how?”
“Someone’s rifled through my things at work. And I know my notes have been tampered with.” She took a small sip of the water his grandmother had foisted on her earlier before delicately resettling the glass on a small end table. “And I believe someone broke into my home last week when I was at work late.”
“Your home?” Anger coated his throat with raw fire and he suddenly wished for the whiskey he’d spent the last half hour avoiding. “What do you think this person’s after?”
Her slender fingers bunched in the waist of her sweater and Liam saw why the piece of clothing had no shape. “My work. My research.”
“Which revolves around what, exactly?”
“Genetics.”
Liam knew science had its champions and its critics across all branches, but what could she have possibly gotten herself involved with? And when did run-of-the-mill scientists become the object of something dangerous enough to have them seeking help?
“Enough talk for the moment. Let’s go into the dining room and eat. Poor Isabella looks famished.”
Penelope Steele’s words received no argument and he helped his grandmother to her feet. He was startled to see Isabella follow suit with his grandfather, making a show of giving over her arm when Liam knew good and well the motion really helped to steady the older man.
“She’s lovely, isn’t she?” Penelope wasted no time on the observation, her comment uttered the moment the two of them were out of earshot.
He shot his grandmother a sideways eye. “You’re in on this, too?”
“The woman needs help, Liam.”
“No doubt, but the timing of her arrival and Grandfather’s evening lecture were rather curious, don’t you think?”
His grandmother made a show of dusting some non-existent lint from her sweater. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“Of course you don’t. You’re the innocent here instead of a ready foil for Grandfather’s machinations.”
“She needs you.”
Liam stared down from where he towered over his petite grandmother in height. There was an urgency underlying her words, but it was the bleak look that creased the tissue-thin skin of her face that pulled him up short.
“We’ll help her, Grandmother. I promise.”
Penelope nodded, then disengaged their arms as Liam pulled out her chair. Her quick glance at the empty doorway had her continuing. “Isabella’s a tough girl. A shockingly brilliant one, too. She spent her late teens with her grandfather 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
