Two: Who is Blakely close to? Family, friends, business associates? How much time will go by before someone starts asking questions?

“You have no input on the matter?”

Her question jars me out of my thoughts. I push the bridge of my glasses up, refocusing my attention. “I’m not a judge or jury, Blakely,” I say. “I’ve never given much thought to crime and punishment. It doesn’t affect my daily routine. I’m not the guy to weigh this choice.”

She stares at me for a moment, then a throaty laugh bursts free. “You are such a nerdy scientist,” she says, and I’m captivated by her smile. “Well, I make those choices nearly every day, so I’m going with my gut instinct on this one. It’s never failed me before.”

“I trust you,” I say.

A heavy beat falls between us, weighted by those three simple words.

“You don’t know me well enough to trust me,” she remarks.

I shrug. “I’m getting to know you. That counts.”

Blakely says nothing. I know I’m coming across as direct and ignorant. I just hope that my attempt to lower her defenses isn’t too obvious. For this moment, I choose not to disturb the silence, just let us acclimate to each other, hopefully giving her the sense that there’s no need to force conversation.

I want to close my eyes so I can let my other senses absorb her. Beneath the smell of pond and city smog, I catch the faint scent of her perfume. Notes of coconut milk and bergamot. I want to find out the name of it. There’s a buzz at the feel of being so physically close to Blakely. The air is energized between us, heated molecules firing from her skin to mine. An electric current coaxing my body toward hers.

She has a natural allure.

It’s the law of conservation of energy. Energy cannot be created or destroyed, only changed in form, and she’s her own isolated system, luring my cells to merge with hers in one fiery explosion.

Just as I turn toward her, she sits forward. Dusts her palms off on her thighs. “We should leave.”

“Okay, but what’s the plan?” I grab my backpack and chase after her as she heads down the path.

She pauses near the paved pathway to look up at the towering gothic building of The Plaza. “To get you inside the attic this weekend.”

I hitch my pack over my shoulder, eyebrows raised. “Aren’t you supposed to ask me first if I agree to this?”

“No,” she says, and starts off again. “You wanted excitement, you’re about to get it.” She tosses a crooked smile back at me.

“Sure. Any sage words of advice?”

“Yeah. Don’t fuck up.”

Target

Blakely

The arousing scent of freshly brewed coffee awakens my senses. I accept my double espresso from the young barista with a neck tattoo and take a steaming-hot swallow before I push through the coffee shop door.

Alex is waiting for me at the corner. “Did you know that processed coffee has more toxins than any other food or beverage?”

I take an extra-long swig as I stare at him over the brim of the paper cup.

His smile is mocking. “Noted.”

“Come on, Bill Nye. Unlike you, I’m not on vacation, so I do have a day job to check in with.”

We cross the street at the crosswalk, and I let Alex lead me to his apartment building. In order to use the information that Alex’s application siphoned from Ericson’s phone, we need to clone it onto a new device. Then I can figure out the next step of this insane plan.

Normally, making shit up as I go is not how I operate, but I rarely have to devise a whole new revenge scheme mid job. Besides, keeping Alex in the dark is a necessary measure at this stage. Despite his apparent trusting nature, I don’t trust anyone. He’s an intellectual type who has zero experience with men like Ericson and the ruffians he associates with. That’s not only a huge disadvantage, it’s a liability.

First, before I allow Alex to go anywhere near these men, I need to see how he interacts with people in a tense setting. If we move forward with this plan, I’ll be sending him directly into the wolf’s den. Or lion’s den. Whatever it’s called.

Not that my conscience is what’s making me hesitant; I don’t know Alex. He’s not a central part of my life. Not like Rochelle or Lomax. Alex could be a future asset…if he can pull this off. But if he can’t…

Then I might just steal his hacking software and send him back to the lab.

Hell, I need to get something out of this deal. He did botch the job, after all. I should be collecting the final payment from Lenora right now.

So my hesitancy is in whether or not Alex is worth the risk. I don’t want to sacrifice the guy—but if this job comes down to me or him, I’m always choosing me. I can’t let an amateur tank my business.

“Here we are,” Alex says as he unlocks his front door.

The building where he lives is nice. Not as nice as my place in Tribeca, but I would’ve pegged him to live in a more minimalist apartment. Something stark white and sterile, like a science lab.

I set my coffee cup on an end table. As I take in the space around me, I note all the little details. Warm beige and earthy tones. Regency artwork leaned up against the wall. Not a Jackson Pollock or any other abstract art in sight. There’s one dark-gray couch and one armchair. The apartment is an open floorplan like most city lofts, but he’s divided the rooms well with strung material, making the whole thing feel cozy and spacious.

Alex offloads his backpack onto the wood desk in the middle of the living area. “What? Not what you expected?”

I set my camera case and bag on the armchair. “I’ve learned not to make assumptions about people,” I say. “Although, I didn’t peg you for a Regency fan.”

He walks around the desk, turning on monitors. He has three. “I’m not, really. The paintings were my sister’s.”

I feel validated that I haven’t lost my touch at reading people. I wait for him to say more, but when he doesn’t, I mute my phone and slip it into my bag. People have a bad habit of interrupting. Rochelle especially. And I don’t want to be interrupted.

I watch as Alex readies his equipment. He’s a different person in front of technology. Efficient, quick, dexterous. I can imagine him sitting in front of his screens for hours, the world moving past all around him as he’s zoned in on his work.

“Oh,” Alex says. He looks up from his screen. “Pull up a stool from over there”—he nods toward the kitchenette area. “I imagine you’re interested to see how this is done.”

I am, of course. I work mostly with software; hacking, websites, social media. Hardware is a different capability—one I just might have to get better acquainted with.

I set the stool beside his chair and anchor my boot heels on the lower bar. “How long will this take?”

He links a USB cable to a port in a crude device with cables that looks like a bare-naked computer board. “It’s a prototype that I designed myself,” he says, as if reading my mind. “I don’t like the idea of purchasing this type of hardware from someone.” He adjusts his glasses.

“Like a hacker who could use it to steal your information,” I interject.

“Precisely.” Alex presses a couple of keys on his keyboard and a Dos-simulated page pops up on the screen. “I run everything off the Command Prompt.”

He issues a series of commands, and within seconds, the card reader/writer is fast at work cloning Ericson’s phone onto a chip.

“I’m really impressed.” I watch him insert the chip into a phone. “And I say that rarely.”

He smiles. “Not sure what I’m going to do with the device,” he admits. “I don’t like the idea of selling it to hackers, but not sure who else would be interested in the application.”

Curious. “Then why did you code it to begin with?”

He pauses to look over at me. “There was a question of whether or not it could be done, and I had to answer it.”