Vanished Final 7.2019: An ALIAS, Enemies to Lovers Romantic Suspense

by Lisa Hughey

  “Hands where I can see them.” Jillian had backed away from him—aye, the closet was that damn big. She held a large revolver in a two-handed grip, her expression fierce, intense.

  He slowly raised his hands and then lifted his lips into his best charming grin. “Fancy seeing you here.”

  “Ballard?” Her hard frown faltered.

  He bowed. “At your service.”

  “What the hell are you doing in my partner’s closet?”

  Jill couldn’t compute.

  Why was Hamish Ballard in Marsh’s condo? The annoying, uptight agent from this afternoon had disappeared. He wore casual skinny jeans and a navy wool sweater. His lopsided smile and self-deprecating manner were contrasted by the shocking trail of blood running down his face from the rapidly swelling cut above his right navy eye.

  “I’m guessin’ the same as you.” His hands began to lower slowly.

  “Keep ’em up.” She gestured with her weapon. He was a little too close to her if he decided to attack. Deadliest distance in a gunfight was three to six feet. If he had a weapon, he didn’t even need to be a good shot to kill her. She didn’t actually think he was dangerous—to her—but she’d been wrong before.

  Even with the lump and the blood, his sexuality filled up the large closet, wrapping around her with a surprising intensity. His raw-boned attractiveness was enhanced by a current of electricity that thrummed beneath the surface of their interaction. Her hormones sure picked the wrong day to wake up from hibernation.

  And definitely the wrong guy.

  She’d never been with a man who hadn’t respected her and she wasn’t about to start now. And why the hell was she thinking about being with a man?

  She gestured to the open doorway and said abruptly, “We need to talk.”

  “I’d prefer to do so without a firearm in my face.” But he didn’t take his gaze from hers.

  “Don’t do anything wrong and I won’t shoot you.”

  He laughed. “Fair enough.”

  “Go on.”

  He hesitated, glancing between the weapon and her eyes, then he turned his back on her and walked out into Marsh’s bedroom.

  Jill tucked her weapon into the holster at her waist and followed him. He headed into the open concept living room and kitchen area.

  He opened the fridge and rummaged around, dumping ice cubes into a Ziplock bag. Then he wrapped the bag in a dishtowel and pressed the makeshift ice pack to his swelling cut.

  “You’re awfully comfortable with breaking and entering.” Her suspicion meter was off the charts. Why would he break into Marsh’s home?

  “I could say the same of you,” he replied blandly. But he didn’t deny the B&E comment. This guy was not conforming to her expectations. At all.

  “I have a key.”

  “Good for you.” He took the ice cubes from his forehead and frowned at the blood on the towel.

  “You want to tell me what you’re doing in my partner’s home?”

  He eyed her, his marbled blue gaze sweeping up and down her body with sizzling intensity. “You more than partners?”

  Jill bristled. Why was it that everything always came down to whether she was sleeping with someone? Or not? It wasn’t any of his fucking business. Thanks to her reputation, she got asked that question a lot more than she’d like. But she had saved Dominic even if the only people who knew were Marsh and Dee, so a hit to her rep had been worth it in the end.

  “Answer the damn question.” She tightened her mouth and waited.

  He sighed. “I was looking for clues as to his whereabouts.”

  “Why?”

  He hesitated. “Why won’t you tell me where he is?”

  She didn’t want to notice his sculpted jaw or muscled chest. And she definitely didn’t want to wonder what his body would feel like pressed up against hers. He was trying to appear nonthreatening but it wasn’t working.

  Hamish Ballard was a predator. Sure he hid it beneath that boyish demeanor and somewhat charming accent but she saw through that act, and no way was she going to let him in or let him know that Marsh was missing—along with most of the file on their client. Not that she’d admitted that Beatrice was a client. She’d never betray her mission.

