Addison Fox - The Manhattan Encounter

“I need you to hack into a few video cameras for me.”

Campbell snorted. “Sure. Cuz it’s that easy.”

“For you it is.” Liam gave his brother a quick rundown of what they’d discovered upon their arrival and Isabella’s conviction someone had been in her room.

“That’s a nice hotel. It’s not like anyone can walk up and sneak into a room. It’s a pretty locked-down environment.”

“Which is why you’re going to hack it.” Liam knew barely enough to be dangerous when it came to computers but his brother, on the other hand...

Liam had learned long ago to leverage Campbell’s skills and not ask questions.

“What time do you think it happened?”

“Between six and ten tonight.”

The light tapping of keys along with a few muttered curse words gave Liam the confidence to end the call. “Be quick. If you work through dinner Abby’ll have my ass.”

“Then it’s lucky for you I’m damn good at what I do.”

“You’re in already?”

“No, but close. Leave there and take her to the grandparents. I’ll call you later.”

“I can’t take her there. They’re worried enough.”

“Then take her to that new, fancy flat you bought.”

Liam held back the shocked “Hell no” and instead opted for something a bit more diplomatic. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Campbell let out a long, low whistle. “She must be something special if you’re afraid to take her home.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Big Brother. Keep telling yourself that.”

* * *

Isabella glanced around the impressive apartment and marveled that Liam Steele lived here. She’d understood him to be New York-based so the fact that he kept a London flat—and flat really was too simple a word for the floor-to-ceiling windows and what had to be about two thousand square feet—but she chalked it up to family money and success in a highly paid profession.

“I thought you lived in New York.”

“I do. I just live here, too. I bought the place in January. I spend a lot of time here in London and it seemed wiser than throwing my money away on hotels.”

“I’m sure your grandparents would love to have you.”

Despite the lingering fear that hadn’t fully left her since leaving her hotel, she couldn’t hold back the smile at the mixture of shock and—if she weren’t mistaken, subtle horror—that tensed Liam’s jaw.

Keeping her amusement to herself, her gaze drifted back to the view, the depth of the Steele wealth not lost on her. She knew she was fortunate—she paid her bills and still afforded a nice apartment by New York standards—but none of it changed the fact she lived in the human equivalent of a nice shoe box and he...didn’t.

Isabella saw Liam move closer through the reflection in the glass. “Do you want a drink?”

“No, thank you. I had enough at dinner.”

“Something hot, then? Tea?”

The traditionally British offering felt like the right thing and she turned away from the window. “That sounds nice.”

The tea was nice and ten minutes later, when he placed a mug in front of her and settled another for himself, she couldn’t hold back the subtle surprise. “I didn’t take you for the tea type.”

“And I didn’t take you for the type to gather the interest of some very nasty people. We’re all full of surprises.”

“I suppose we are.”

Her hands fumbled in the waistband of her sweater and she worried the cashmere between her fingers. The gesture was silly—and far from comforting—but she kept up anyway.

“You can relax here. No one’s going to hurt you.”

“That’s what I thought about the hotel.”

“They’re not going to hurt you here.”

His tone brooked no argument and she reached for her tea once more, warming her hands on the mug. “I never thought it would come to this.”

He hesitated, which was another surprise as she sat there, taking in the solid lines of his face. Whatever else Liam Steele might be, he seemed to have no issue with being direct. The fact that hard jaw stayed closed added another layer of tension to the discussion.

“Come out with it. You can’t insult me.”

“How couldn’t you think it would come to this? You’ve discovered something of deep value.”

“To me, yes.”

“To everyone.” His blue eyes glittered under the overhead light of the kitchen, alive with a subtle fire. “Everyone wants to understand where they come from. How they’re wired. Usually because they’d like to change it. That opportunity has always been walled off—locked up as it were—yet you’ve found the key. How can you honestly sit there and think no one else would care?”

His words were like an ice pick at her conscience, stabbing at the guilt that already consumed her.

“I didn’t know.”

“You do now.”

* * *

The small penlight swept side to side through the apartment, highlighting stacks of books, overflowing bookshelves and a neat—and empty—fish tank. She’d told him once she kept the empty fish tank as a reminder not to get any fish because she was so absent-minded she’d likely forget to feed them. He’d laughed at the time and they’d traded stories about living inside their heads, but he couldn’t help but see the irony of it now.

Science was all they had. Their only companion when even having fish was too much effort.

A stack of file folders on a credenza caught his attention and he followed the small stream of light to the neat, but towering, stack of manila folders. With careful precision, he flipped through them, taking in her scrawled handwriting as he went.

If the handwriting was an impatient mess, the notes were the antithesis. Page after meticulous page detailed her findings. Her successes and failures. All her learnings from the lab.

His gaze caught on a set of notes in the tenth file he flipped through. The date matched the basic time frame of her discovery and detailed the gene sequence she’d isolated for further investigation.

He took a seat at her desk and flipped through the rest of the notes, the lab findings reading like a symphony in his mind. Cellular research. Dissection of tissue samples. Gene sequencing. It was all there, detail after detail of what she’d uncovered. Questions littered the margins and the increasing scrawl of the notes indicated her excitement as clearly as if he were standing next to her.

She’d done it. Figured out the secret to what made humans tick. And with that knowledge, had figured out how to augment that to gain a specific result.

A wash of pride flashed through him, flushing his skin with heat. He was so proud of her and what she’d accomplished. He’d always known her gifts—the brilliant mind, the active curiosity and the tenacity to keep working a puzzle until she solved it—but this was more than he could have ever hoped for.

His gaze skimmed the last set of papers in the file, stopping on a small note at the bottom of the page. It was a name and a phone number he recognized—the editor of one of the most respected scientific journals in the world. Along with the name there was a quick notation:

Confirm Bradley’s understanding on gene sequence and his impressions of the work.

The article she’d ultimately published had held back a few details, promising further articulation in an upcoming issue.

He’d suspected she’d shared the details—or was going to—and now he had the proof. The details he and his partner were committed to keeping from the world were in the hands of the reporter.

No matter how much it pained him to consider snuffing out such a bright talent, they couldn’t stop now.

With efficient movements—something that would never grow old—he reordered the files, securing them in the neat stack she preferred, then slipped back through the oversize room and out into the hall.