The Manhattan Encounter. Addison Fox
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after her father was tried as a British traitor about fifteen years ago.”
“Tried for what?”
“He was convicted as a traitor of selling dirty bombs to third-world rebels.”
“And her mother?”
Penelope’s lips pursed tightly together and Liam knew that look didn’t bode well. “She had a mental breakdown after the news of her husband’s activities. She’s spent years in a private facility.”
Isabella and his grandfather came through the door and he ignored the small spear of sympathy attempting to burrow under his breastbone as his gaze took in the pair. He knew what it was like to lose a parent. To lose both parents. And while death wasn’t fair, there was a certain mercy in knowing the loss wasn’t by choice.
“Thank you, dear.” His grandmother patted his arm as she settled her napkin in her lap.
The small gesture was enough to pull him from his strange musings and he moved around the table to help Isabella. A subtle confusion filled her gaze when he pulled her chair back before she readily accepted with a small nod. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
Her light scent—a subtle mix of roses and the lingering scent of the rain—sent a quick shot of adrenaline through his system as he pushed in her chair. His stomach clenched on the sensation and he tightened his grip on the back rail to stop the slight trembling in his fingers.
If that madness wasn’t enough, he almost reached for one of the dark, heavy curls that flowed down her back before he caught himself.
The knowing smile on his grandmother’s face was the effective dousing he needed and he stepped away quickly and took his own seat.
The same, self-righteous anger that had carried him through the earlier portion of the evening rose up once again to tighten his throat. He loved his grandparents—knew their bond was closer than most, especially with their hand in raising and caring for him and his siblings after their parents’ unexpected deaths—but that didn’t give them the right to meddle in his life.
He got along just fine by himself. Absolutely fine. And no amount of interference from his family was going to change his mind.
Satisfied he’d worked through that moment of ridiculous fancy that had gripped him, Liam refocused on Isabella through clear eyes. The good doctor was in trouble, she had a heap of baggage—both current and past—bogging her down and she dressed like a woman who attempted to hide herself. None of those things, however, were reason to assume she’d be the target of some sort of attack.
He waited until their first course of soup had been laid down and his grandparents’ cook, Seamus, had returned to the kitchen before pressing the issue. “Why do you think someone’s after your research?”
“Because she’s the best in her field.” His grandfather’s resounding retort came barreling across the table.
“I’m acquainted with Dr. Magnini’s reputation, Grandfather, but that doesn’t explain why someone would want to hurt her or break into her home. Last time I checked, scientists weren’t very visible targets.”
“My research is somewhat controversial.” Isabella laid down her soup spoon, a small spark flaring to life in the depths of her moss-green gaze. “And it’s very visible to those who are interested in what I do for a living.”
Aha, so the good doctor did have a backbone. And a stubborn streak of pride to boot.
Liam warmed to the evidence of both as he leaned forward. “Then tell me what it is about this specific research that would put you in the crosshairs.”
“My work is about remapping aspects of the human genome.”
Liam didn’t miss the contrast of her stiff shoulders with the lush, almost wild hair that ran down her back or the steady flame that still lit her gaze. Dr. Magnini was a study in contrasts and he suspected there was more heat and passion underneath that oversize sweater and shapeless slacks than even she knew herself. “The field’s grown and expanded for several years. Why is your research any different?”
“Because if my sequencing efforts are correct, I’ve found the genes that affect aggression, reason and logic.”
“Sound research, to be sure, but I still don’t understand why that puts you in harm’s way.”
Her shoulders grew even stiffer, if that were possible, and her voice lowered to a breathy whisper. “Because if what I’ve uncovered is correct, we now have the power to create a race of super soldiers. Indefatigable instruments of war.”
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.”