by Addison Fox
“Wrong how?”
“Someone’s rifled through my things at work. And I know my notes have been tampered with.” She took a small sip of the water his grandmother had foisted on her earlier before delicately resettling the glass on a small end table. “And I believe someone broke into my home last week when I was at work late.”
“Your home?” Anger coated his throat with raw fire and he suddenly wished for the whiskey he’d spent the last half hour avoiding. “What do you think this person’s after?”
Her slender fingers bunched in the waist of her sweater and Liam saw why the piece of clothing had no shape. “My work. My research.”
“Which revolves around what, exactly?”
“Genetics.”
Liam knew science had its champions and its critics across all branches, but what could she have possibly gotten herself involved with? And when did run-of-the-mill scientists become the object of something dangerous enough to have them seeking help?
“Enough talk for the moment. Let’s go into the dining room and eat. Poor Isabella looks famished.”
Penelope Steele’s words received no argument and he helped his grandmother to her feet. He was startled to see Isabella follow suit with his grandfather, making a show of giving over her arm when Liam knew good and well the motion really helped to steady the older man.
“She’s lovely, isn’t she?” Penelope wasted no time on the observation, her comment uttered the moment the two of them were out of earshot.
He shot his grandmother a sideways eye. “You’re in on this, too?”
“The woman needs help, Liam.”
“No doubt, but the timing of her arrival and Grandfather’s evening lecture were rather curious, don’t you think?”
His grandmother made a show of dusting some non-existent lint from her sweater. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“Of course you don’t. You’re the innocent here instead of a ready foil for Grandfather’s machinations.”
“She needs you.”
Liam stared down from where he towered over his petite grandmother in height. There was an urgency underlying her words, but it was the bleak look that creased the tissue-thin skin of her face that pulled him up short.
“We’ll help her, Grandmother. I promise.”
Penelope nodded, then disengaged their arms as Liam pulled out her chair. Her quick glance at the empty doorway had her continuing. “Isabella’s a tough girl. A shockingly brilliant one, too. She spent her late teens with her grandfather after her father was tried as a British traitor about fifteen years ago.”
“Tried for what?”
“He was convicted as a traitor of selling dirty bombs to third-world rebels.”
“And her mother?”
Penelope’s lips pursed tightly together and Liam knew that look didn’t bode well. “She had a mental breakdown after the news of her husband’s activities. She’s spent years in a private facility.”
Isabella and his grandfather came through the door and he ignored the small spear of sympathy attempting to burrow under his breastbone as his gaze took in the pair. He knew what it was like to lose a parent. To lose both parents. And while death wasn’t fair, there was a certain mercy in knowing the loss wasn’t by choice.
“Thank you, dear.” His grandmother patted his arm as she settled her napkin in her lap.
The small gesture was enough to pull him from his strange musings and he moved around the table to help Isabella. A subtle confusion filled her gaze when he pulled her chair back before she readily accepted with a small nod. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
Her light scent—a subtle mix of roses and the lingering scent of the rain—sent a quick shot of adrenaline through his system as he pushed in her chair. His stomach clenched on the sensation and he tightened his grip on the back rail to stop the slight trembling in his fingers.
If that madness wasn’t enough, he almost reached for one of the dark, heavy curls that flowed down her back before he caught himself.
The knowing smile on his grandmother’s face was the effective dousing he needed and he stepped away quickly and took his own seat.
The same, self-righteous anger that had carried him through the earlier portion of the evening rose up once again to tighten his throat. He loved his grandparents—knew their bond was closer than most, especially with their hand in raising and caring for him and his siblings after their parents’ unexpected deaths—but that didn’t give them the right to meddle in his life.
He got along just fine by himself. Absolutely fine. And no amount of interference from his family was going to change his mind.
Satisfied he’d worked through that moment of ridiculous fancy that had gripped him, Liam refocused on Isabella through clear eyes. The good doctor was in trouble, she had a heap of baggage—both current and past—bogging her down and she dressed like a woman who attempted to hide herself. None of those things, however, were reason to assume she’d be the target of some sort of attack.
He waited until their first course of soup had been laid down and his grandparents’ cook, Seamus, had returned to the kitchen before pressing the issue. “Why do you think someone’s after your research?”
“Because she’s the best in her field.” His grandfather’s resounding retort came barreling across the table.
“I’m acquainted with Dr. Magnini’s reputation, Grandfather, but that doesn’t explain why someone would want to hurt her or break into her home. Last time I checked, scientists weren’t very visible targets.”
“My research is somewhat controversial.” Isabella laid down her soup spoon, a small spark flaring to life in the depths of her moss-green gaze. “And it’s very visible to those who are interested in what I do for a living.”
Aha, so the good doctor did have a backbone. And a stubborn streak of pride to boot.
