The Manhattan Encounter

by Addison Fox

  “I’ll be fine. As you said, I’m safe here.”

  Physically, she was safe.

  Emotionally, the thought of leaving her in the room by herself stabbed at him with hard, choppy thrusts. “You don’t need to be alone.”

  “Don’t worry, Liam. It’s something I’m well-used to.”

  When she opened her door, he struggled with something to say—something that sounded less like an excuse and more of a reason why he wanted to be with her—but something kept him from exposing that raw, painful nerve.

  No matter how real this was in the moment, they’d both go back their lives in a matter of days. He knew it and so did Isabella. And from what he’d pieced together about her life, he’d likely do lasting damage if he pressed for something physical.

  She’d been alone for so long, starting something and then leaving would be cruel.

  That self-righteous victory carried him from her bedroom and through the door. It was only as he stood in the hallway, the door clicking closed at his back, that he acknowledged the truth to himself.

  What if he let her see his true self—the one he kept hidden from everyone—and she still asked him to leave?

  * * *

  The echo of raised voices had Isabella stopping on the back stairs above the kitchen. She’d barely slept and the blurry-eyed need for coffee had carried her down a flight and a half. But it was the shouting match that had stopped her midflight.

  “You know it’s a sound plan.”

  “Oh hell no it’s not.”

  “Liam, be reasonable.”

  “Rowan does have a point, Liam.”

  Isabella fought to keep up, all while trying to digest the gaggle of feminine voices obviously intent on getting Liam to acquiesce.

  “You can come down the stairs, Isabella. You might as well add your opinion to this.”

  She fought the horrified mortification at Liam’s words—and briefly toyed with cutting and running back up the stairs—but knew she needed to see it through. With shaky legs, she descended the last five stairs, only to find the Steele women surrounding Liam in various poses.

  Kensington stood with a dish towel in her hands, a griddle at her back on the counter. Rowan sat on the counter, her legs dangling and an oversize coffee mug in her hand. And Abby sat at the table, her arm on Liam’s forearm.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt.”

  Rowan waved her free hand. “Eavesdropping is a world-class sport in this family. But you have to watch for the creak of the stairs.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  Rowan nodded before turning back to her brother. “It’s the perfect plan and you know it. We can’t sit around and do nothing.”

  Liam’s gaze flashed toward her before turning back to his sister. In the deep blue of his eyes she saw the same evidence of lack of sleep and took a strange sort of satisfaction from that.

  Even if she had been the one to send him away.

  “We’re hardly sitting around as we assess the situation and how to get to the bottom of it. Besides, we’ve been out in the open for the past two days and neither has ended well.” His long fingers flexed on his own oversize mug before he glanced down in disgust at what appeared to be an empty cup.

  Wishing for something to do that didn’t leave her standing in the middle of the Steele kitchen like a gaping fish, she walked to the coffeepot. Several empty mugs sat next to the coffeemaker and she poured herself a cup, then walked the pot around the kitchen, refilling everyone’s waning supply.

  It was silly, but she felt useful and that went a long way toward stemming the sea of embarrassment at getting caught on the stairs.

  Even if Rowan seemed to think it was a common enough occurrence to provide tips for success.

  She ignored that vague sense of being tossed down the rabbit hole when in the presence of a large number of Liam’s family members and methodically settled the pot back on its burner.

  They were so boisterous and loud; so determined to make their points. If she weren’t vaguely intimated by it, Isabella knew, she’d sit back and enjoy observing the melee.

  And the odd communication that seemed to work well for all involved.

  Isabella took a seat next to Abby, touched when the woman reached over and laid a hand on her arm. “How are you feeling this morning?”

  “Other than the fact I sound like I swallowed a frog, I’m none the worse for wear.”

  “You sleep okay? Any nightmares?”

  “No.” Isabella shook her head, intending to brush off the concern when something stopped her. “But I didn’t sleep all that well.”

  “We can get you something for that.”

  “No, I’m good. I took tranquilizers once.” Never again. “I didn’t care for how they made me feel.”

  Isabella fought the shudder. She had taken them once—after her father’s conviction—thinking how nice it would be to put the reality of her family’s situation out of her mind.

  Instead, she’d spent restless dreams filled with the monsters that lurked in shadows filling her mind’s eye. Even now, years later, she could still remember the strange fog that had numbed her mind but couldn’t numb the reality of her situation.

  She refused to be that vulnerable again.

  To run away from her mind’s capability to engage in rational thought.

  “Maybe a hot bath then?”

  Abby’s soft smile and kind eyes had anxiety ratcheting down a notch, even as Liam, Rowan and Kensington’s pitched battle raged on around them. “Now that’s an idea I can get behind.”

  Polite conversation addressed, she keyed back in on the discussion. “What are they arguing about?”

  “The Steele family patronizes several charities and we’ve got a large event this evening.”

  The image of Liam Steele in a tuxedo hit her with the force of an explosion and Isabella quickly settled her mug on the kitchen table to avoid the sudden trembling of her hands. “I take it Liam doesn’t want to go.”