  She needed to get rid of this guy so she could continue searching Marsh’s apartment, looking for any kind of clue to where he might have gone. “Because it isn’t any of your business.”

  “You don’t know where he is, do you?” He straightened. “That’s what you meant.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but it’s time for you to leave.” He was lucky she didn’t call the cops. But she couldn’t. Reporters in DC were always looking at police records and blotters for scandal tips. Because of an incident at ALIAS a few months ago, the agency was on the reporters’ radar.

  A fugitive broke into their offices, held a hostage, and died in a shoot-out. Unfortunately, that situation had made the papers. Unavoidable.

  “You don’t want any publicity,” Hamish shot back after a pause.

  Ugh, the guy had a point. They didn’t need any more bad publicity and if he went on record and made noise he could make life difficult for her. Protecting their clients was imperative.

  Instead of obeying her and leaving, he said, “I tracked Brianna Walsh, your Beatrice Winter, to Adams-Larsen.”

  Impossible.

  She could admire his tenacity even while she wanted to kick him in the balls. “I told you before that we don’t have any information on her.”

  Because it was all buried and hidden. Protect the client.

  And yet she couldn’t afford to piss off the National Crime Agency. So she’d have to play nice, sort of.

  But what Jill didn’t get was how Beatrice Winter had managed to get such good documents and forms of ID if she was actually a British citizen. Viktor’s assessment came back to her.

  “Why are you so invested in finding this woman?”

  Because his attitude and determination were excessive for an officer looking for a single criminal. She could appreciate his dedication to the mission, but his intensity struck her as overzealous.

  “She’s wanted back home.”

  “That’s not the only reason. You’re way too aggressive about tracking down this woman. You committed unlawful entry by breaking in here. I could have you arrested.”

  “Doubtful.” But his gaze narrowed in displeasure and something else. A glimmer of alarm?

  Jill’s bullshit meter perked up. This guy wasn’t on the up and up.

  “Look, I only want to speak with your partner.”

  She crossed her arms and leaned against the shiny, rarely used granite countertops. “And I told you that I would have him call you. That hardly seems to warrant breaking and entering.”

  She’d been right before. He was a zealot.

  And zealots were dangerous.

  “I’m impatient,” he drawled.

  Jillian rolled her eyes. Really? That was his explanation? “I’ll get back to you.”

  “If I don’t hear from you, I’ll have to go public,” Hamish said. “Do you really want me going on record asking questions about your client?”

  “She isn’t a client.” Not anymore.

  Maybe if she denied it enough he would finally believe her.

  “I read about your agency, you know.”

  About you was implied.

  “Congratulations! You can read!”

  He snorted. “What really happened with your protectee before you left the US Marshals?”

  No one had ever asked her that before.

  The official story was that she’d had an affair with a protectee, and her protectee had died, killed by the organization he’d testified against to send a message to anyone else who thought ratting out the bosses and the organization was a good idea. As a consequence, she’d gotten kicked out. Of course, it was much more complicated than that.

  “He’s gone.”

  “I’m aware of that.” He tilte
d his head, and the light from over the kitchen table cast shadows along his sharply defined jaw.

  No one but she, Marsh, and Dee knew that Dominic was still alive. Everyone thought she’d carelessly used her position to have sex with a protectee. And that her negligent actions had caused him to die.

  And none of that information was referenced in the ALIAS company marketing materials. So he’d clearly dug deep, and not in official channels, to find info about ALIAS.

  She glanced away from his penetrating stare.

  How had he managed to turn this around on her? She was off and out of sorts. Clearly.

  “But that’s not all to the story.” He made the statement as if he knew her. That was tantalizing—her own father had believed that she’d willfully neglected the safety of her charge. He hadn’t spoken to her since the event that had changed her life and sent her on a new path.

  She stayed silent.

  “I can read between the lines.”

  When she looked at him, she saw an unexpected understanding in his gaze. She wanted to trust him, and she longed to confide in someone.

