by Lisa Hughey
She refused to believe that some sort of happy compromise wasn’t possible.
Dee seemed fatalistic that her relationship with her wife had been destined to fail.
But as Jill left, she wondered. She had always admired Dee. But there’d been something in her attitude that grated on Jill.
Jill replayed the conversation with Dee as she drove back to the office. Her thoughts were distracted and bouncing around. She’d had the uncomfortable feeling of being watched on her way to Dee’s office. And now, she noticed that she might have a tail.
So she began a standard SDR, surveillance detection route, to see if someone was following her. Within a few minutes she realized that she was indeed being followed. And the jerk in her rearview was none other than Hamish Ballard.
She steamed on the ride back to her office, forgoing additional evasive maneuvers since she knew who it was.
What the hell was he doing?
Hamish knew that she saw him. He hadn’t tried to hide on the way home.
She’d gone to her former employer’s location and met with her former boss, causing a lot of questions to churn through his brain. Because if she’d left in disgrace, why would she be meeting with her former agency? And she set up the meeting right after he visited her office yesterday.
Hamish pulled into the ALIAS parking lot like he worked there and took one of the remaining two spaces. He hopped out of his rental car as Jillian slammed her car door and glared at him with her fist propped on her hip and an unholy light in her fiery eyes. “You followed me.”
He shrugged. “I wanted to know where you were going. I didn’t make any effort to hide.”
Her gaze narrowed and she studied him. “We’re done.” She pivoted quickly and strode toward the back entrance to the brownstone. Her heels clicked in an aggravated beat on the blacktop.
“I have something to show you.”
She held up her hand in the universal gesture for “I don’t give a fuck” and didn’t look back. He’d been hoping to avoid sharing this since technically he did not have approval to show the file to anyone, but every moment ticked toward his inevitable return to Edinburgh. And so far he had nothing to show for this trip. Hamish strode after her and hoped he was making the right decision. “You want to see this.”
“Not interested.” She shoved her key into the old-fashioned lock and turned. Then she jabbed the buttons to enter the eight-digit code and waited for the biometric reader to appear. The door clicked open and before she could slam it in his face, he inserted his shoulder, stopping her. The move put them closer together than socially appropriate, his chest nearly touching her back. This close he could feel the fury that vibrated through her body. The sultry scent wafting from her hair was sensuous and earthy, a contradiction to her buttoned-up attitude.
They were trapped in a small holding area, with another solid wood door blocking entrance to the building. An additional keypad and more biometric security in the wall to the left of the second doorknob closely guarded the entrance.
A disembodied voice came out of nowhere. “Jill, do you need assistance?”
Hamish skimmed his gaze over the small vestibule, looking for a speaker. Then he glanced up and saw the camera in the corner. Earlier today he had noted the multiple checkpoints before anyone could actually enter the building. Each small holding area had additional security with either biometric scanners or passcodes necessary. The dark mahogany wainscoting and glass door at the exterior appeared decorative but he’d bet his credentials that the glass was bulletproof and the door frame construction reinforced. It wouldn’t necessarily keep someone out indefinitely, but the inhabitants would have plenty of notice before a combatant breached the interior. Those security measures only increased his surety that Adams-Larsen was no public relations firm.
However, it was much easier to come in the front door as he had. That solid construction didn’t have any windows.
“You need to understand what kind of person she really is.” Hamish shoved a file folder filled with papers at her.
She backed up and pressed against the door frame. “What is this?”
“This is the transcript from Brianna Walsh’s deposition. Much of this didn’t make it in the trial because the prosecution wanted a credible witness and the defense negotiated its omission from the sentencing phase to limit the jury’s knowledge of her complicity.” Hamish wanted to shake the file in her face.
Slowly she curled her fingers around the only information he was willing to share at this point.
“Read it,” he demanded. “And then give me a call.”
He knew the power of a strategic retreat. If ever there was a time, this was it. He flipped a salute at the security camera in the ceiling, then directed a hard stare at Jillian Larsen—who hadn’t said a word.
He slipped out into the cold morning air and headed back to his place to eavesdrop on his infuriating, and distracting, nemesis. As he left, he tossed the parting words over his shoulder. “I’ll wait to hear from you.”
The outer door thunked closed behind Hamish Ballard. Jill’s heart beat erratically in her chest as she faced away from the security camera and tried to regain her calm.
There’d been something in that fraught moment when he’d nearly pressed against her. His hard chest and thick biceps caged her, but she hadn’t felt threatened. The truth was she trained regularly with Kita and while in a fight she might not win, she could hold her own and she could definitely kick his ass to the floor a few times. But in that moment, she hadn’t been thinking about fighting, she’d been thinking about how long it had been since she’d been with anyone.
Her sex life was always…difficult. She couldn’t tell her date what she really did, she couldn’t share the details of her day, unless they were a lie, and that made it challenging to connect with another person. If you were only giving half of yourself, only revealing half of yourself, then how did a man ever understand who you were? The answer: He didn’t.
“Jill, you okay?” Jake was in the security booth this morning.
