The Manhattan Encounter

by Addison Fox

  “And I explained that I had my contacts ported over.” She wiggled farther away from him, slipping from the opposite side of the bed. She felt the lack of warmth from his body heat but simply wrapped her arms around her waist for protection. The old college T-shirt she wore offered little in the way of body armor, but she simply couldn’t sit next to him for another moment.

  “Why keep the contact information for a dead man?”

  His use of the word dead stabbed into her but she held her ground. She’d grieved Daniel’s death and the loss of a life cut too short far too young. She’d be damned if she was going to apologize for clinging to a small memory of him. A small connection that made him seem not quite so far away. “I think you should go now.”

  “I’d like an answer.”

  “And I’d like you to leave.”

  * * *

  Edward Carrington stared at the computer program he’d written and chuckled to himself. He’d gotten the ping earlier that someone had looked into Daniel’s accounts and had known it was time to flip the next switch. The sweet knowledge made up for the ringing alarm that had woken him from restless, pain-tinged sleep.

  They’d planned and planned but even he couldn’t believe just how well everything was coming together. Nothing like having a rock-solid strategy and seeing it through, each and every step of the way.

  He sat back from his computer and rubbed at his wrists. Like Daniel, he still fought the side effects from the changes in his body but his continued DNA therapy seemed to be working. The pain still ebbed and flowed but he knew his time at the gym should keep it at bay.

  Ignoring the trembling in his fingers, he reached for one of his wrist-strengthening hand grippers and began to work his aching muscles. His gaze roamed over the tendons that flexed beneath his skin and he ignored the pain as pride speared him clean through.

  The weak boy his father had spent most of his life berating was frail no longer. He had the body one of New York’s proudest blue bloods could finally be proud of. Too bad his father thought him long dead and was unable to appreciate a bit of it. “Ah well,” he muttered to himself, “we all make sacrifices for the cause.”

  Others had paid a far bigger price.

  He set down the gripper and ran a few more programs, satisfied nothing else had set off his electronic traps. While his first love was the lab, he was no slouch in electronics either. It might have been a byproduct of too many years stuck inside with only a computer for company, but the resulting skills more than compensated.

  As he logged off for the night, he thought about the video footage he’d rewatched of Isabella’s face when she got the note at the airport. Confusion had warred with fear and he could still taste the rush of adrenaline that had flooded his system with such awesome power.

  He’d spent years—endless years—watching her sympathetic eyes travel over him as he pushed himself to get around the lab, first on those damned crutches and then later increasingly dependent on the wheelchair. Watched as she held herself back from helping too much when it was painted plain as day on her face that it killed her to leave him to his own devices.

  Pity.

  There was nothing on earth he hated more.

  * * *

  Liam ran through his paces in the gym they kept in the basement, ignoring the burn in his lungs as he pushed himself into mile four on the treadmill. He was tired and his muscles ached from nearly thirty-six hours of sleep deprivation, but still, he pushed himself on.

  Fool. Idiot. Chump.

  The litany kept pace with the thwapping of the treadmill belt and no matter how hard he pushed himself, the words wouldn’t stop.

  He’d hurt Isabella and he knew that. He’d let his sister’s doubts become his own and instead of being honest, had tried to use a quiet moment to dig for information.

  When had he become so callous and inconsiderate?

  When unwanted images surfaced in answer to the question, he resolutely tamped them down. He would not lose focus.

  And he refused to go back to that dark day.

  Besides. He still didn’t think Kenzi was right and had every confidence Campbell would figure out who’d generated the text message. But he’d let the doubt in anyway.

  And then he’d pushed it onto Isabella in the very moment when she needed comfort and support.

  The creak of stairs caught his attention moments before Jack came into view, dressed in an old T-shirt and shorts. “Mind if I join you?”

  “Be my guest.”

  Jack snagged a couple of waters out of a small fridge Kensington kept well-stocked in the corner and dropped one into the cup holder on Liam’s treadmill before climbing onto his own. Liam kept up his furious pace, suddenly curious to see what his sister’s fiancé could do on the machine.

  They’d all known of Jack for years. His competing firm, Andrews Holdings, had gone up against the House of Steele on several assignments. It had only been when Jack and Kenzi had paired on a job in the Italian countryside the previous December that any of them had really gotten to know the man.

  While he gladly lived with the general assumption no one was good enough for his sisters, Liam had to admit he’d reluctantly come around to Jack. The big man knew the business forward and backward and had a nose for sniffing out b.s.

  “Kenz fill you in on last night?”

  Liam would have elaborated but he knew Jack was well aware of what his sister thought about Isabella’s late-night text message.

  “Why do you think I’m down here?” Jack tossed him a rueful grin as he moved from steady warm-up strides into his own run. “The two of us went more than a few rounds last night fighting over this one. I’m still pissed off.”

  “So you think she’s wrong.”

  Jack let out a heavy breath as he punched the speed higher on his machine. “Hell yes, I think she’s wrong. Damn stubborn woman. She had the nerve to tell me not to fall for the damsel-in-distress routine. Like I don’t know any better.”

