by Addison Fox
“Got it.”
“Give Grandfather and Grandmother a kiss for me. I’ll talk to Grandfather in the morning.”
“You always do.” An image of her sister’s daily conversation over oatmeal and blueberries with Alexander filled 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 that leaped through her stomach like hummingbirds as those liquid blue eyes—cl
early visible even in the darkness of the cab—lasered in on her. “Minimal. More notes than anything else. Everything of value is on small drives in various safe deposit boxes and my computer that’s always on me.”
“I haven’t seen a computer.”
She smiled—her first easy one since climbing into the cab. “You’ve somehow missed my oversize purse that could carry a set of triplets?”
“I’ve got sisters.” A sweet little twinkle lit up that gaze and she took her first easy breath. “To be honest, I assumed it was simply a purse that could carry a set of triplets.”
“Yes, well, the only triplets I carry are my laptop and two tablets.” She patted the large leather purse on her lap. “They’re heavy enough.”
“My brother’s going to light up like Christmas when he hears that.”
“I’m sorry?”
The smile hovered but his tone changed—grew more conversational and, well, human—when he spoke. “My brother, Campbell, is our family computer wiz. It’s also what he does for the business. Other than his wife and the other computer geeks he occasionally spends time with, I’m not sure he knows anyone who is that well-outfitted with technology.”
“Occupational hazard. Plus, it keeps—” The words faded as she realized what she was about to admit. A man like Liam Steele likely had no idea what it was like to sit alone for hours on end, thoughts raging through your mind like a firestorm with no one to share them with and no way to quiet the melee. One tablet kept her research and the other was purely for entertainment.
“It keeps what?”
“Oh, nothing, really. Just a silly thing.”
“You sure? Because I thought you were about to tell me you cracked the code on the latest version of Jewel Crush in which case, I’d be honor-bound to kidnap you and drag you to the House of Steele all on my own.”
How’d he know that? And why did a decidedly naughty lick of heat just whip through her belly at the image of being thrown over Liam Steele’s shoulder like a pirate’s spoils? “Why would you want to do that?”
“Because you’re likely the only person who can beat my sister Rowan and if she knew there was someone who had the secret to the next level she’d never stop hounding me if I didn’t produce them. I swear, she’s obsessed.”
“I enjoy games as a diversion. They let me relax and allow whatever problem I’m working on to float to the back of my subconscious for a while.”
“Nothing wrong with that.”
The ready acceptance before he shifted his attention toward their driver, directing the man toward the turn-off for her hotel, gave her the few moments she needed to collect her thoughts.
For years, she’d heard so many things about Alexander Steele’s grandchildren through her grandfather that Isabella realized she’d begun to think of them in near-mythic proportions.
But maybe they were just regular people.
She’d almost convinced herself until Liam turned toward her, those blue eyes blazing once more. “You coming?”
“Of...of course.” She hated the stammer but quickly slid across the seat. The rain had died down to a gentle mist and it coated her immediately, a cooling balm to her heated skin.
She followed him toward the revolving doors of the hotel and nearly stumbled into him when he stopped to gesture her ahead. “Steady, Isabella.” His hand snaked out and steadied her, holding her still for a moment.
“I’m fine.”
“All evidence to the contrary.”
Again, she fought the tug of those deep blue eyes and wondered how he did it. Liam Steele was just a man, nothing more. Yet he somehow managed to make her forget herself.
Made her wish for things she couldn’t have.
With that thought foremost in her mind, she stepped through the revolving door, using the few precious seconds as she walked through to center herself. He didn’t need to see her to her room. He hadn’t needed to even see her this far.
“Thanks for seeing me back. I’ll be fine the rest of the way.”
“Orders are orders. You’re under my watch now and I’ll see you upstairs.”
“It’s not necessary.”
His large hand settled at the base of her spine as he guided her toward the elevators. “If you won’t humor me, please humor my grandfather. I’d hate to have to call him and tell him you’re being uncooperative.”
“I’m no such thing!” She lowered her voice, the ricochet of her protest still echoing off the mirrored walls of their elevator car. “I’m just trying to save you a trip. I’m perfectly fine. This is a nice hotel and I left the Do Not Disturb sign up.”