  She missed Marsh. He was her touchstone. The one person who knew her well enough that he could stop the doubts and insecurities that occasionally plagued her.

  And she was lonely.

  Which was no excuse for letting down her guard in front of this stranger. Life had kicked her in the ass one too many times. But she’d risen every time, dusted herself off and moved on.

  No regrets.

  A pretty face wasn’t going to convince her to relax from a lifetime of guarding her secrets. He was the enemy even if her body wanted him to be her ally.

  “There are no lines.” She hardened her resolve, racking her brain for anything that might give her a clue as to where Marsh was located. She’d had people looking for him. Checking out his other homes. But it was as if he’d completely disappeared.

  If he hadn’t sent her a note, encrypted with their secret code right after he’d left, then she might have tipped over from annoyance to worry about foul play.

  She usually didn’t mind him taking time off. After all, his reputation had taken a severe hit when he’d quit the Marshals and opened ALIAS with her. They’d both been disenchanted with the system, but Marsh could have stayed and had a stellar career. He’d been on track to make supervisor before all the stuff with Dominic went down.

  Marsh continually insisted that he was perfectly happy, but she didn’t want him to ever regret leaving the Marshals to found ALIAS. So she mostly shrugged philosophically when he did his little walkabouts. Except he’d been gone much longer this time, and no one had been able to reach him.

  Jill frowned.

  Marsh, where are you?

  His apartment was a bust. Her neatnik partner hadn’t left any giant clues strewn around his place.

  Jill ignored Hamish Ballard and studied the kitchen. A trio of houseplants in matching pots decorated the bay window. The leaves were dried and half dead.

  Half dead as if someone had watered them. Marsh? Or maybe Kita had come by after Jillian had confessed last month that Marsh hadn’t been in contact for a while.

  Had he been back?

  His laptop was missing. They never brought any work files home. Their client files and information were too sensitive. Each client was identified by a number. No names in the files. And the naming convention was a complicated algorithm so that if anyone broke into their system, they’d be unable to connect their client names with their current locations. Jill fortunately had a facility for numbers and for some reason, Beatrice’s file number had stuck with her.

  But most of Beatrice Winter’s file was missing. And so was Marsh. Maybe he’d discovered that Beatrice had lied to them. But why go off on his own? That didn’t make any sense. They were partners.

  Her first responsibility was always to the client. Marsh too. So maybe he was trying to protect Beatrice? But if so, why would he disappear? Between their clients and their employees, ALIAS was her life. And she would do anything to protect it.

  All she wanted was to find Marsh and ask him what the hell was going on.

  She tapped her index finger on her mouth.

  Nothing made sense.

  Hamish studied Jillian.

  So many layers beneath that uptight exterior. His instincts had been spot on. There was a hell of a lot more to the story about her exit from the US Marshals than what was public knowledge. But when she literally shut down before his eyes, he knew she wasn’t going to share with him.

  It wasn’t germane to his investigation. This trip was about avenging his brother, not discovering the secrets of one prickly ex-US Marshal.

  He forced his thoughts back to Brianna Walsh and Marsh Adams. Hamish had a feeling if he could find Marsh, then Brianna would be nearby.

  Because although she hadn’t admitted it, Hamish was pretty sure that Marsh Adams had disappeared. Based on the phone call he’d heard earlier today and the fact that she’d been in her partner’s apartment looking for information, her actions were a big fucking clue.

  She didn’t know where Marsh Adams was.

  But pushing her on that wasn’t going to garner her cooperation. He was smoother than that. Even if he hadn’t displayed those smarts up to now.

  What was it about Jillian Larsen that caused him to throw away his common sense? And lose his innate charm?

  His head throbbed where she’d accidentally hit him, but the ache went deeper. Adams-Larsen was his last lead. If this didn’t pan out, he had no intelligence left to pursue. He couldn’t let the woman who killed his brother roam free. And he had limited time to make this happen. If his boss found out he’d disobeyed a direct order to drop “this career-killing search” for Brianna Walsh, he was in deep shit. She’d threatened to sack him. Get on with your fuckin’ life, Ham.