“Fine. I’m fine.” Jill hustled up the back stairs to her office, clutching the file folder in her hand.
She nodded at Maria and the new girl Hannah. “I’ll be in my office if you need me for anything.” She closed the door with a quiet snick and headed for her desk.
Jill dropped into the large ergonomic but elegant chair, flipped open the file, and began to read.
At first she denied the connection. The words could have come from anyone. But when she mentioned her family forcing her to get the tattoo, a sense of dread rolled through Jill. The Celtic knot with a stylized W entwined was distinctive.
She remembered when she’d first seen it.
In her office, Beatrice had been sitting on the settee and the hint of the tattoo had peeked out the hem of her shirtsleeve on her upper arm.
Marsh had been enthralled. Beatrice had seemed annoyed but then she’d quickly masked the annoyance and called it a youthful mistake.
In the transcript, she related the story of when her father had made her get the tattoo. She called it a brand. A mark that claimed she could never abandon her family.
As Jill read, her stomach churned like the Potomac on a stormy day. Beatrice Winter was not who they thought she’d was.
Daughter of a mobster in Ireland. Intricately involved in their illegal businesses. She had tearfully told the prosecution lawyers that she’d been forced to do the books and was basically an indentured servant her entire life. But reading between the lines, Jill didn’t get that impression.
As she read the transcript, she noted that Brianna aka Beatrice was the one who had turned in evidence against her family. They would have had nothing without her testimony and records. Her father and two brothers, Category A offenders, were serving life sentences in Her Majesty’s Prison Wakefield, the equivalent of a supermax in the US.
She had single-handedly taken down her family business after her mother passed away. According to
the file, all of the family assets had been seized. But assets could be hidden. Even so, Jill need another pair of eyes on this.
Jill hesitated.
Protecting the client was her first priority. But what did she do if the client turned out to be a criminal?
And of course this was what Hamish Ballard had wanted. To make her doubt her convictions. To make her doubt her actions. She needed another opinion, an objective one.
Jill had no choice but to ask for help.
She pressed the intercom button on her phone set up. “Maria, can you send Kita up to my office?”
“Sure thing, Jill.”
About five minutes later, Kita burst into Jill’s office. “What do you need me for?”
She nodded at the open door, and Kita raised her brows as she quietly closed the door, leaving them alone and isolated in the quiet room.
“I came into the possession of the deposition transcripts and the trial summary from Beatrice Winter aka Brianna Walsh’s trial.” Jill was only about halfway through, but the more she read, the more she thought that Beatrice was a con artist of the highest order. She handed Kita the stack of papers she’d already read through and said, “I need you to read this, and give me your take on our former client.”
Kita nodded and settled into the chair across from Jill’s desk. She tucked her head down and focused. Jill continued to read the transcripts. With every page, her frustration grew.
Beatrice Winter’s identification sources were perfect. Yes, she could have bought her passport and birth certificate. But the Marshals should have caught forged identity papers.
So did that mean that Beatrice had actually been supplied with official documents that would stand up to scrutiny from the US authorities?
That was suspect. It was possible that Brianna Walsh was in the UK equivalent of WitSec. And it was more than a little suspicious that once again, she was the key witness for the prosecution in a criminal trial. How had her concealed background ever made it past the Department of Justice and US Marshals?
Her office was quiet as she and Kita continued to read through Hamish Ballard’s comprehensive file. As she turned the last page, the headache brewing behind her eyes blossomed from a slight ache to a full on barrage. She rubbed her fingers at her temple, closing her eyes and wondering what the hell they had done.
Jill considered options as she waited for Kita to finish the file. They needed to find Beatrice Winter. And Marsh, if possible. Were they together? Jill certainly hoped not.
Kita finished leaned back in the chair and sighed.
“What’s your take?”
Kita tossed the file onto Jill’s desk. “I’m no psychologist, but the subtext in her testimony is clear. She hates men. She was continuously told by her father and brothers she wasn’t good enough when it sure appears that she was actively running the business.” They had pissed her off and she took them down.
“Yeah, that was my assessment as well.” Shit. “So why did she target Marsh?” Because when she’d first come to ALIAS, Beatrice had requested that Marsh be her point man. And they’d grown close. So close, Jill was pretty sure that Marsh was having sex with her. But since Jill had no room to criticize, and they were making Beatrice disappear, she let it go.
“So she could manipulate him, I’d bet she really gets off on pulling one over on men,” Kita said.
“We have to talk to Beatrice. And find Marsh.”
“But we’ve already tried to find him.” Kita rubbed her palms over her bare biceps.
“Did you find anything interesting when you pulled Marsh’s credit card records?” Jill asked.
“Yeah, after we placed Beatrice, Marsh left for the Cape for a few days.”
That meshed with what Marsh said he was going to do. He had seemed a little…depressed after Beatrice was gone. Jill had told him to take as much time as he needed.
“And then what?”
“Then he went to Philadelphia.”
Philadelphia. That’s where they’d placed Beatrice.
Why the hell would Marsh jeopardize their client’s safety by going to the one place he was expressly forbidden to visit? At least right away. “Fuck.”
