The Manhattan Encounter

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 question.

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.”

“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—clearly 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.”