The Manhattan Encounter. Addison Fox

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.

      A hard-won lesson clamored through his mind, his partner’s voice echoing like church bells.

      If you want to make an omelet, you’ve got to break some eggs.

      He understood. He’d made a commitment to his goal. And, like Isabella, science was all he had.

      And if a sharp pain speared his heart as he walked away from her apartment, well, he’d have to live with that as his penance.

      * * *

      Isabella stared out the wall of windows in Liam’s apartment, her gaze captivated by the rain-washed city. She’d always loved London and now wondered why she hadn’t spent more time here. More time with her grandfather. More time living life outside of a laboratory.

      She hadn’t allowed herself to dwell on such fanciful thoughts before, but now? They seemed more present. More urgent.

      Especially when she might not get the chance again.

      A hard sob caught in her throat as she thought of her grandfather. The urge to call him was great, but she had held back, taking the Steeles’ advice. Both Liam and Alexander had assured her repeatedly the night before that her grandfather was safe—ensconced on Steele property in the wilds of England at the insistent invitation of Liam’s grandmother—but they also had warned her not to give him too many indicators of what was going on.

      No use worrying him.

      He already worried enough, she well knew. It wasn’t only her life that had changed with her father’s betrayal. Roberto Magnini had also borne the pain of watching his son’s disgrace.

      How horrified he’d be, then, when he discovered the implications of her work. The risks she’d brought to their door and the potential horrors she’d unleashed on the world.

      It was funny, she mused, how even though her intentions were better, the outcome wasn’t that far off from her father’s.

      “It’s late.”

      The deep voice called to her across the large living room and Isabella turned from the windows, her maudlin thoughts dissipating like smoke.

      She thought she was prepared for the sight of Liam by now. The broad shoulders, trim waist and magnetic blue eyes had captivated her from the first but she thought she could deal with them. How humbling, then, to find out that she was just as devastated as before.

      And just as curious to know what it would be like to run her palms over those broad shoulders. To drift a lazy finger over the hard lines of his jaw. To press her body against his and feel all that power and strength wrap around her.

      Possess her.

      “I couldn’t sleep.”

      Her words sounded strained to her own ears but there was nothing to be done for it. She could only hope he mistook the slightly strangled tones of her vocal chords for fear instead of bone-deep arousal.

      “I was unduly harsh earlier.”

      “You were honest. There’s a difference.”

      He cocked his head and she had the subtle impression he weighed his words. “Most women aren’t so quick to release a grudge.”

      “You’re assuming I was holding one.”

      “What else had the pensive stare out the window?”

      “I was thinking about my grandfather.”

      He moved forward at that, coming to stop before her. “I promise you we have him safe. I had the security arranged myself and my grandparents are joining him for the weekend to keep him company. You don’t need to worry about him. Not on top of everything else.”

      Although his promises couldn’t change the reality of how little of her adult life she’d spent with her grandfather, they did go a long way toward assuaging her concern. “Thank you. He’ll enjoy that. He still misses my grandmother terribly and the company will be good for him.”

      The moments drifted from quiet to awkward as they both stood there. “Your home is beautiful.”

      “I haven’t been in it that long. I’m still trying to get over the sense that it’s temporary.”

      “The occupational hazards of being a rolling stone.” She meant the statement as a joke but knew immediately her words had fallen flat.

      “You sound like every other woman in my life.”

      “I didn’t mean it was a bad thing. You have a life and are living it. I’m no one to