“Assuming that isn’t good.” Kita was somber.
Only Marsh and Jill knew they’d relocated Beatrice to Philly. Even now, she was struggling to reveal that simple detail to Kita. “What the hell was he thinking?”
“I got nothing.” Kita shook her head. “Maybe he was enthralled with her Super Pussy.”
Jill snorted. “What the hell, Kita? Super Pussy?”
“Marsh’s kryptonite is damsels in distress. This chick played on that.” Kita gestured to the file. “The transcript is littered with men she manipulated to do her bidding.”
That was true.
“Looks like the Scottish Hottie was right. She’s a criminal. And she…got away with it.”
“Would you quit using that term?” Jill flushed.
Kita giggled. “What? The Scottish Hottie?”
She was just full of nicknames today. “What’s gotten into you?”
Kita laughed full on and then turned bright red. “I can tell what hasn’t gotten into you.”
What? Now they were girlfriends? Jill glared at Kita. But her face burned.
“Come on. Admit it’s a little funny. You are attracted to him.”
What now?
“The room was practically on fire from the sparks you two were emitting earlier.” Kita fanned herself. “I had to go take a shower.”
“There were no sparks.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
“Guy is so uptight, he’s probably a dud in bed.”
“I don’t care to find out, I’ve got my own personal hottie.” Kita paused. “But if you have a chance, you should go for it.”
Images of Hamish Ballard naked and moving over her flashed in her brain, but she banished them immediately. Okay maybe she had dreamed about him last night. But it was purely stimulus and response. He was the stimulus and she responded. She just hadn’t gotten laid in a while.
“Can we get back on track here?” Jill snipped.
Kita eyed her warily. “Sure.”
“I need to go to Philly,” Jill said softly. “What hotel did Marsh stay at?” Presumably it was listed on his credit card records.
“The Sheraton downtown.”
That’s where Jill would stay.
“According to the bill he was only there a few days.”
“Where did he go after that?”
“That’s the last time he used the card.” Kita leaned forward in her chair. “You want me to come with you?”
“I think you and Alex should take a trip to the Cape.”
Understanding blossomed in Kita’s gaze. “A weekend getaway sounds great.”
Maybe Marsh would be there. Or maybe he’d still be in Philly…with their client?
Still Jill didn’t want to assume that Marsh had broken the rules. While she wanted to find out what Marsh had been doing in Philly, she needed to check on Beatrice, to ask her some pointed questions. While she was at it, she could see if Marsh was still there. Though she intended to speak with Beatrice, she certainly had no intention of revealing to Hamish Ballard what ALIAS really did, and she couldn’t tell him she was going to be in contact with Beatrice. He’d be pissed when he realized that she’d left town, but she had her priorities.
Her first responsibilities were to protect her clients, protect her business, and protect her employees.
Hamish Ballard was dead last on that list. Check that. He wasn’t even on the list. Displeasure wriggled in her subconscious because he would see this move as a betrayal. But she didn’t owe him a thing.
No regrets.
Someone knocked on her door.
“Come.”
Maria wouldn’t have let just anyone pass.
Viktor poked his head inside. “Am I interrupting?”
“We were done,” Jill said.
“
How you feeling today, Hot Stuff?” Kita teased.
Viktor flushed.
He had looked a little pale. “You okay?”
“Took your advice.” Viktor smiled ruefully. “A little too much to heart.”
Jill raised an eyebrow.
“Man, that dude can put them away.” Kita punched Viktor on the arm as she left. “That’s for the bruise on my chin.”
“I said I was sorry,” Viktor protested. But Kita was already out the door.
“You met someone?”
“I usually have a high tolerance but…this guy at the bar last night was, phew.” He shook his head. “I may have overindulged.”
“May have?” Jill teased, liking the fact that today he wasn’t so sad. Her advice had worked. And she took that as a W.
What about the one though? Of course, she managed to keep that question to herself.
“I’m not ready for anything serious,” he said as if he’d read her mind. “I’ll take Mr. Right Now for the moment. Sorry. TMI.”
The interaction was getting a little too personal so Jill said abruptly, “What have you got for me?”
“I was able to test the original information given by Beatrice Winter for phase one.”
The first phase in any relocation was misinformation, muddying the personal information of the client. Changing their accounts so they were impossible to verify. A misspelled middle name. A slight shift in the birthday of record. Changing one number in a phone number, street number, or zip code. Little shifts that helped confuse a skip tracer looking for an individual.
“All of her accounts had been closed and all the information had been obscured. If I hadn’t had the original contacts, she would be mostly disappeared from her life in Florida.”
“Mostly?”
“I did find one email address that I didn’t originally test. It could be part of phase two but since I didn’t work on it, but I don’t think it was.”
Phase two was disinformation. Canceling the client’s original accounts then deliberately setting up utility accounts, email addresses, and PO box dead drops, running credit checks by apartment complexes, making it look like the client had moved to another area. Using an existing credit card in new places to throw off anyone who might be trying to track the client.