  But he couldn’t just get on with his life as if this case wasn’t personal.

  He owed it to his brother and to every future victim of the unconscionable criminal who pretended to want to help drug addicts and then fed their addiction at a very high price.

  If he could just catch Brianna, bring her to justice, then he’d find some relief from the unrelenting guilt. He should have checked in on his brother. Should have understood that the addiction that had gripped him in its talons was back.

  But he’d been busy, chasing down criminals, pursuing a promotion at the National Crime Agency with the cyber crimes division, and tracking down criminals in the cyber world—mostly safe in his office. So obsessed with random criminals that he hadn’t seen the malevolent evil lurking in his brother’s life.

  “I just want to ask him some questions.” He tried to cajole, but his voice was heavy with grief, and the desperation that was never far from the surface shone through his plea. “Can’t you get me in touch with him?”

  Marsh Adams was her partner. She should know where he might be. He didn’t get a dishonest vibe from her, but that didn’t matter. If she wouldn’t share her information, she was his enemy.

  Of course, Hamish’s boss had no idea where he was, so it was entirely possible that Jillian Larsen didn’t know where her partner was.

  “I would if I could, just so we could clear up this misunderstanding.” She smiled craftily.

  And Hamish was on guard again. Now she was planning on lying to him. He’d let her distract him from his initial assessment, but no more. Jillian Larsen was not his friend or his ally.

  Maybe he was looking at this all wrong.

  “Why would Marshall Adams leave to start a PR firm with you?”

  She stiffened; her smile didn’t falter but Hamish scanned the kitchen for loose knives, just in case. And shit, he was getting a boner. The fact that she was dangerous should not be a turn-on.

  “I’ll have Marsh call you as soon as I hear from him.”

  Who was this smiling, accommodating woman brushing him off with a fake smile? Not the business owner in her office. Not the concerned partner on the phone. Not the
patient boss with her hurting employee. Even at her kindest, she never used that sweet tone with anyone. He wasn’t falling for it.

  Then Jillian did a complete about-face, throwing him off-kilter again. “Hypothetically if she was a client…I would be unable to comment on her situation.”

  “So you admit she’s a client.” Not exactly what she said.

  She blinked slowly, not giving anything away. “What is she allegedly wanted for?”

  Allegedly? He bristled. “Did they ever find the money?”

  She grabbed the bag of ice and dumped it in the sink. “Are you referring to the money that the rehab center executives pocketed?”

  “Allegedly pocketed.” He tossed the legal term right back at her.

  She rolled her eyes. “The money is missing.”

  “The executives didn’t take the money,” Hamish said fiercely. “She did.”

  “There was absolutely no evidence that she had the skills or the access to steal that money,” she shot back, clearly annoyed.

  “Then you Yanks missed it.” Hamish knew. Brianna’d been cleaned out when she’d left Britain. The deal for her testimony was no jail time and a new identity with resettlement. All the family’s cash had been confiscated by the government. If she had offshore accounts or cash stashed away, they hadn’t been able to find them. “She nicked the cash.”

  If he could find her bank accounts, then he’d have her. But he needed at least some sort of jumping-off point. And Jillian Larsen was the only lead he had.

  He’d do anything to find Brianna Walsh and bring her to justice. And he’d expose Jillian Larsen for the fraud she was.

  She might continue to deny being involved with Brianna but her verbal slipup a minute ago revealed that she did know more than she was saying.

  But he could play nice for now and pretend to work with her until it was time to take them all down.

  She’d helped hide a criminal. Helped hide the woman responsible for his brother’s death.

  He wasn’t going to forget that.

  But he’d use her, and her resources, without compunction. Even if he could sense the conflict within her.