by Addison Fox
“Flying. We’re flying on the air the same way a boat floats on the waves.”
“It’s hardly the same.”
“Scientifically, the principle is exactly the same.”
Another layer of fear peeled away and she felt the tension in his fingers relax slightly. “So we’re flying in the perfect storm? Somehow that doesn’t make me feel any better.”
“It should. But if you really want to feel better I can bore you with the specifics of my research. That should put you right to sleep.”
What she’d meant as a joke hit its mark and Liam shifted in his seat, interest sparking under the white-eyed fear. A small part of her thrilled at the fact he hadn’t removed his hand, even if his voice was all business when he spoke. “I’d say now is the perfect time.”
She walked him through the basics of cell structure and the mapping of DNA, pleased when he so obviously kept up. His nod to keep going had her releasing his hand to grab the second tablet from her carry on—the one with all her notes and data—that she kept on her person at all times. Flipping it open, she tabbed to the presentation she’d been building for the New York Times.
“Here. Let me walk you through this.”
Slide by slide, they moved through the data, Liam asking questions here and there, but each one was additive to what she’d already explained.
“You really get this.”
“I get by.”
His wry smile had her rephrasing the statement. “I didn’t mean it that way, but usually I have to slow down when I explain my work, even to many of my fellow scientists. You seem to have a natural aptitude for this.”
“It’s interesting. You’ve defined what makes us...us.”
“That was the goal.”
It was a victory—albeit a small one—that he did understand on some level what she did.
“So explain to me how this can be abused.”
And there it was. The proof that he also understood how her work could be misused and twisted. She flipped a few slides forward and walked him through the remaining highlights of her research.
“This point right here. The genetic material can be altered at these two points with the introduction of a new material, carried to the cells by a virus.”
“I saw something about this recently. A young girl’s cancer was cured by injecting her with a modified HIV virus.”
“Yes, it’s all part of the same underlying body of work.” She also knew several recent blockbusters had played with the same basic idea and it was amazing how close to the mark those films had been with the technology.
“So how is your work different? If it’s already been successfully trialed by others, what have you discovered that’s caused such an uproar?”
“All of the work to date has been around modifying damaged cells. The cancer cells, for example.”
He nodded and for some absurd reason, she suddenly wished her hand was wrapped up in his, fingers entwined once more.
“All my work has been with healthy cells. Healthy DNA. I’ve discovered how to reprogram it to make it stronger and less vulnerable to mutation or attack.”
“Which could prevent disease?”
“Yes, it could.”
“I’m still not fully seeing a downside. If research has already proven we can cure those who are sick, why not fix the problem before they get sick.”
“When I began my work, that was my goal. Finding gaps in DNA that caused both mental and physical illness with the intent to cure those strands. But that’s only half the equation.”
“And the other half?”
“Once we know how to make our DNA stronger, it’s a small step to then remove what we don’t want or need.”
“Designer genes.”
“Exactly. Remove our faults and we remove our innate balance. Remove our faults and we become invincible.”
* * *
Invincible.
That single word had haunted him for the last hour.
Although he’d had a pretty good idea why her work would be so appealing to the world’s governments—the ability to create a race of super soldiers certainly perched atop the list—the ramifications went far deeper.
Superhuman intelligence. Superhuman strength. Superhuman everything.
And power-hungry leaders who would be all too willing to ignore the bigger risks inherent in altering nature for their own benefit.
Liam dragged their carry-ons from the overhead bins and gestured Isabella from her seat to deplane in front of him. He’d already gotten Kensington’s text that she and Jack were waiting for them outside. They didn’t have to collect baggage so after a brief hold up in Customs, they’d be on their way.
Quick. Easy. Efficient.
Just like he liked his life.
Which was an odd thought considering he’d spent the past five hours thinking about Isabella. She was anything but simple—as a person or in the current state of her personal life—and he wasn’t sure what he thought about that fact.
Or why he couldn’t stop thinking about her in the first place.
Although he’d been prepared to think the worst, her explanation of her work had shed new light on the problem. While it didn’t change the fact she could have had more forethought into the implications of her work, the passion in her voice and her depth of knowledge went beyond the cursory.
She loved her work. And she had a passion to solve the puzzles of human existence to make life better.
“I always hate this part.” Her words broke into his musings as Isabella settled her shoulder bag against the handles of her suitcase. Within moments she had the entire ensemble rolling smoothly behind her as they walked.
“Customs? Why?”
“It always feels like I’m under a microscope.”
Their first-class accommodations meant they’d deplane first and the queue was small. He turned to her, unable to hold back the smile. “Don’t you make your living with microscopes?”
“And computers.”
“Then you should feel right at home.”
“You know what I mean. It’s not like my name’s not in their databases—” she broke off a flash of red highlighting her cheeks as her mouth broke into a small frown. “Because of my father.”
