The Manhattan Encounter. Addison Fox
his thoughts and he sought to lighten the mood he’d managed to weigh down. “Maybe you can break with tradition tomorrow and toss a few raspberries in your oatmeal. You know. Shake it up a little.”
“I’ll take it under advisement.” He didn’t quite get a laugh, but he did hear the smile through the three thousand miles that separated them.
They disconnected and Liam took a few minutes to skim through Kenzi’s email. He’d spend more time with it later, but the base facts matched what he’d gleaned at dinner.
She’s going to have problems. Serious ones, if her father’s any indication.
Liam read through the list of her father’s grievances—spying and treason the least of his offenses—and fought another roll of judgment as he imagined the power of Isabella’s research.
And the danger that would be unleashed if it got into the wrong hands.
He had to help her. It’s what they did with the House of Steele.
And maybe, just maybe, if he found a way to fix Dr. Magnini’s problems he might gain some salvation from his own.
* * *
Penelope Steele patted the foil into place around some of Seamus’s famous chocolate chip cookies. They were her grandson Campbell’s favorite, but the rest of her grandchildren had eaten more than their fair share through the years. She’d tried repeatedly to replicate the recipe, but had never found a way to get the proper mixture of gooey chocolate chips and rich, vanilla-tinged dough.
So she’d left Seamus to his expertise and had honed hers to a sharp point.
“You don’t need to do this, Mrs. Steele. Dinner was a feast.”
“Nonsense. A little sweet after the interrogation you received this evening is only fair.”
“Your family’s taking on my...circumstances. They deserve to have their questions answered.”
“Yes, well, my grandchildren sometimes need to realize when a job is more than a job. I know you don’t know us, Isabella, or have any reason to trust us. But Alex and I have known your grandparents for years. We want what’s best for you.”
The young woman blinked, the words an obvious surprise. “Thank you.”
“I mean it. Your grandfather has kept us updated on your work through the years. He’s so proud of what you’ve accomplished.” Penelope laid it on with a trowel, pleased to see Isabella’s stiff, stoic demeanor fade as talk shifted to her grandfather.
“He’s been so supportive. So understanding.”
Penelope heard the “but” underneath Isabella’s words, but stayed silent, allowing her to work it through. It was the single biggest difference between her and Alexander. Her husband wanted to bully the answer out of people and she was content to wait and let it come.
And if she’d read Isabella Magnini correctly, the dam was near to cracking straight down the center.
“I didn’t mean—” Isabella broke off on a hard exhale. “I didn’t mean for it to come to this. To create work that others could abuse.”
Penelope smoothed a corner of the foil-wrapped cookies and waited. She’d sensed a fire and spirit inside the girl—knew it was there from her grandfather’s description—and knew the moment her patience was rewarded.
“It’s groundbreaking work. Amazing work that can help us with all sorts of illnesses.” Passion flared in Isabella’s voice, blazing through the kitchen in a rush. “We can fix people. Help them. Heal the pain they’re born with to keep them from hurting others.”
Ah, there it is, Penelope mused. “That’s what makes your work different. Special. Worthwhile.”
“Not if it’s abused as I’ve come to realize it will be.”
“You want to heal.” She laid a hand over Isabella’s. “Don’t ever forget that.”
“But what if I’ve created the ability to destroy instead. Then I’d be no better than my father.”
“You were better than your father the moment you decided the course of your work was to help others, not profit from them.”
“I used to believe that. Wanted to believe that. But now I don’t know.”
Penelope squeezed the stiff fingers beneath hers. “The fact you can ask that question is reason enough to believe.”
* * *
Isabella stared at the rain-slicked streets from the protection of the cab and watched London pass by. Penelope Steele’s kind words had gone a long way toward offering a port in the storm, but she still couldn’t fully escape her thoughts. Or the ready belief she was completely responsible for the circumstances she found herself in.
Pushing it into a mental corner for further reflection later, she focused on what she could control. She’d already packed for her flight in the morning and had given Liam the details he’d need to contact her once they were both back in the United States. All she really needed to do was follow his directions and all would be well.
It had to be.
He shifted and although there was space between them on the cab’s back bench seat, she couldn’t shake how overwhelming it was to sit next to him.
He was a tall man—well over six feet—and his frame was larger than he appeared on first inspection. He had a trim litheness to him that belied how solid he was and her gaze kept straying to his profile, highlighted by the glow of his phone.
Like a loop she couldn’t break herself out of, her gaze traveled, first over the solid planes of his face, along the length of his jaw and over his Adam’s apple, then over the fine cut of his raincoat. She followed the lines of the material, then along the black slacks stretched taut over his thighs. She stopped there—lingered, really—and her thoughts turned to more interesting dimensions every time she imagined what lay beneath that fine cut of material.
He had a refined, sexy masculinity that made her fingers itch to explore the skin underneath. And as a woman who’d spent her life around men who placed more value on what was inside their head than the capability of their bodies, she couldn’t hold back the sheer feminine appreciation for Liam Steele’s form.
Focus, Isabella. Keep your focus.
Of course, keeping focus meant she had to think about the very reason why she was sitting in the back of a cab, driving through the rain-soaked London streets next to Liam Steele. Focus meant she had to think about flying alone back to New York and revisiting her Chelsea apartment. What was once her haven had become tainted with the very real stain of fear.
And focus meant she had to spend some time considering her options. The next few weeks would take all her energy, but after the fervor of her work was made public, she had to decide what to do with the rest of her life.
She wanted to continue her research—wanted to continue learning about the scientific mysteries that lived inside her own skin—but the implications of what she’d discovered had weighed heavily.
Too heavily, at times.
“My sister has arranged for an escort for you from the airport to your apartment. I’m taking you to Heathrow myself.”
A protest sprang to her lips but Liam cut her off before she could say much. “Your escort is ex-military and armed to the teeth. He’ll make sure your apartment is safe and will also check for bugs.”
“It can’t be that bad.” Even if she’d lain awake for the last three nights in her London hotel room worried that it was, in fact, that bad.
Liam’s subtle frown was all she got in reaction before he shoved his phone into an inside pocket of his coat and turned his full attention on her. “How much research do you keep at home?”
Isabella fought the jitters