That sly smile curved his firm lips and she couldn’t stop the sensation—yet again—of feeling as off-kilter as a brand new colt. “Then I’m sure you have nothing to worry about. This is simply a routine check so my mind can be at ease.”
“You’re not funny.”
He tilted his head as the elevator pinged for their floor. “And you are. Sweetly so. I didn’t expect that.”
“I’m—” She broke off as a couple greeted them from the other side of the doors. She could argue with Liam Steele later. Or, Isabella knew, not at all now that she had time to reconsider her actions.
The man had the upper hand, that’s all there was to it. If she was going to retain any sense of sanity she’d do well to accept that and go along for the ride.
Her room was a short distance from the elevator and she had her key out, the lock turning green in mere seconds. It was only when she pushed through the door, intent on saying goodbye to Liam as quickly as possible that she stopped, a cold wash of awareness slithering across her skin.
“What is it?” Liam flipped on the light.
She glanced around the room, the soft light doing nothing to assuage her panic. Instead, she only felt it ratchet up another notch as she carefully ticked off the various quadrants of the room.
Bed. Dresser. End table.
All appeared to be in order, nothing out of place.
But even as her vision filled with the signs that nothing had been disturbed, she knew better.
“Someone’s been here. Inside my room.”
Chapter 3
“Here?”
Liam reached for Isabella, pulling her toward him as the blood drained from her face, leaving nothing but a milky white pallor over her skin. A subtle shake gripped her, the vibration of her body evident even through her layers of clothing.
Although he didn’t doubt her, the small room was empty now, the limited space leaving nowhere to hide. Whoever had been here was long gone. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, Liam pulled her forward toward one of the two double beds and settled her on the thick duvet. “Sit here. I’m going to do a quick sweep.”
He crossed to the entry of the bathroom, the small cubicle obviously empty, but he flipped on the lights all the same and checked behind the shower curtain. “All clear.”
The words were clearly of little solace as he caught sight of her huddled form when he stepped back into the room. Her eyes were bright orbs of green that took up almost half her face and that ghostly pallor still tinged her cheeks. “No one’s here.”
“They were here.”
Liam fought the protest that sprang to his lips and searched the room himself. The neat, military smoothness of the covers appeared undisturbed. A small stack of leather-bound folios sat on the desk, perpendicular to the edge and layered one on top of the other with neat efficiency. Even the TV remote edged the end table with a precise lay-down against the lamp. Nothing looked disturbed.
“Why do you think someone was here?”
“I know it.”
“Housekeeping.”
She shook her head. “No. They’d already come and gone before I left for your grandparents.”
“
I’m sorry but I need a bit more. What set you off?”
He sat down next to Isabella, trying to make sense of her reaction. The woman appeared stable—and his grandfather’s endorsement of the same went a long way toward keeping Liam from second-guessing her—but the room looked as if no one had touched it since housekeeping. Was she imagining the threat against her?
“The curtains are off.”
“Where?” He crossed to the hanging drapes, the city visible through a veil of rain outside the window. He saw the London Eye in the distance, the lights of its bright wheel like diamonds in the wet mist, and wondered what Isabella could possibly be seeing.
“There. Where the edge hangs open. It was flush against my suitcase when I left.”
Liam didn’t touch the curtain, instead taking in her description. “And before?”
She got off the bed, her pallor fading as she took stock of her surroundings. She pointed toward her small black suitcase before brushing her fingers over the handle. “When I left, I settled my luggage against the wall, the edge lined up to the curtain. Look at it now. The drape hangs over the edge of my bag.”
Liam crouched down, and saw how the curtain hung over the edge of her small suitcase. “You’re sure?”
“Of course.” A small sigh drifted from her lips before she crouched down next to him, her fingers brushing the edge of the curtain. “I’m precise that way. I like things to line up. I know how I left it and that’s not how it is now.”
“Anything else?”
She got back to her feet and pointed toward the top of the suitcase. “The zippers aren’t lined up. I always put them in the center. Those are off. I’m—”
“You’re what.”
“I like order. It’s silly, I know, but they’re small things that comfort me.”
He knew about order. And the desperate need for it that formed from the midst of chaos. Her light scent filled his nose once more, that subtle blend of roses wafting from her skin, and Liam tried desperately to keep his wits about him.
Roses were for women his grandmother’s age. Women who perfumed themselves in tepid fragrances that were safe and watered down.