“I’m kind of a computer geek,” I answer honestly. “I was testing new phone software at the club to scan phone data, and I just happened to snag yours.”

There’s a lengthy pause, then: “What’s your name? Your real name.”

I hesitate for only a moment. “Alex Chambers.”

“Meet me at Bean House on the corner of third and Broadway in an hour, Alex Chambers.”

I open my mouth to confirm, but she ends the call first. I pocket my phone as I replay the conversation, mentally assessing her responses.

The fact that she wants to meet says she’s at least curious about me. Or apprehensive. She chose a public place. Although, had she not, considering our last encounter, I would have made that request.

I’m not so arrogant that I don’t fear this woman. Fear is healthy. Smart.

On her part: I hacked her phone. I know her identity. She’s intelligent enough to be just as wary about me, although her psyche may transmute that fear into outrage. I can go on to speculate just how this interaction will go between us…but I stop myself. Honestly, I’ve never encountered a subject like her before.

She’s unpredictable.

The second step of the scientific method is to collect. While I’m collecting my pocket watch from Blakely, I’ll also be gathering the data I need for the next phase.

On my way out, I pause at the console table and touch the framed picture of a young girl and boy with smiling, innocent faces.

“We’re getting closer, Mary.”

Kindred

Blakely

The eerie sensation of someone watching me prickles the back of my neck. I peer around to find the asshole from the club standing a few feet away.

“Were you just, like…watching me?”

“That’s an inherent instinct,” he says. He starts toward the table I selected in the middle of the sidewalk bistro. “To detect when you’re being watched. Thousands of years of evolution, and we still retain a primal characteristic from the days when we were prey to a larger species of hunters. Though some possess this skill more than others.”

I arch an eyebrow. I suppose he’s referring to me.

As he sits down in the metal chair across from me, I prop my arms on the table. “You’re just full of stimulating information.”

He smirks. Outside of the darkly lit atmosphere of the club, I can better access him. He’s attractive. Vibrant blue eyes—the kind women get lost in. Although today, he’s sporting thin, wire-rimmed glasses. The glasses don’t detract from that pretty-boy smile with the pop of dimples, but rather enhance his overall likeability. His dark hair flops haphazard, as if he spends a lot of time driving his fingers through it. Probably while sitting at his lab desk.