeting, to evaluate him.

He’s definitely intelligent and has unique skills that could be beneficial. I could use him for this job…then ghost him if it gets weird. Maybe I’ll get a couple new fun programs out of the deal to make it worth my time.

“Say I consider this offer,” I say, gauging him closely. “What do you get out of it?”

He places his hands behind his head, relaxed, at ease. “I don’t know. Excitement. A break in monotony. What I was looking for at the club and found exceedingly lacking.”

All right. Maybe I can use him. My identity with Ericson is blown. Starting from scratch means money, spending capital, losing the profit I’ll make on the job—and Ericson did seem to glom on to this guy. “What do you know about company finances?”

He lowers his arms, taking my question seriously. “I know math. So…give me the afternoon to learn the rest.”

“Cocky,” I remark. But I like it. I’m pretty cocky myself in knowing my strengths. “Okay then. I hope I don’t regret this.” I swipe a napkin and jot down a location. “We’ll meet up here at noon. Bring your best toys.”

As I hike back toward Tribeca, I replay the past half hour in my head, looking for any cues I missed. Honestly, despite his annoying incessantness, I like Alex. I like very few people. He’s different, interesting.

I shake out my hair. Now that my identity is no longer secret, I’ll keep the blond. I find I’m starting to like it, too. It’s a part of this unpredictable change that, in any other circumstance, would frustrate me. Yet I’m somehow enjoying the sudden spontaneity of it all.

Hypothesis

Alex

The scratch of the lead across the page sends a prickling sensation over my skin. As I work on the outline of Blakely’s features, the woman begins to materialize. It’s an image right out of my memory bank. Blakely sitting across from me at the bistro table, her tousled blond hair falling over her slender shoulders, those sea-green orbs staring right down to my marrow.

I keep a journal for each subject. Filled with notes, observations, results, and sketches. I find that, even though I work primarily with data, a visual representation alongside all that data helps me see the whole picture.

I look up from the page and stare blankly as I recall her features. A building-choked horizon looms over green treetops of Central Park. The park is muggy today, like so many other days in the spring. There’s a filmy haze in the air that settles on my skin. I can taste it, that thick layer, every time I take a breath. It tastes like the way one would imagine fog to taste.

I’m camped out on the bench at the entrance to the park, my journal spread open before me, as I saver another few moments to sketch Blakely’s beautiful face. I know she’s watching me. I arrived here fifteen minutes early, and I felt the moment her stone-cool eyes snared me in her perceptive gaze.

She’s assessing me. Even though she agreed to let me “tag along”, she’s not entirely convinced it was the right choice. I had to appeal to her greedy nature in order to get this far. I have something she wants; a tempting program that intrigues the hacker in her.

If I hadn’t been convinced of her nature after I woke up in the supply closet of the club with a pounding headache…her admission of how she came to work in the field of revenge sealed my resolve.

She wanted money. She knew she could do the revenge job and she did it.

A person with a psychopathic disposition doesn’t have the same kind of fears as the average person. What holds us back—fear of failure, fear of success, fear of change—the healthy types of fear that help govern our choices and actions, doesn’t reside within Blakely.

Her lack of fear propels her forward. Very little holds her back. She makes rash, impromptu decisions based on her wants. This doesn’t mean she’s impulsive. Rather, she’s exceedingly crafty, sharp-witted. Cautious when the situation calls for it.

In order to lower her defenses, I had to downplay my own similar attributes. I can’t be competition. Better she believe I’m a loser than a rival.