And there it was again. That subtle—or perhaps not-so-subtle—reality that she lived with. The betrayal of a parent that meted out emotional punishment as well as tangible, living reminders on a regular basis.
“You weren’t responsible for his actions.”
“It doesn’t keep government officials from keeping track of the connection.”
Liam knew his grandmother had given him the basics and Kenzi was more than capable of filling in the gaps, but he found himself needing to hear the words from Isabella. “What did your father do, exactly?”
The bright hues of passion that had lit up Isabella’s gaze like shiny emeralds were nowhere in evidence when she finally spoke. “He’s a scientist.”
“You speak of him in the present.”
“He’s still alive.”
“He is?” Liam knew he could have handled his reaction with a bit more aplomb, but the news that her father was alive and well was a surprise.
“Technically, he is. I have no contact with him, so...” She broke off, her words fading on a light shrug. Despite the apparent nonchalance, he’d have had to be blind to miss the heat that flared high in her gaze.
Her hands fumbled at her waistband in that gesture he was coming to associate with her before she seemed to decide something. Moments later, she exhaled on a rush, her words like bullets. “He built his body of work during the Cold War. Heavy nuclear research and new technologies to deliver more streamlined payloads.”
“What made his work treasonous?”
> “It wasn’t his wartime work but the dirty bombs he built on the side.”
Liam knew the bare basics on jurisdiction around treason trials, and for her father to have been convicted, the evidence must have been overwhelming. “How many?”
“Enough to put him in demand. He was caught selling several to a well-known terrorist cell nearly a decade after the Cold War ended.”
He wasn’t a man prone to sympathy and often reveled in the stoic demeanor he was known for, but the murmured words slipped out before Liam could stop them. “I’m sorry.”
“So that’s why I don’t like Customs.” She waved her passport in the direction of the glass booths that held the government agents. “It’s intrusive. The only part that’s even tolerable is the cute little dogs that come sniffing around.”
“The beagles looking for illegal food?”
She nodded, her first smile since stepping off the plane lighting up her face. “I love them. Their tails are always wagging and they look so friendly.”
“That’s why they use them. Many people feel they’re not as threatening because they’re smaller. Well, that and the fact they can find food faster than pretty much any breed of dog.”
Liam thought of the hounds his grandfather had kept for decades at their country property in England. He hadn’t visited the place in years and his grandfather had long ago stopped keeping a line of dogs, but it was funny to think of those days now.
“You have a dog?”
He shook his head, the image of his boyhood summers growing brighter in his mind. “No. I was thinking of my grandfather’s hounds. My father grew up with them and always spoke lovingly of the beagle he had as a boy. He called him James Bond.”
The memory did its job and Isabella was laughing as they took the turn around the last stanchion in their Customs line. Several people had joined the queue and he could only be grateful they were at the front.
“That’s a rather impressive name to live up to.”
“He was a rather impressive dog, from my father’s stories of him. Small but mighty. Bond could sniff out any and all food no matter what wing of the house he was in. My great-grandparents lived out their lives on the estate and I take it he tangled more than once with my great-grandmother over a stolen morsel in the kitchens.”
“He sounds like quite the scoundrel. One who lived admirably up to his name.” She pulled her passport from her purse and slid her declaration inside the pages. “So no dog for you, even with such good memories to light the way?”
“No. My schedule doesn’t permit it.”
“Mine either.”
He wondered at that. Although he suspected she traveled internationally to see her grandfather and probably on occasion for her job, the role of scientist and researcher didn’t seem to be one that precluded pets.
“You don’t want one?”
“It’s never seemed feasible to have one. I work long hours. I get absorbed and easily distracted by my work. I don’t know,” she said, shrugging, “it just seemed unfair to leave pets to fend for themselves.”
They were called forward and he was prevented from probing further, but he couldn’t shake the image of her coming home to an empty apartment.
Just like you do, Steele.
* * *
Customs passed with little incident but Isabella could have sworn the agent spent extra time reviewing her computer screen before dropping that heavy stamp into her passport.
Shake it off.
The admonition couldn’t change the experience but it did go a long way toward resetting her equilibrium.
Liam did the rest.
He’d entertained her throughout the wait, painting a picture in her mind of a merry little dog who shamelessly stole food and it had made the wait better.
It had made everything better.
Instead of standing there alone, lost in her own world, she’d shared someone else’s. Even the discussion of her father’s transgressions couldn’t quite shake the easy camaraderie and simple comfort.
A loud shout caught Liam’s attention and he raised his hand, hollering back to a couple who stood side by side in front of a large black Mercedes-Benz. She couldn’t know for sure but she suspected the car was outfitted with the latest in security and safety measures and once again she was reminded of how far out of her depth she was.