  “It’s the perfect plan.” Rowan leaped on their conversation, tossing her inputs in from across the kitchen. “We’ll all be there to protect you. It gets you out for a night of fun. And the odds of someone actually attempting to hurt you in public are slim to none.”

  “Like the chances of getting shot at when leaving the airport,” Liam said, his voice dry as the Sahara.

  “It’s actually safer.” Kensington volleyed her way back into the conversation. “The event is invitation-only. The entrances all require security clearance and passage through metal detectors. And the governor is expected so where everyone would be on their game, they’ll be doubly so.”

  As the image of the group of them going out for an evening shimmered to life in her mind, Isabella couldn’t hold back her interest. “I’d love a night out. Something to be excited about.”

  “See.” Rowan hopped off the counter and moved into Liam’s space. “You’re outvoted.”

  “It’s not worth it.”

  “Oh, but it will be, big brother. We all need a bit of fun and this is just what the doctor ordered.”

  * * *

  Edward swirled the brandy in his glass as he gazed around Daniel’s study and allowed his thoughts to drift. He’d spent his life suffering from a damned disease—managing pills and medicine, watching his food and drink intake—so it was a rare pleasure to taste the brandy and not worry about its potential aftereffects.

  He was a scientist and he knew how the liquor worked, down to a cellular level. Absorption into the bloodstream. A heady buzz. Then evacuation through the liver. Step by careful step, a healthy body could process the alcohol just like that. Up until a short while ago, he’d been the exception.

  But no longer. Now he worked, his body functioning like everyone else’s.


  He’d missed so much in his life. And if Isabella’s attempts to defend her work to the public went forward, he’d not have the easy access to continued treatment.

  Continued maintenance to ensure they stayed healed.

  He and Daniel had stayed off the radar because no one knew the full results of her work and he intended to keep it that way. Oh, Daniel had tried to reason with him. Had suggested several times that their contribution to science would override their choice to fall off the grid, but Edward knew better.

  The things they’d done on their quest to be whole would make them targets.

  And all their efforts would be for nothing if they spent their lives in a cage. No one would manage their therapy then. No one would ensure they had adequate access to medicine and lab work.

  And no one would appreciate all they had gone through to get to this point.

  Governments would find a way to get their hands on her work, gleefully building their fleets of super soldiers, but he and Daniel would be punished. National security might be a good enough reason to break the law, but a life free of pain and the degrading pity of others wasn’t.

  It was why he continued to press his point. Why he had to keep Daniel focused. They had access to the man’s boundless supply of money. And between the two of them, they’d finish their work, experimenting even further on how far they could push their bodies, now that they’d healed themselves.

  Or mostly healed themselves.

  He couldn’t ignore the sneaky fatigue that still managed to surprise him several times a day. They’d changed dosages and mixtures in the compound, but neither of them had been able to fully remove some of the side effects.

  It was why he had a backup plan. There was no way he was giving up his new life.

  No. Freaking. Way.

  As if proving his point, Daniel hobbled into the study, his cane firmly in hand. “Getting an early start?”

  Edward swirled his brandy for effect, the subtle censure unwelcome. “A single glass is hardly an early start.”

  “It’s barely noon.” Daniel’s gaze was flat, the normal good humor to be found there nowhere in evidence.

  “Yesterday was a big day. I was celebrating.”

  “Ah yes. Blowing up one’s laboratory is always cause for celebration.”

  Edward fought the light shudder at the utter lack of expression on his mentor’s face and focused on keeping Daniel in the moment, his agile mind on their plans. “It is when it’s the necessary step to keep Isabella from moving forward with the reporters.”

  Daniel snorted but said nothing as he shuffled toward the remaining empty couch in the room, his attention drawn more to the seat than continuing their argument.

  Edward observed his former teacher, the man’s stooped shoulders and hesitant gait signaling a subtle alarm he hadn’t felt in a long while.

  Had they missed something?

  He’d meticulously managed their research notes and the formulas but lately it seemed they needed more and more to simply maintain.

  Even as the sly doubts trickled in, he reminded himself of their blood work. The disease was gone. Out of their bloodstream and no longer populating their DNA.

  It was gone, damn it.

  So why the hell wasn’t he feeling better?

  “The lab was too impulsive.”

  “She triggered the notes, Daniel. You and I knew this was a risk. We agreed this was the best course of action.”

  “We should have approached the problem differently.”

  A sharp retort hovered on his tongue but Edward pulled it back. Just as he’d learned to manage his father by tamping down on his more impulsive responses, he’d learned the same with Daniel and it had paid dividends.

  His teacher had taken him under his wing. Mentored him. Healed him, with the miraculous advances Dr. Isabella Magnini’s work had wrought.

  It wouldn’t do to ruin it now by allowing his impulsive reactions to rule him.

  “Hindsight, Daniel. That’s all you’re feeling.”

  “We nearly killed her.”

  “We have to kill her. You know that. She can’t share her work.”

