The Manhattan Encounter

by Addison Fox

  If he was surprised at her declaration, he didn’t show it as he wrapped her firmly in his arms, deepening what she began. The thick, heavy beats of his heart thudded under the palm she moved to rest against his chest. She knew her own pulse beat as rapidly and knew it was for him.

  All for Liam.

  * * *

  “My wife’s ordering pizza. Isabella, what do you want on yours?” Finn’s voice echoed from the backseat as they headed uptown toward the Steele brownstone. Liam knew he’d breathe easier once they were back at the house but he was also relieved the morning had gone smoothly.

  Jack’s mercenaries were in the car in front of them, keeping watch and clearing the way while he, Isabella, Jack and Finn rode in the Mercedes-Benz. They also carried Isabella’s research in the trunk, along with a new bag of clean clothes.

  Although he’d been apprehensive about the trip, one glance at her and he knew she was happier. She seemed lighter, somehow. And more at ease since she’d stood in her own home and confirmed for herself it still looked basically as she’d left it.

  Oh. And she loved him.

  Liam was still digesting that news, oddly surprised to find her declaration didn’t scare him as badly as he imagined it would.

  What he was having a harder time defining was how he felt in return. He was intrigued by Isabella, far more then he should be. He’d known making love to her would change things—for both of them—and he’d moved ahead anyway.

  But intrigue and respect and a deeper attraction that he couldn’t quite get a handle on didn’t change the fact the two of them led different lives. Other than the first few months when they’d started House of Steele, he barely even saw his siblings, let alone anyone else.

  His life wasn’t in one place. Instead, it was full of packed suitcases that were ready to go at a moment’s notice and adventures all over the world. That was his choice and nothing was going to make him different.

  He simply wasn’t that guy.

  The one who’d settle down in one place, have a family and be content to sit still.

  “Mushrooms and olives.” Isabella’s voice—and the loud honking from a weaving taxi beside him—pulled Liam from his musings.

  “Don’t I get asked what I want on my pizza?”

  “Rowan knows you want a pepperoni and sausage with extra cheese,” Finn said, switching his phone to speaker mode.

  Liam turned onto their street, a few avenue blocks away from the house. “Ro, make sure you order two. Campbell will have half of it gone before we get the other pizza boxes open.”

  “I already did. And we’re going to be lucky to see Campbell. He’s been swearing at his computer all morning.”

  “There’s no amount of ones and zeroes on earth that will keep that man from piz—”

  Liam forgot what he was saying as the world exploded in a wash of vivid color and black smoke before his eyes. The car in front of them carrying Jack’s men blew up and he slammed on his brakes to narrowly avoid missing them and the fiery debris that winged its way toward the windshield.

  Isabella’s screams filled his ears and he fought to keep his focus through the utter chaos that gripped them. Jack and Finn both hollered from the backseat but he couldn’t hear anything over the din and the noise and the shock.

  He managed to put the car in Park, then reached for Isabella’s seat belt, brushing aside her hands where she struggled with the lock. He felt the hard snap as her belt came loose, then undid his own.

  Jack and Finn hollered instructions from the backseat as they each escaped out their respective doors and within moments they both had the front doors open. Liam felt Finn’s hands on him, dragging him from the car. He yelled, unable to hear his own voice, and fought to stay put and make sure Jack pulled Isabella to safety.

  His siblings poured from the front of the house, along with the additional guards they’d hired, all moving into action. He wanted to help them—knew he should help—but all he could think if was getting to Isabella. Staggering, he stumbled up the sidewalk toward the house, dragging her from Jack’s arms into his own.

  “Are you okay?” He searched her face, frantic to hear her voice and reassure himself she was alive. Breathing. Whole. A thick line of blood ran from her temple and he pulled her close, pressing his lips to her ear. “What happened?”

  “I...I hit my head.” She trembled in his arms, her shoulders quaking in the aftermath of the adrenaline rush. “On the dashboard.”

  Frantic hands grabbed at his shoulders. Rowan tugged once, then harder. “Inside! Come on. Let’s get inside.”

  Kensington had the door open, dragging them into the foyer and he pressed Isabella toward her. “Take her and keep her close. I need to go help Jack.”

  “Liam. Stay here. They. I mean—”

  He cut his sister off, knowing what she couldn’t put to words. Jack’s men had been killed upon impact. “I need to go help them deal with things.”

  Kensington nodded, then pulled Isabella close while Rowan flanked her other side. Liam watched them walk down the hall, Isabella moving slowly between his sisters, before he turned and walked straight back into hell.

  * * *

  “I need to go back out there. Those men. Jack’s men.” The words fell from her lips in incoherent bursts as thoughts and images assailed her. “Oh Kensington, I’m so sorry.”

  “Shhh.” Kensington had resettled them back in the study and had her in a tight embrace on the couch. “Don’t think about that.”

  “I have to think about it. It’s because of me. It’s my fault.” Grief clawed at her, full of fierce recrimination as the truth of what had happened sunk in. “Jack’s men. They were killed.”