Liam warmed to the evidence of both as he leaned forward. “Then tell me what it is about this specific research that would put you in the crosshairs.”
“My work is about remapping aspects of the human genome.”
Liam didn’t miss the contrast of her stiff shoulders with the lush, almost wild hair that ran down her back or the steady flame that still lit her gaze. Dr. Magnini was a study in contrasts and he suspected there was more heat and passion underneath that oversize sweater and shapeless slacks than even she knew herself. “The field’s grown and expanded for several years. Why is your research any different?”
“Because if my sequencing efforts are correct, I’ve found the genes that affect aggression, reason and logic.”
“Sound research, to be sure, but I still don’t understand why that puts you in harm’s way.”
Her shoulders grew even stiffer, if that were possible, and her voice lowered to a breathy whisper. “Because if what I’ve uncovered is correct, we now have the power to create a race of super soldiers. Indefatigable instruments of war.”
Chapter 2
Isabella waited for some response, the silence around the table even more intimidating than the entire exercise of coming to Alexander Steele’s home.
Why had she come here?
And why had she exposed herself to the censure and dismay that would inevitably come once these kind people understood to what she’d devoted her life?
She hadn’t intended her work to go so far—or to have such far-reaching global implications. All she’d wanted to do was understand where she came from. A father with no moral center and a mother who was functionally unable to handle what life dished out.
And then there was her own questionable life, Isabella thought ruefully. She had a sound mind and moral certitude in spades, yet still she pushed herself and her research each and every day until her eyes blurred. Pressing herself on, desperate for the answer to one simple qu
estion.
Why?
Why had her father used his gifts for ill? Why was her mother unable to care for her? And why had she been given this driving need to answer those questions?
The joke was on her, Isabella now knew.
In her rush for answers, she’d never fully grasped what her research might suggest to others. Those without any moral certitude who, instead, believed that “might was right” and the ability to win at all costs was all that mattered.
That was why she had to bring her research to life in her own way. She needed to go on record and state why her work shouldn’t be abused. Why humans shouldn’t become guinea pigs for someone else’s soulless ambitions.
“How would you propose to do that, dear?” Penelope’s gaze had remained warm and kind—an altogether unexpected response at the evidence she had the scientific equivalent of Dr. Frankenstein at her dining room table—and Isabella stayed still for a moment, caught up in the warmth.
Had another nurturing female ever looked at her that way? Even when her mother was functioning, she’d always had a vapid sense of responsibility.
If she wanted an extra cookie, her mother never even offered up a token protest. If she wanted to stay up reading until three, with the clear consequence of being unable to stay awake the next day, no one was there to argue with her. And if she even attempted to discuss what had happened at school—from a perfect grade to a bullying incident in the lunchroom—her mother simply dismissed it all with a wave of her hand.
“The original purpose of my research was to understand our psychological functioning better.”
“Nature versus nurture?” Penelope’s gaze remained steady and warm.
“Yes, but more. There are those who are simply unable to handle the stresses of the world around them. I thought—” she broke off, knowing the truth was much too close to the surface. “Well, let’s say I’ve been searching for the key that can unlock the pain far too many live with.”
When no one offered any further comment, Isabella tried to further defend her actions. “I recognize the same challenges I’m looking to eradicate are the very tools others could use to turn individuals into soulless agents on their behalf. It’s why I’ve been working through a solution to manage my work responsibly.”
“Why not simply stop the research?” Liam’s gaze was intent on hers across the table. “When you understood the depths of what you had, why not simply stop? That sounds like a damn effective solution to me.”
“I didn’t know what I had. Not as a weapon, at least. I thought my research would help us better understand those humans who choose to live outside the fringes. It’s—” She broke off, the excuse flimsy and rather useless. She was responsible for her own actions—her own research—and blaming others for the potential they saw in it was equally flimsy and useless.
“I didn’t intend my research to be applied in this fashion, but now that I’ve received clear feedback that will be its intent, I have a responsibility to press for responsible use. I’ve already published my preliminary research.”
“Isn’t that standard in your field?” Liam’s vivid blue gaze never wavered.
“Presenting research is, yes. It’s expected, even. But I was perhaps a bit too—” she broke off, struggling for the right words. “I was hasty in my speed to publish. So now I’ve got a second article in development with the same journal. The publisher has made arrangements to cross-publish the implications of my findings with the New York Times. The public needs to know what I’m sitting on.”
“And you had no idea it would come to this?” Liam’s gaze stayed direct, but she saw something behind those magnetic blue eyes—whether it was censure or understanding she had no idea—but there was something behind his words.
“Why would she know that?” Alexander demanded, his loud voice and hard fist to the table effectively ending the moment. “You know as well as I do no one has a crystal ball.”