  “There has to be another way. I’ve been thinking through a few theories. Gaming the outcomes to identify how we might keep her alive.”

  The subtle panic that tickled his nerve endings flared up a few notches to full-on alarm. “Keep her alive?”

  “Her mind is too valuable. You and I both know the advances we’ve made on our own took twice as long as any of her research. She’s the heart of this project.”

  And a piece of your heart, too.

  That was the root of the problem, Edward well knew. He’d worried from the start their work would come to this. That Daniel would look at his protégé and when the crucial moment arrived, not be able to pull the trigger.

  Fortunately, he didn’t have the same issues.

  When it came time to execute Dr. Isabella Magnini, he had the chops to get the job done.

  * * *

  Isabella vacillated between exhilarated and scared spitless as the heavy pop of a cork echoed around the room. Rowan blew on the top of their second bottle of champagne for the afternoon before asking the question of the hour.

  “Who wants some?”

  If the House of Steele headquarters had seemed intimidating before—when Isabella had only thought of the Upper East Side brownstone as a secure location to hide out—it was now off the charts.

  In a mere three hours, Kensington, Rowan and Abby had transformed it into a boutique worthy of Fifth Avenue.

  “Let’s look at the indigo silk again.” Kensington drilled out the order from the foot of a bed in what Isabella assumed was the home’s original master bedroom.

  “I want her in the purple.” Rowan frowned as she refilled her sister’s champagne flute.

  “No.” Kensington shook her head before she reached out a hand to the rich blue silk. “This is the one.”

  Isabella didn’t miss the subtle battle of wills brewing and pushed her way into the conversation. “I’m not wearing either of them. I like the first black one I tried on.”

  “This isn’t a funeral.”

  Rowan’s quick retort had Abby giving her a subtle elbow before she took over the conversation. “The black is elegant but you need some color. The blue will look beautiful against your darker complexion.”

  The blue would look beautiful—had, in fact, looked stunning when she’d tried it on—but there was no way she was putting that much cleavage on display.

  “Um. I can’t.”

  “Why not?” Three pairs of eyes—two in that vivid blue shade unique to the Steele clan—focused on her.

  “I won’t be naked in public.”

  “It’s a dress, Iz, not a bikini.”

  Isabella’s mouth clamped closed as she digested Rowan’s words.

  Iz?

  The name was funny—short and to the point—just like Rowan. What struck her even more forcefully was the use of a nickname at all.

  “What’s the matter?” The slender lines of Rowan’s face fell, her blue eyes clouding with concern before she crossed the room, the champagne bottle still in hand. “I overstepped, didn’t I? I’m sorry. Bull in a china shop is my usual speed.”

  “No. It’s not that.” Isabella fought the strange sensation clawing at her throat.

  “What is it? You don’t like the blue or the purple? The black looked good. Really good. And you’ve got great legs.” Rowan’s voice got higher with each word.

  “It’s silly. I’m being silly.” Isabella waved a hand and willed the weird reaction to subside as she swallowed against the strange, frog-like thickening of her vocal chords. “It’s just that no one’s ever given me a nickname before.”

 
“Anyone?” Rowan’s eyes widened, the concern fading to skepticism in a heartbeat. “Not even in college? Or from your family?”

  “No. No one.”

  “If you don’t like it I can call you Isabella.”

  “Not at all. I like it. Very much.” She took the champagne bottle from Rowan and refilled her glass. After all, someone like “Iz” would be a take-charge sort of gal.

  Someone named Iz would also wear the blue silk.

  “Why don’t I try the indigo silk on once more.”

  She didn’t need to see Kensington’s broad smile to know she’d made the right choice.

  * * *

  Liam fought the urge to punch something as he stomped around the room, a thick towel slung around his waist. His tuxedo hung from a hanger outside his closet and every time he looked at the long, black lines he imagined any number of horrors for the evening.

  And an inability to protect Isabella when they inevitably ensued.

  What were his sisters thinking? He respected their abilities and rarely questioned their judgment on anything. So why was he so convinced something horrible would befall them all tonight?

  Rowan kept pressing the point that the event was secure and there was no risk other than all of them having too grand a time, but he wasn’t so sure.

  The events from the day before in Isabella’s lab were still fresh in his mind. A threat lurked. A personal one.

  He shucked the towel and made quick work of the tuxedo. Despite his best efforts, he’d been outvoted for the evening. Even Isabella had disregarded any possible threat in exchange for a night out of the house.

  It was stifling, he admitted to himself as he fastened his father’s platinum cufflinks at his wrists.

  The endless hours anticipating what might happen. The even more endless hours remembering what had happened.

  Just like the time after losing his parents.

  Those long moments of utter shock and disbelief, followed by the very real knowledge they’d never come back. Would never walk through the door or smile or laugh or even yell in frustration at their brood of teenagers.

  Words of anger had been the last he’d spoken with his father and they taunted him even now. Silly, useless battles about keys to the car while his parents were on their anniversary trip.