  Liam slowed his strides to a brisk walk and ramped up the incline. While he didn’t envy the man his lost night of sleep, he was pleased to know he had some support on this one. He also hadn’t been able to shake the image of Isabella sitting straight up in bed, her eyes huge orbs in her face, wide with fear.

  “There’s no way she made it up.”

  “No, and I don’t think she did. But I respect the fact Kensington needs to ask the question.”

  “No stone left unturned.”

  “Never with your sister.”

  They moved in companionable silence for the next several minutes, each lost in their own thought. Liam sucked down the cool water and let his thoughts drift over the events of the last few days. If he’d manage to get his head in the game and off images of Isabella, he might find some thread that led them to the threat.

  Her research sat at the core of the problem, yet every overt threat hadn’t been about the research.

  Why?

  Liam upped the incline once more on his machine and let that idea sink in.

  The invasion in her home, lab and London hotel room. The note in her bag at the airport. Even the text message last night. All presupposed knowledge of Isabella’s quirks and habits.

  Had they overlooked the obvious?

  As the idea took root, Liam gave it room to fill out. As a plan it seemed fraught with challenges, but maybe there was something there. With a sideways glance at Jack, Liam gave voice to his thoughts.

  “How hard would it be to fake your own death?”

  Chapter 11

  Isabella wiped her hands on her jeans, the nervous motion her only comfort as she descended the back stairs to the kitchen. She wanted to face Kensington Steele about as badly as she wanted to present her chest to a firing squad, but simple biology would be her undoing.

/>   She didn’t skip meals. Ever.

  Which was as insulting as it was humbling since she estimated the glamorous and slender Kensington Steele likely skipped meals all the time and still managed to function like an automaton.

  Which made it that much more frustrating when she rounded the last portion of the landing, stepped off the last stair and saw the object of her irritation seated at the kitchen table, a large bowl and a laptop in front of her.

  “Good morning.” That penetrating blue gaze, so like Liam’s, greeted Isabella before she gestured toward the stove. “Please help yourself to whatever you’d like. I made extra oatmeal but you’re welcome to whatever we have.”

  “The oatmeal’s fine.”

  She hated oatmeal, the gloopy, glue-like substance on her top five list of things she’d prefer never to eat, but Isabella refused to show that weakness to the House of Steele’s resident goddess. Maybe if she dumped half a bowl of sugar over it on the sly it would be edible.

  Her gaze alighted on the bowl next to the coffee pot and she offered up a small prayer of gratitude they at least had sugar in the house.

  A few minutes later, her doctored coffee and oatmeal in hand, she knew she couldn’t hide any longer or she’d risk her oatmeal turning to a thick, inedible paste.

  Kensington was the first to extend the olive branch as Isabella took her seat. “Did you manage to get any sleep?”

  “A bit.” She shrugged but refused to lie. “Not much, and what I did get was filled with strange dreams, but it was something.”

  “You’re still doing better than I did. Jack and I had a wicked fight so I haven’t slept at all.” Kensington’s gaze never strayed from her bowl as she scooped out the last of her oatmeal and what looked like blueberries.

  “I’m sorry.” Was she? And why would she care if the two of them had a fight?

  “He felt I was monumentally unfair for not believing you.”

  “I agree with him.”

  Kensington’s eyes were wide when she glanced up from her bowl before she added a soft smile. “You like being right.”

  “A trait I’m sure you can understand.”

  “In spades.”

  It wasn’t a truce, per se, but it was something and Isabella took the first bite of her oatmeal, satisfied they’d gotten through the hardest part of the morning. The flavor wasn’t good, but it wasn’t quite as pasty as she’d remembered and she didn’t miss Kensington’s calculating smile.

  “I add cream to it otherwise I’d never get it down.”

  “It does make it better.”

  “I’m going to make bacon and eggs in a few minutes when the guys come up from the basement. You’re welcome to wait.”

  “What are they doing in the basement?”

  “Working out was the ostensible goal, but I think it gave Liam and Jack a chance to bitch about me.” She hesitated, but then pushed on, obviously anxious to say whatever it was she needed to say. “It’s my job, Isabella. To calculate the angles. Work the odds. I know it makes my family nuts. Heck, it makes me nuts, but it’s what I do.”

  “And?”

  “And I have to factor you in. Either because you’re guilty or to rule you out, but you have to go into the equation.”

  Maybe it was the analogy to an equation, but she finally got it. “I understand. You run the obvious to make sure the answer isn’t.”

  “Especially when it’s equally obvious my brother is attracted to you.”

  Whatever she was expecting, that revelation wasn’t part of the mix. A dark flush lit up her chest and spread outward, heating up her body with the unexpected scrutiny. “That’s not...I mean, it’s not...”

  “There’s something there.”

  “I’m not his type.”

  Kensington cocked her head, considered, before she pressed on. “No, you’re not. Which, I’ll add, is a good thing and incredibly refreshing. He doesn’t bring his dates around often because Liam doesn’t come around often, but the few I’ve met have been about as interesting as that bowl of oatmeal.”

