The guard's footsteps receded down the corridor, the heavy door closing with a pneumatic hiss. Isabella and Liam were alone—or as alone as one could be in a facility where every surface potentially concealed surveillance equipment.
Liam sat across the metal table, his wrists shackled to a steel ring bolted to its center. His face was a canvas of bruising, one eye swollen nearly shut, but his gaze remained alert and focused entirely on Isabella.
"You look terrible," she said softly, allowing the faintest hint of emotion to crack through her controlled exterior.
"You should see the other guys," he replied, his split lip curling into the ghost of a smile.
Isabella leaned forward slightly. "They're moving you soon. Tonight, most likely."
"Separate facilities?" Liam asked, understanding immediately. Seven years as her head of security had honed their ability to communicate volumes with minimal words.
