Page 17 of Beckoning Liam

"Another announcement," he said, as the sound system crackled to life once more. "Listen."

"Attention, a black sedan is parked in a restricted area. License plate: Bravo Echo Charlie...”

"Stop!" Becks cut Liam off, her pulse quickening. "That's it. The license plate... it's using NATO phonetic, but there's no consistency. They're choosing specific letters—letters that form words when combined."

"Words that mean what?" Liam asked, his own analytical mind kicking into gear, his presence grounding her like the firm hand of a Dom guiding a sub through subspace.

"Locations within the conference center," Becks said, her mind making the leaps and bounds it had been trained to do since childhood. "They're communicating meeting points, timings... It's happening now, Liam. This isn't just a threat—it's the execution of a plan."

“Why wasn’t that information in the damn emails? Why didn’t they have everything in place?”

“I’m not sure but the Wanderers seem to be very disjointed—like one hand doesn’t know what the other is doing…”

“That is often the case with terrorist cells.”

“And it works to a certain extent, but if it’s some kind of major attack, they may need more than one cell, and it could be that they just aren’t that organized or at least this attack wasn’t organized very well.”

"Could be. We’ve used that distrust and disorganization on more than one occasion to disrupt a plan. So, if you’re right—and I think you are—we don't have much time," Liam said, grimly.

Becks nodded, her body taut with anticipation. The coded messages continued to spill from the speakers, each one meant only for ears aligned with malice. But she was listening now, translating the notes of destruction into actionable intelligence.

"Let's move," she said, her voice betraying none of the fear that the situation warranted. Instead, her voice held the resolve of a woman who understood failure, who had tasted the bitter tang of being underestimated, and who refused to let it define her any longer.

The two of them slipped through the crowd, the magnitude of what they were doing weighing heavily on her shoulders. She wouldn't allow the violence she so despised to unfold—not on her watch, not while she had the power to stop it.

And as they wove between the unsuspecting attendees, Becks couldn't help but feel the thrill of the chase, the allure of secrets and hidden dangers, the seductive pull of a life far removed from the tranquility of tea and classical music. It was a world she never sought, but one she was now irrevocably part of.

Becks' pulse hammered in her ears as she and Liam navigated the complex corridors of the conference center, a grim ballet of urgency. The air was thick with the musk of polished wood and the low hum of hushed conversations.

"Left here," she hissed, her mind a frenzy of translated code ricocheting against the walls of her skull. Her fingers grazed Liam's arm, guiding him, trust burgeoning in the claustrophobic space between them.

Liam nodded, his movements precise, shaped by years of training that had honed his body into an instrument of lethal efficiency.

His gaze lingered on her for a split second, a silent acknowledgement of their shared purpose. "Keep close," he replied, his voice low and steady, the subtle Irish lilt buried beneath layers of command.

The scent of danger was palpable, weaving through the shadows like a siren's call, and Becks felt its dark allure coiling around her senses. Yet, it was Liam's presence—a steadfast fortress amidst the chaos—that was anchoring her amidst the madness.

They burst into a dim service area, the clock ticking down in their minds. A coded message hummed through Becks' consciousness, an ominous countdown. She relayed the information, her lips brushing against Liam's ear. "Three minutes."

"Damn it," he spat out, scanning the room. "Where's the bloody device?"

"Over there—the panel looks tampered with." Becks pointed to a wall where wires dangled like veins exposed, her translator’s eye catching the anomaly amidst the mundane.

Together, they approached, Liam's hands deftly navigating the tangle of wires, guided by Becks’ keen insights. His fingers, so capable of delivering both pleasure and pain inthe clandestine world they shared away from prying eyes, now worked with surgical precision to disarm the threat.

"Got it!" he exclaimed, a triumphant undercurrent to his words as the final wire was disconnected, rendering the bomb inert. For a moment, they allowed themselves the luxury of relief, the tension dissolving into the ether.

Then, a crackle of static broke the stillness—another transmission from the speakers that snatched the triumph from their grasp. Becks listened intently, her blood running cold as she decoded the message. "Liam, this is bad. It's not over; this was just a feint."

His jaw clenched, a ripple of frustration passing over his features. "A diversion? What's the real target?"

"I don't know yet," she admitted, the frustration gnawing at her insides. "But we need to find out—fast."

"Right." Liam's voice shifted, a dark undercurrent threading through his words. "We've played their game. Now, let’s make them play ours."

In that instant, the roles they knew—dominant and submissive—blurred, merging into a singular force of defiance against the looming shadow of a greater threat. They stood together, a union of intellect and strength, poised to unravel the web of deceit spun by unseen foes.

"Let's go," Becks urged, her heart racing with the knowledge that the true battle was only just beginning.

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