  Rowan turned from the window, her normally animated face set in stoic lines. “They died doing their job.”

  “Protecting me from a madman.” She shook her head, more of those random thoughts spilling from her lips. “We were talking about pizza. Rowan and Liam were talking about how Campbell eats all the pizza and to order two. And then—”

  She broke off, knowing there were no words. Nothing that could make those men come back.

  Nothing that could change the fact she’d argued and pushed and prodded to get into her home today.

  And innocent men had died because of it.

  * * *

  Daniel shuffled back into the house, his planned lunch meeting ending up being a meeting for one. Bradley Armstrong had never shown up, so he’d ordered a quick lunch, then grabbed a cab home.

  Curious.

  Armstrong was known as much for his colorful bowties as his punctuality.

  It was just as well, Daniel knew, as he moved on painful legs toward the kitchen. He wasn’t up to sitting still for hours on end anyway. He had no idea why his drug therapies hadn’t been working quite as well lately although he suspected the stress of what he and Edward had planned was taking a toll.

  Yet another reason in the column for why he needed to come clean and tell Edward they were changing their plans. This madness had to stop.

  The front door opened and Daniel swallowed the last of the pills before going to meet Edward. He’d committed so many sins. So many errors in judgment.

  It was refreshing to know he’d finally put that all behind him.

  “Edward. What happened to you?” The younger man was disheveled, his hair standing on end and a layer of dark soot covering his jacket.

  “Everything.”

  “Was there an accident?”

  “You could say that.”

  The human urge to rush forward to help pulled at him yet something pulled harder inside and he stood still, puzzling at the half answers. “Are you hurt?”

  “Hardly.”

  “Then why do you look like you’ve been through a war zone?” Even as the concern hover
ed, refusing to fade, something else buzzed under his skin. Edward’s behavior was beyond odd and Daniel couldn’t shake the strange sense of menace that gripped him.

  “Did you hear about Bradley Armstrong?”

  That sense of menace rose another notch and Daniel chose his words carefully, ensuring his voice stayed casual. “Bradley Armstrong from that science journal? No. Why?”

  “Yes. The Bradley Armstrong you were supposed to meet for lunch today.”

  Menace turned to full-blown panic as he evaluated his ability to beat Edward to the door. The man was younger and although Daniel might have had a fair shot a few years ago when both of them were weak and frail, he knew Edward had the advantage of age on him now. “I’ve been as undercover as you have, hiding from anyone who could recognize me. Why would I schedule a meeting with a reporter?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Is something bothering you, Edward?”

  “Just a few things.”

  Daniel processed the words faster than Edward’s actions. It was only when he felt the press of a needle to his thigh that he understood just how poor a calculation that was.

  Chapter 18

  Isabella lay on the bed in her room, the late afternoon sun flooding the space in a rich patina of gold. She loved this time of day, especially in spring when the days grew progressively longer.

  And because of her, two men were unable to enjoy the same moment.

  Wayne and Aidan were their names.

  She’d asked Jack after he had come back into the house, saddened she didn’t already know. She’d simply accepted their presence on her protection detail and hadn’t even taken the time to know their names.

  Now those names echoed through her mind, unceasing in the repetition.

  The police were still downstairs—would likely be there for days—but Liam had convinced them to let her come up to her room to rest. Instead, she’d lain here for the past hour, repeating the names of two dead men.

  Enough.

  She did them no honor by lying here like a sniveling, lazy sloth. And she’d only been this vulnerable once before in her life—after her father’s sentence was handed down. Inaction had gripped her that day and for so many days after and it was only when she got back to her college work and studies that she’d found purpose once more. She’d be damned if she was going to go to that dark place again.

  Or ever.

  Firing up her laptop, she pulled up a search engine and did a run on Daniel Stephenson. Although she knew Kensington’s search programs could dig far deeper, Isabella was hunting for a history of Daniel’s work. Some clue to what drove him or where he might have made advancements that laddered up to other achievements.

  The pages she found walked her through much of what she already knew, from his early days at MIT to his studies abroad as a young student. She also dug more deeply into his physical condition, opening up a new search window to download the symptoms and elements of the debilitating disease that ate away at muscle and tissue, weakening bone as it destroyed.

  Again, all things she knew, but she tried to reconcile the data with what she knew now.

  If Daniel had faked his death he had to have a backup plan. The man was genuinely sick—she’d seen that with her own eyes—in the months leading up to his supposed death so something had to have changed.

  But what?

  She ran a few more search queries, racking her mind to come up with any sense of connection or clue to where he was and what had happened. Other than the very real assumption he’d found a way to modify her research to heal himself, she couldn’t find any other connections.

  The soft knock at the door pulled her from another fruitless avenue and she called out a quick “Come in!”

  And promptly lost her breath when Liam walked in, the signs of the explosion still evident in the smudges on his shirt and the grease stains on his jeans.

