“What an amazing coincidence that we’re both attending the same function,” Alex tells her, his voice leveled up an octave, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

I snicker at his horrible acting. “Amateur.”

As they leave together in a Town Car, I listen to their stilted conversation. It was a little risky to have Alex make himself known to Ericson’s escort before meeting at the attic. I mean, what are the chances, right? But it was a risk we had to take, and one that will pay off—literally—as I set my phone to record off the earpiece.

The hardest aspect of the plan was the preparation. Now, with all parts in place, all we need to do is play it cool and wait. I check the time on my phone, then head to my designated stalking post.

I remember the first day I sat in this little coffee shop as I stalked my newest prospect. There was nothing particularly special about Ericson or Lenora’s situation. Looking back, nothing all that interesting stands out. I just recall, as I sipped my cappuccino, having a strong sense that I should turn down the job.

Lenora had been desperate. I do remember that. The way she stank of despair and misery, and how the whole situation with her made me uncomfortable. It was easier to take her on than turn her away.

I’m not typically sentimental, but as I sit here, waiting for my cappuccino, I can’t help feeling that, had I not taken on Lenora’s plight, I never would’ve met Alex.

And he was worth meeting.

The barista sets a white cup and saucer down on my table, and I take a sip of coffee as I listen to Alex awkwardly introduce himself to Ericson’s colleagues in the penthouse.

Maybelline must be the silent type, as she hasn’t said a word to anyone since they entered the building. Maybe that’s what Ericson requested this time—a completely subservient mouse of a woman to take his abuse.

Because that’s the plan, of course. Record Ericson Daverns annihilating a woman and send it to all his elite clients. Womanizing is an extremely hot button in the corporate world today. And, as a bonus, any shady dealings that happen to go down tonight will also be broadcast to them.

After his clients drop him, Brewster will most likely want to shut down the leak—shut down Ericson. I can’t be responsible for what happens next. Ericson will get whatever just punishment Brewster and his cronies see fit to deliver, and Lenora will have her revenge.

A ruined husband she can walk away from.

A ruined businessman she can divorce and take half from.

It’s not as creative as most of my revenge schemes, but then, Ericson is a special breed of monster. Only a directness meant to obliterate will deliver retribution.

I take a big gulp of cappuccino, and dead silence rings in my ear as the mic cuts out in Maybelline’s phone and I lose connection.

“Dammit.” I push the button to reconnect and wait.

This happened twice on the walk here. I thought maybe it was the distance; the device’s Bluetooth not reaching far enough in the congested city. Now, however, I’m right across the street from The Plaza, and my internal alarm is triggered.

I stare at my phone, waiting for the text. Alex and I set up a fail-safe should things go badly. Alex will message me the name “Lilah” from our first encounter, his signal for me to bail him out.

My plan for that also isn’t very impressive. Contact the police.

I’m becoming antsy as I stare at my phone, the noise of the espresso machine grating my nerves. The feed has been down too long. Something isn’t right. I can feel it in my bones.

“Come on…” I will the connection to link up, and just as I’m about to do something stupid, like try to break into The Plaza, my phone dings with a text from Alex’s phone.

Alex: Your boy is in the park.

I read the message again slowly, this time deciphering the meaning. A normal, rational reaction would be to panic. My heart rate remains steady as I mentally pick through the details to find a solution.

Someone in the penthouse sent that message. They said your boy, clearly referring to Alex. He’s in Central Park. Beaten…or worse. This person discovered Alex was there under pretext, and they know about me. Whether or not this person is Ericson or one of Brewster’s men is a deciding factor on how to approach the situation, one more dangerous than the next.

Either way, I’m out of my seat and pushing through the door of the coffee shop. Alex could be anywhere in the park, but I start with the entrance right across the street from the hotel.

I don’t wait for the crosswalk sign to signal it’s safe to cross. I cut across the street, dodging angry cab drivers and tourists. My defenses are up as I shove past people crowding the lamplit entrance.

With the noise of the city behind me, I enter the dark park and search the pathway, the green pond. The crisp air does nothing to mask the smoggy, earthy scent of the park. Alex has to be somewhere nearby; there’s no way anyone had time to take him deeper into the park.

As I head toward the first bridge, I look up to scan the arch above, to make sure no one suspicious is watching me, waiting for me. I enter the tunnel, and I can feel eyes on me. I look at my phone screen, deciding whether or not I should send a reply, demand to know where Alex is right now.

Honestly, I should ditch my phone, but there’s still a chance Alex will contact me. The fact that he hasn’t yet isn’t good.

I continue on around the rock formation, the place where Alex and I spied on Ericson together. He can’t be too far away, if he’s in the park at all. I climb to the top and use the higher ground to search the nearby areas.

No bodies, no beaten, passed-out scientists in sight. I curse and start to head down when a snap catches my attention. I stop and wait to hear it again, my breath held. With slow and deliberate movements, I creep toward the foliage where a high wall of shrubbery separates the street from the park.

The noise never comes again, and there’s no Alex. I exhale, releasing my frustration with the fiery air in my lungs, as I once again start to leave.

It happens in a blink. In the time it takes my eyelids to close, I feel a sharp pain in my neck. A brief moment where I try to bat away an insect—then the stark and terrible realization of the needle piercing my skin.

For the first time since I can remember, my heart rate changes pace. I can feel it slowing, the beat becoming weaker. My pulse thuds in my ears as the sounds of the park fade into the distance.

My muscles go lax, and I’m guided down to the hard ground by strong arms.

My attacker stairs down at me as I lie helpless. Anger courses my blood right along with the drug he injected into my bloodstream. I try to move my lips, to form words, to demand to know why—but my mouth is just as immobile as the rest of my body.

“Not as delicate as your little cocktail,” Alex says, those blue eyes gleaming, “but ketamine more than gets the job done.”

14

Experiment

Alex

In Greek Mythology, fate was decided by three goddesses. Every soul had a life thread, the course of a life woven within the twine. There is one goddess to spin the thread, the next to measure, and the third to cut the twine at the moment of death.

According to the myth, the Fates control every destiny, and no one escapes their doom.

The scientist in me rejects philosophy and mythology on merit. Yet, I can still appreciate the wisdom in the lesson. Because of course, the purpose of all religion is to teach a moral.

We’re not avenging angels, or deities of fate, Alex. Blakely said these words to me—and she had no idea how right she was.