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

by Lisa Hughey

  Jill forced herself into stillness, knowing that fidgeting would give her away. But the anxiety growing within her made it difficult. Beatrice Winter had disappeared.

  “I’m sorry, but she didn’t leave any address.” He rubbed his leathery hands together. “As a matter of fact, she didn’t even request her security deposit back. She was supposed to call me with her new address so I could send it, but she never did.”

  This was not good. “What about her furniture? Did she use a moving company?”

  “No, ma’am.” A frown perplexed his brow. “She left everything in her apartment.”

  “Everything?”

  “Yes.” Leonard shook his head. “It done looks like she just went to the store and never came back.”

  “Do you suspect foul play?” Jill’s brain pinged in a different direction. Maybe someone had hurt Beatrice.

  “No. She told me herself that she was leaving. And she didn’t seem stressed or under duress, she just seemed to be in a hurry.”

  “Did she leave a phone number?”

  “Yes she did.” The old man shuffled to an old rolltop desk and pulled out a spiral-bound paper calendar with pictures of hotels in the Poconos. He flipped back to September and ran his finger along the notes section until he found it. “Here you go.”

  It was the cell phone Adams-Larsen had given her, so that was likely a dead end. But Jill noted the phone number down dutifully in her small book. “Thank you for your help.”

  “Happy to.” Leonard tilted his head and looked at her card again. “Say…are you affiliated with the gentleman who came the week after she left?”

  Jillian stilled. She knew she had to play this carefully. Was the gentleman Marsh? Or was it someone else?

  “Was his name Marsh?”

  He nodded.

  Fuck.

  “Why yes, I am,” Jill said. “He was involved in the initial track down of our client’s beneficiaries.”

  Maybe she could get some usable information from this manager. “Do you recall the date he was here?” Jill tapped through her phone as if looking for the information. “When he couldn’t locate her, I was sent in, but there were some details missing from the file.”

  “Here it is.” The man squinted at his paper notes. “He came the day after she left.”

  “Excellent. I will update our files. Thank you for that information.” Jill’s brain was racing. So Marsh had been looking for Beatrice when he went on his walkabout. But why? And what did he intend to do if he found her? Did he find her? And were they still together now? And why the hell hadn’t he confided in Jillian?

  “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “If she shows up again, can you give me a call? Or if she calls you, can you give me a call?”

  “Be happy to.”

  Jill’s shoved out her hand and clasped manager’s hand in hers.

  “Since her lease is almost up, I was just about to rent the apartment out to a new tenant and I’ve been fretting about what to do with her things.” His gaze was rueful. “I hate to sell her stuff but I can’t afford to store it and I don’t have the space to store it here once the new tenant moves in.”

  “You still have her belongings?”

  “I sure do,” the manager said. “I don’t suppose you know anyone who might want them?”

  Jill’s thoughts jumbled. She would love to go through the apartment. “The estate would be willing to pick up the furniture and store it for her until we can find her.”

  “You sure?” The old man blinked, his rheumy eyes watering in surprise. “It’s an expensive proposition.”

  “She’s going to be a very wealthy woman. It’s the least the estate can do.” Not to mention, the furnishings had been purchased by ALIAS or, really, the federal government.

  “That would be wonderful.” The manager appeared to relax as if she had taken a great burden from him. “Thank you very kindly. I really hated the thought of just selling her furniture out from under her.”

  “Can I see the apartment?” Jill wanted a look at Beatrice’s stuff.

  He took out a set of keys and shuffled out of his apartment. “Technically, I shouldn’t let you in there. But since you’re willing to take care of emptying out the apartment, it’s the least I can do.”

  Jill said, “I’ll make some calls, and I should be able to get movers here to clear out the apartment by tomorrow.”

  He relaxed even further. “Excellent. Then I could get new tenants in by the first.” The manager jingled his keys. “Come on and I’ll let you in the apartment.”

  Jill’s hope buoyed. Maybe Beatrice had left behind something, a clue, anything that would lead to her current location.

  Chapter 8

  Hamish sat at the bar in a little Irish pub nestled at the base of a giant hotel. The tiny slice of home in the middle of Philadelphia skyscrapers eased his weary soul.

  Murphy’s Pub was an old-fashioned, family-owned anomaly right in the heart of Philadelphia. It was also not that far from where Jillian had spent several hours this afternoon.

  Hamish had wanted to follow her, but he knew that if he didn’t give her a little space, he’d never be able to convince her to work with him. Oh, he had the address where she was at, an apartment building within walking distance of this tiny little pub, which just happened to be walking distance from their hotel.