  “You haven’t changed yet.”

  “I was just coming upstairs to do that. I wanted to check on you first.” He closed the door, but stayed where he was in front of the door. “What are you working on?”

  “Right now? About two hundred empty searches online.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “That’s my problem. I don’t know.” Willing the frustration out of her voice, she shoved her hair behind her ears and gestured him over. “But a fresh pair of eyes might be just what I need. I’m trying to find any links or connections. Something had to have manifested itself in Daniel’s life. Before.”

  “Like what?”

  “That’s what I don’t know.”

  He pulled a decorative chair from where it sat near the door and sat down next to hear. “So take me through what you have so far.”

  And just like this morning, she had a partner who readily accepted her thoughts and ideas. Brushing it aside—and the very real fact that Liam hadn’t returned her sentiments of love—she focused on answering his questions.

  “I’ve got his research history. The elements of his disease. And the record of his family money and basic lineage.”

  “Any patterns?”

  “That’s the problem.” She slammed a hand on the desk, jarring her slim laptop. “That’s been the problem from the beginning. No matter how we look at things, there doesn’t seem to be any coherent reason why this is happening. Or what possible motive he’d have for harming me.”

  “Jealousy?”

  “Of what? My mind?” She laughed, a memory of their many games of chess played late into the night while waiting for research results to run. “The man ran circles around me.”

  “I’ve seen the laps you do and they’re pretty impressive.” A wry smile quirked his lips and the impact hit her square in the stomach, setting wing to a flock of sudden nerves.

  “That’s very sweet of you but he’s brilliant. Crazy brilliant.”

  Liam’s eyes narrowed at her choice of words. “Is he crazy?”

  “No.” She stopped, cycled through what she knew of Daniel Stephenson. “I truly believe he’s not, but he did live with a shocking degree of pain. Monumental pain that could fell the strongest-willed individual.”

  “Pull up the information on his illness again.” She did as he asked, then used the moment to observe him as he read the text.

  Here was the man she loved. The man she’d made love to the entire night before and well into the morning. Even as warm memories flooded her thoughts, she marveled at the strange sense of wonder that filled her at how easy it was to be together.

  They fit, with this strange, wonderful, breathtaking connection that didn’t make sense, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

  “This disease is pretty nasty. Like the worse parts of Lou Gehrig’s Disease and MS combined.” He broke off as he caught sight of her. “What?”

  She took a moment to clear her throat. “You’re right on Daniel’s disease. It’s devastating.”

  His gaze remained locked on hers for a few more moments before he continued on. “Yet he lived with it. Found a way to persist in his work and his research despite what had to be horrible pain.”

  The wonder and happiness at being with Liam fled as she allowed memories of her mentor to take center stage in her thoughts. “He was so generous and so gifted with his mind. He wanted to make the world better. His focus and his life’s work was to help find cures. Or ways to slow diseases. He worked so hard toward healing those who were affected by the horrible effects of illness, just as he was.”

  She broke off as a hard sob caught in her throat. “Don’t you see? That’s why I can’t convince myself he’s behind this. He was such a caring man. He wanted to find the answers. And he understood that drive inside of me as well.”

  “To find answers.” He ran his index finger down her cheek, tracin
g away the tears that had slipped past before she could blink them away. And then he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close against his chest. “We’re going to figure this out. I promise you that, we’re going to understand it.”

  “It can’t be him.” The words fell from her lips on another hard cry, as if her heart were truly breaking. The moment was surreal, the deep grief juxtaposed against the comfort from a loved one. “He wouldn’t have killed those men. Wayne and Aidan. He couldn’t have done that.”

  “Shhh.”

  She lifted her head from his chest, giving up the warmth and comfort to press her point. “I mean it. He worked to find cures, Liam, not encourage death.”

  “I believe you. I do. But if not Daniel, who? You’ve seen the lab work yourself and Campbell’s been running files and simulations since yesterday. What other answer is there?”

  Maybe you’re asking the wrong questions.

  Kensington’s comment from the other day tumbled around in her brain, taking purchase like a seed taking root.

  They’d looked at Daniel every which way they could, questioning his role in the attacks, yet they all kept coming up empty-handed.

  So what if they weren’t looking at things correctly?

  “I don’t know, but—”

  “But what?”

  “Kensington said something interesting to me the other day. It’s rattled around in my mind and I think it might finally make sense. She asked me if I was asking the right questions.”

  Isabella fought a giggle as a look of sheer disgust painted itself over Liam’s face. “What the hell kind of advice is that?”

  “Good advice, I thought.”

  “It’s hokey. ‘Ask the right questions.’” He kicked his voice up a few notches in clear imitation of his sister. “‘Ask different questions.’ That’s a bunch of psychobabble b.s.”

  “I thought it was insightful.”

  “Whatever.”

  Her smile fell at the dismissive tone in his voice. She’d heard anger, frustration and sibling irritation, but she’d never heard quite that combination of notes all at once. “What are you so upset about?”