One cannot get attached to inanimate objects when one understands those objects will tarnish and degrade. Gears and spring mechanisms will rust and break down. Glass will crack.

And yet, that doesn’t stop the irritating need to touch my pocket watch. I feel as if a part of me is missing. My mind can’t focus on work. The niggling desire to hear the secondhand ticking is a constant distraction.

Memories—that’s the root of the issue. As long as I breathe, as long as my mind is intact, my memories are what bind me to my sentiments.

The object itself is insignificant; it’s what the watch represents that matters.

And she stole it.

I push the bridge of my wireframe glasses up my nose and refocus on the laptop screen. I typically wear contacts while out, like last night at the club. Glasses are too distinctive; they create a persona of intelligence. People assess and judge a person within a span of five seconds.

It works best if I appear unassuming, unremarkable. I could have Lasik, but I actually prefer to wear glasses, which shields my eyes from the blue light of the screen that I stare at for hours every day. Plus, as my eyes are vital for my work, I don’t trust anyone to stick a sharp object anywhere near them.

That thought sparks an idea, and I quickly jot down a note in my journal before I resume the program update. I coded the program myself, as I require software that’s untraceable and performs specific functions for my needs.

The second step in the scientific method is to collect data. Gather information, record facts and findings. In order to do this, I must locate my subject.

The sly one who carries a Taser.

Who masquerades as an escort.

Who stole my watch, just because it’s in her nature to do so.

I sync my phone to my encrypted network and run the updated program.

She Tasered me. Not only that, she drugged me. This woman has a serious dark side. Once I got back to my lab, I tested my blood. The results showed low levels of GHB, otherwise known as liquid Ecstasy, with a high amount of rohypnol, the date-rape drug.

She didn’t just want to escape; she wanted me put down. Out of the way.

I’m still wrapping my head around that fact. But, while I was convulsing like an idiot on the floor, my phone was busy doing some gathering work for me.