Page 16 of Beckoning Liam

Becks nodded, her eyes scanning the swarm of faces with a sharpness that belied her academic appearance. The autumn wind whipped her long black hair around her face, a stray wisp brushing against her lips as she turned to survey their surroundings.

"Understood," she replied, her upper British aristocrat accent cutting through the noise with precision. "And what are we looking for exactly?"

"Patterns," he said tersely, his gaze darting from one passerby to another, searching for the irregularity in the rhythm of the mundane. "Anything that stands out."

After leaving their bags in a locked storage area in the train station, they wove through the throng, the tension between them palpable. Liam's broad shoulders shifted with a predator's grace,his body attuned to the slightest hint of discord. He was a man who thrived on control, his past with MI6 leaving its mark in the way he carried himself—all coiled power and latent energy. Yet here, amidst the anonymity of the bustling Berliners, he felt the familiar itch of unpredictability.

"Remember, we're just two professionals here for a business conference," he instructed.

"Of course," Becks responded, slipping easily into the role of his assistant despite the thrum of adrenaline she tried to quell. Her strength lay in her brilliant mind, but today it needed to be her performance that convinced.

Their cover as consultants attending the conference was flimsy, but necessary. Every moment they spent in the open, every second that ticked by, brought the shadow of the impending attack closer. As dusk began to settle over the city, casting long shadows across the stone arches that adorned the old quarters, Liam felt an inkling of unease.

"Something's not right," he said, stopping abruptly. A shiver ran down his spine, not from the chill in the air but from the sensation of eyes upon them.

"Talk to me, Liam," Becks urged, her own instincts on high alert.

"I still can't shake the feeling we're being watched. I haven’t spotted anyone, but still, I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck sticking up. Stay close to me," he commanded, the edge of the dominant emerging, the one who relished in the roles of impact play, rope, whip, and fire master. The part of him that craved control now sought to dominate the chaos that threatened to envelop them.

"Yes, Sir," she said, stepping in line with his stride.

He wondered if she had any idea what those two words coming from her now meant to him. Her response last night had not just been one of submission but of trust, a bond formed notonly from their clandestine work but from the deeper connection that tied them together, a shared dance of power and surrender.

As they made their way into the grand hall of the conference, Liam adjusted the lapels of his tailored suit, a subtle nod to the security badge that allowed him unrestricted access. The Berlin tech conference buzzed with the hum of innovation and industry secrets. It was the perfect facade for espionage—a glittering lure for those who sought to exploit technology for darker purposes.

Becks trailed just a step behind, her posture impeccable in her role as his assistant. She clutched a tablet against her chest like a shield, the sleek device a repository of their covert findings.

"Remember, eyes on the crowd, not the tech," Liam murmured without turning. His voice was low, barely above the ambient noise of the conference, but it carried the unmistakable command of a man accustomed to leading.

"Of course," Becks replied, her tone a blend of deference and purpose. She searched the room through eyes that missed nothing—not the eager handshakes of venture capitalists nor the covert exchanges that hinted at deals made in the shadows.

They moved through the throng of attendees, Liam's presence parting the sea of bodies with an effortless gravitas. A group of engineers clustered around a display, their conversation peppered with jargon and speculation. It was near them that Liam felt the first prickle of danger, a sensation honed by years of navigating the treacherous waters of international intelligence.

"Wait here," he instructed, his gaze locking onto a figure across the room.

"Understood." Becks' reply was calm, but he could almost see her mind working to piece together patterns from the disjointed fragments of overheard chatter and furtive glances.

Liam circled back moments later, a frown etching his rugged features. "Nothing. But I don't like it..."

"Neither do I," she cut in, her intuition flaring. "The man over there—third from the left—he's been mirroring your movements since we arrived."

Liam's eyes followed her discreet gesture. "Good catch," he acknowledged with a slight tilt of his head, his respect for her acumen growing by the second.

Becks

Becks' heart raced as she leaned closer to the speakers, her eyes narrowing in concentration. The conference room, a sea of scholars and linguists, was oblivious to the undercurrent of danger that now coursed through the air, as palpable as the tension that could be so easily released when bound in the ropes of a shibari master. Would she ever know that peace with Liam? A series of announcements echoed through the hall, their mundane tones belying the sinister messages hidden within.

"Would Dr. Baro please report to the registration desk?" the overhead speaker droned.

To the untrained ear, it was nothing more than an administrative request. But Becks heard the underlying threat lurking beneath the surface—a language of terror spoken in plain sight. Her fingers trembled slightly, not from fear but from the adrenaline of the chase. It was a puzzle far more complex than any cryptic crossword she'd ever solved in the quiet of her office.

"Becks, what is it? Do you understand what they're saying?" asked Liam, his breath warm against her ear. His presence wasboth comforting and a delicious distraction, like the heat of fire play that danced upon the skin, demanding focus amidst the intensity.

She placed a finger to her lips. “Shh. There's a pattern in the announcements. I just need to listen to crack it."

Her mind spun, as she listened, weaving through linguistic mazes, drawing on every ounce of her intellect. She recalled the solitude of her youth, the isolation that sharpened her mind to the fine edge it was today. Fear clawed at her insides, threatening to unravel her composure, but she pushed it down. She would not be the frightened academic cowering before danger; she was a woman of action, a decoder of mysteries.

"Look for discrepancies, repetitions, anything out of place," she instructed Liam, her voice steady despite the chaos brewing within.

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