  “Long-legged and beautiful, no doubt.”

  “Yes. Very pretty, empty packages. Empty packages who, I suspect, don’t wake up with gorgeous hair.” Kensington pointed at her own ponytail. “I’d kill to get mine to look like yours first thing in the morning.”

  Isabella avoided touching her hair as Kensington’s words sunk in. The raw truth about the women Liam dated should have been hurtful, but for some reason she couldn’t quite define, it wasn’t. Maybe it was the casual compliment or, better, the pleasant glow that came from one given with honest sincerity.

  Or maybe it was the simple joy in sharing confidences with another female.

  “I’m not looking for him to change his life and I’m not changing mine.”

  “Famous last words.”

  Isabella was prevented from saying anything when the basement door opened, voices heavy from the other side. Jack filled the doorway first, followed by a sweaty Liam. If she’d thought his bare chest made an impressive picture the night before, a tired, sweaty version of him wasn’t too far behind.

  “Morning.”

  Kensington shot them both a disgusted look before she got up and pressed a kiss to Jack’s cheek. “How did either of you find time to get in a workout? I can barely keep my eyes open.”

  Jack dragged her in close, rubbing his sweaty, beard-roughened cheek against her neck until she let out a small squeal. “Jack!”

  “Serves you right.” He released her.

  “Watch it or you’re not getting the bacon and eggs I’m about to cook up for you.”

  “Never dangle bacon in front of a man. It’s the food equivalent of sexual manipulation.”

  Kensington shot him a sassy grin over her shoulder before she opened the fridge door. “All part of my diabolical plan.”

  As apologies went, it wasn’t much, but Isabella figured it was enough.

  Equilibrium had returned to the House of Steele.

  * * *

  Liam fought the urge to stare at Isabella and cursed the consequences of bacon for breakfast. Damn it if Jack hadn’t been spot on—it was the food equivalent of sex—and it was the only reason he could summon up that he and Isabella were now riding uptown in the family car.

  Yes, the Mercedes-Benz was reinforced with bulletproof glass, was regularly combed for bugs and was the proud owner of a nifty little computer program Campbell had designed to alert the driver to any tampering, but they were still in it.

  Out of the house and out in the open.

  He’d gone soft as she and Kensington made their play for why the two of them needed to visit Isabella’s lab, along with mapping out the safest way to get there and back.

  Of course, he could blame the bacon all he wanted, but it had been a poor substitute once he’d caught sight of Isabella in bare feet, curvy jeans and a loose-fitting blouse that hinted at the sexiest swath of cleavage he’d ever laid eyes on.

  Damn, but he’d been an easy mark and he knew it.

  The smell of bacon hadn’t managed to rouse Campbell or Abby, so it had ended up being the four of them having an intimate breakfast in the kitchen. And through piece after piece of bacon, Isabella and Kensington had laid out a plan of action.

  “You all keep the house well-stocked considering no one lives there.”

  “It’s all my sister’s doing. Well, and my sister-in-law’s if you count the cookie dough.” He slowed at a light on the West Side Highway and glanced over at Isabella. She’d added a blazer to the outfit but that wisp of cleavage was still visible and he fought to keep his eyes level with hers.

  “We’ve converted much of it to headquarters but it still functions as a house when we need it to. And as evidenced last night, it’s incredibly handy when working late night
s.”

  Of course, he’d barely known that fact until last night when his sister-in-law dragged warm cookies into the conference room or when his sister led him to a made-up bed, fresh and ready to sleep in.

  Yet again, the resounding gong of “Liam spends no time at home” went off like the freaking bells of Notre Dame.

  Kensington and Jack. Rowan and Finn. Campbell and Abby. The six of them had formed a unit and he sat on the outside, a well-connected visitor. Had he been asked if it bothered him he’d have answered with a resounding no, louder than those church bells he now imagined.

  But faced with the evidence of that family unit, it chafed to realize reality was an entirely different story.

  The light turned red and he crept slowly forward, their destination only a few miles away despite the traffic that stretched in front of them.

  “It bothers you.”

  “Yes, damn it, it does.”

  He slammed on the brakes just before hitting the car in front of them who’d come to an abrupt halt, the motion an odd punctuation to the roiling emotions he fought to keep at bay. There was no reason to be upset. No reason to care about his siblings’ choices.

  They made theirs and he made his. They’d all been doing it for years.

  “Why does it upset you?”

  “It’s humbling to realize your younger brother and sisters have all grown up. Moved on, found lives and don’t really need you.”

  “I don’t think it’s a matter of need. And surely you all see each other. You do work together.”

  Yes, he saw them, but how much time did he really spend? And why was that fact so glaringly obvious all of a sudden?

  “Maybe until this trip I hadn’t realized how much everything had changed.”

  “They’re all married. Or almost there. That changes the dynamics, especially when the people they’re marrying are all as unique as the four of you.”

  “Yes, that, but it’s more. They’re—” he broke off, the words stiff and mechanical. “They’re a unit. A high-functioning unit that depends on each other. Watches out for each other.”