Although she was only a few feet behind, Isabella stopped, entranced by the warmth of the moment.
The woman ran forward first, wrapping Liam in a tight hug, and the resemblance between the two of them was hard to miss. Although Liam had her beat by almost a head, the matched coloring and the vivid blue eyes confirmed the woman had to be his sister, Kensington.
Isabella found herself pulled from her trance and into a tight hug before Kensington stepped back. “I’m so glad you’re here. We’ll take good care of you.”
“Thank you.”
Was that the right answer? Isabella supposed it would have to do. After all, she wasn’t used to speaking to goddesses and that’s pretty much what the slender woman opposite her made her think of.
Long, lush hair that framed her face before spilling behind her back. Those penetrating sky-blue eyes that drew you in. And a handsome man on her arm that had Isabella thinking of movie stars of old.
The movie star turned all that wattage on her with a gentle smile. “I’m Jack. Let me help you with that.”
Jack’s outreach had her looking down and Isabella realized she’d not yet stowed her passport from the walk through Customs. “Give me just a sec and I’ll put this up.”
Her oversize tote bag still rested on top of her rolling suitcase and she reached for its large, zipper-front pocket that gaped open. She slid her passport into the opening, surprised when her hand hit a hard piece of paper.
Distracted by the warm smile and large man before her she almost ignored it, but old habits died hard.
She knew what she kept in her bags. And she knew she hadn’t placed any paper inside the front pocket.
With fingers that suddenly trembled without warning, she pulled the folded paper from the pocket, her breath catching in her throat at the single word scrawled on the sheet.
GOTCHA.
Before she could say anything, a loud series of pops split the air.
Chapter 7
Liam threw his body over Isabella’s, dragging her against him as they fell to the hard ground. From the corner of his eye he saw Jack do the same with Kensington and he fought to make sense of the moment even as his ears rang with the overpowering noise of gunfire.
With careful movements, Liam followed Jack’s lead. His future brother-in-law and his sister were closer to the back passenger doors of the Mercedes-Benz and Jack was already tossing a loudly protesting Kensington into the backseat.
Liam followed suit, his hold tight on Isabella as he maneuvered her while still shielding her with his body.
“I’m not staying here!” Kensington’s loud complaint rose up again, before he cut her off.
“I need you to stay with Isabella. She can’t stay here alone. Is the gun still in the front console?”
“Is the Pope Catholic?” When he didn’t bother to respond to the attitude, she added, “Fine. Go.”
Liam backed out and slammed the door on a wide-eyed Isabella. He’d worry about calming both of them down later. For now, he took off after Jack’s retreating form, weaving through the heavy traffic and now-screaming travelers who’d witnessed the shots.
The heavy throb of sirens echoed through the air and Liam fought to keep up with Jack. The arrival of police would slow down whatever he and Jack could do assuming they got their hands on the shooter and he wanted as much time as possible with the bastard.
Jack had a head start but Liam’s longer stride had him catching
up before he kept on going. The retreating form they’d followed had zigzagged his way through oncoming traffic before vaulting over a half wall of plastic roadblock.
Excellent.
Liam couldn’t hold back his satisfaction the man had disappeared into a closed environment and pushed himself, adding another burst of speed to keep up the hunt.
That continued whirl of sirens grew heavier and he heard shouting in the distance. A glance over his shoulder showed Jack stopping to talk to the first officer to arrive and Liam knew he was about out of time.
A shooter in public would draw the law in any jurisdiction. But in the middle of New York City’s international airport?
The whole place would be in lockdown in a matter of minutes.
He vaulted the same half wall as his quarry and hoped Jack could get him the time he needed. The fact the man was in security—operating a firm of his own—would go a long way toward greasing the wheels, but there was no way they were quietly sweeping this one under the rug.
Footsteps echoed off the thick concrete of the garage and he struggled to get his bearings. The sound was distorted enough to make it difficult to know which way the guy had gone. Add on the coward had had enough of a head start that he’d cleared the visible perimeter of the parking garage and Liam knew the man had more than enough time to either hide himself behind a car or get to one on his own.
“Freeze!”
Liam stopped where he was, the arrival of the cops stopping him from going any further.
Damn, but if he’d only had a bit more time. His heart slammed in his chest, a pounding indicator of frustrated effort. He kept his hands lifted and allowed the police to sweep the area around him until they were satisfied.
But as he stood where he was, his quarry getting farther and farther away, Liam couldn’t help but wonder how the hell he was going to keep Isabella safe.
* * *
Isabella glanced around the rather impressive meeting space at the House of Steele and fought the urge to scream. She was on her third hour of questioning and had already spoken to two detectives and a lieutenant from the NYPD before a pair of federal agents arrived and took over the show.