“I understand that, Grandfather.” Liam’s words were measured and, although directed toward Alexander, his gaze never left her own. “What I’d like to understand is if Dr. Magnini really thinks this little exercise of cleansing her guilt with the press will stop her from later selling her research to the highest bidder.”
“Of course I don’t think this absolves me of guilt. But I do believe it’s the right thing to do.”
His voice dropped, the tone velvety smooth. “Or perhaps, Isabella, you’re biding your time before simply selling it to your employer?”
She shook her head, fighting the rising indignation that had her feet itching to race for the door. Liam’s questions—no matter how directly asked—were nothing compared to what she’d receive from the press and public so she’d better learn to handle it. “I own all my research. I’m not beholden to anyone.”
His eyebrows shot up at that one, the first look of genuine surprise she’d seen. “How’d you swing that?”
“I had a benefactor.”
“And they don’t want a piece of the action?”
“Dr. Stephenson is dead. He was my professor—mentor really—in graduate school. The funding was his final gift to me.”
Isabella knew she was beyond fortunate for the gift Daniel had bestowed on her. His research had contributed heavily to the field and his own personal wealth had funded much of what he’d worked on. He’d believed in her and believed she’d carry on his legacy, advancing the science to new heights.
And how had she repaid him?
By publishing her results to the entire scientific community.
Her vanity had brought the wolf to her door. And she hoped like hell Liam Steele would know how to keep him at bay.
* * *
Liam swirled the whiskey in his glass, the late hour ensuring he’d be escorting Dr. Isabella Magnini home in a taxi. A steady layer of ire had coated his throat since dinner and no amount of coffee or the stronger nightcap could do anything to assuage it.
What the hell was she thinking?
And even as the judgmental thoughts crowded his mind he pulled himself back.
He was the last person who should judge. His choices—misguided and full of his own foolish vanity—had resulted in far more heartache and pain than he could have ever imagined.
His phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out, his sister’s name on the readout. “Kenzi. Prompt and efficient as always.”
“Excellent. I can see by your nasty and condescending tone Grandfather convinced you to take on Dr. Magnini’s situation.”
“You knew damn well he would.”
“And you knew damn well you would, too.”
He sighed, the stiff set of his shoulders relaxing slightly. Whatever else she was—and royal pain in the ass frequently sat on the top of the list—his sister had his back. She also understood him, likely better than any other member of his family. “She’s in deep, Kenz.”
The tart lemons faded from her voice and underneath the professionalism he heard the camaraderie they’d shared since they were small. “Grandfather knows she needs help and I’d wager he didn’t have all the specifics when he not so gently encouraged us to take this job.”
“Or more likely chose not to share them.” He caught her up quickly on what he’d gleaned at dinner—both the information Isabella shared as well as his overarching suspicions about her situation—before going in for the kill. “She’s got some serious research on her side. Thinks that’s the reason people are after her.”
“You think she’s legit? Grandfather’s got an eagle eye but even he can get rusty from time to time.” Kensington broke off, the line going quiet, before she continued. “I looked into her background.”
Liam knew the circumstances of her father’s downfall would have pinged for Kensington almost immediately so it was some surprise when a ready defense leapt to his lips
. “She shared her background with us already and made no attempt to hide who her father was.”
“He’s a nasty piece of work.” The sound of light tapping on her keyboard had a small smile curving his lips. Whatever else she was—nearly all of it good—his sister was a dog with a bone when it came to information. “I’m sending you what I’ve found. Check your email.”
“Aye aye.” The faint beep alerted him the message had arrived.
“Liam—”
His sister hesitated, very un-Kenzi-like. That silence did more to catch his attention than the loudest shout. “What is it?”
“This isn’t a joke. She’s going to have problems. Serious ones, if her father’s any indication. Add on how she’s chosen to build her career and you’ve got someone whose choices are very personal.”
“Isn’t that the very definition of the choices we make for ourselves?” Liam wasn’t sure why—first his grandparents and now his sister—but where he normally let things slide off, something in her words lodged in his gut. So the good doctor had something of an ax to grind in her rush to get over her past. Until she’d made the monumental mistake of making the information public, she was well within her rights to figure out where she came from however the hell she pleased.
“Just be careful of her motivations.”
“You can stop your worrying. She appears normal enough, for a poorly dressed scientist who seems somewhat oblivious to the world around her.”
An image of the woman standing on his grandparents’ front stoop leaped into his thoughts, a slightly manic look in her eyes as she spun toward him with her wet umbrella. The mania that filled the deep green of her eyes did battle with what could only be described as an absent-minded quirk of her eyebrows.
“You sure did notice a lot for an hour’s visit.”
The impression in his mind of those vivid green eyes faded as he keyed back into all the things Kensington wasn’t saying. “That’s my job.”
“And I’m doing mine. Look at the file and let me know your impressions. Anything else you want me to dig into, just let me know.”