  The bartender wiped the already clean counter in widening circles and smiled at Hamish. “You need another?”

  Hamish had been nursing the same lager for the past hour. He checked his phone—the tracking device was still working, and Jillian was on the move. “I’ll have to take a rain check.”

  “You want to settle up then?” The bartender went to the bronze cash register and punched in Hamish’s single beer and the order of fish and chips. As he handed Hamish the bill, the door flew open with a frigid gust of wind.

  The bartender’s eyes lit up with interest. “Now there’s a posh one.” His accent reminded Hamish of home. In the Outer Hebrides, the line between Scot and Irish was thin.

  Hamish turned around to look, struck again by the appearance of the woman he’d been tracking all day. But he played it cool.

  Jillian faltered for a moment. Then she continued on, striding right up to him at the bar. She narrowed her gaze and looked at him suspiciously.

  He lifted his hands in the air, holding them up in surrender. “What?”

  “Why are you here?”

  “Just looking for a little place that would remind me of home.”

  She tapped her foot impatiently and cocked her head, thinking it through.

  “I was here first.” Hamish pulled out cash and handed it to the bartender. “So now I’m wondering if you followed me.”

  Jillian huffed out of breath and all the starch left her. She removed her bright red peacoat then hung it on a peg along with her fancy bag. Surprising them both, she hitched up on the bar stool next to him.

  “What can I get you?” The bartender waited with an interested smile.

  Hamish guessed white wine, maybe a fancy cocktail.

  “I’ll take a Guinness.”

  “Coming right up.” He pulled the stout expertly, building the layers slowly in the glass. “Menu?”

  At that moment her stomach rumbled. Loudly.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” He handed her a menu that had been resting between a napkin box and a line of condiments. “Here you go.”

  Hamish wondered if he should say anything or just wait for her to talk. The bartender placed the perfectly poured Guinness in front of Jillian, and she took a long draw. She set the glass back down on the bar with a clunk. Then tilted her head back and closed her eyes, displaying the elegant line of her neck. Her sigh was more exhale than anything but carried weariness that was evident.

  “So how was your day?”

  She visibly tightened up, then set her mouth in an unsmiling line. “Frustrating.”

  Well if that wasn’t an answer
he didn’t want to hear. She wasn’t lying, the defeat that she tried to hide was clear. So she hadn’t found Brianna.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” And he was. More sorry than she would know. If only he could catch a break. He only had a few days left to find Brianna and then he had to figure out what to do with her.

  “We could work together.” He couldn’t help but ask again.

  Jill shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “That’s getting a bit old, love.”

  “I can’t.”

  Well, that was a step forward. At least now she admitted, indirectly, that she was looking for Brianna too.

  “If you agree to bring me in,” Hamish said, “I will share my information with you.”

  “You already gave us the information.”

  “Not all of it.”

  “Seriously?” Jillian’s gray eyes sparkled with irritation. “What kind of information?”

  A glimmer of hope fluttered through him. Maybe all was not lost. He had intel that could aid in finding Brianna but he needed leverage so that Jillian Larsen didn’t try and ditch him. He’d have to play this very carefully.

  “Agree to work with me first.” Hamish ran his finger down his bottle of Smithwick’s and hoped with more anticipation than was advisable that she would agree.

  “I can’t do that.”

  “This is ridiculous. We’re going round in circles and we both want the same thing.”

  “And what is that?” Jill assessed him suspiciously.

  Okay, maybe she was right. They didn’t want exactly the same thing, but it was close. And that wistful tone in her voice triggered a knowing deep inside him. He opened his emotions and his heart and listened. “We will be stronger together.”

  They both had pieces of the puzzle needed to find Brianna. Hamish had the compiled intelligence, data only he knew, and Jillian had the resources to put his intelligence together with what they knew.

  “Let’s call a temporary truce.” Jill smiled. “At least while I drink my beer.”

  “Here’s something for free.” Hamish gripped the long neck of the beer bottle and didn’t look at Jillian. “Brianna probably didn’t just steal from the drug centers.” His fingers whitened and he forced the truth out between lips gone numb from rage and fear. “She was likely either selling or facilitating the sale of drugs to the patients.”

  “What?” Jillian drew back away from him as if he’d slapped her. “You can’t know that.”

  “If you look at the statistics, the drug rehab centers in her case had an unusually high recidivism rate and an unusually high overdose rate.”

  Jill shook her head in denial. “Addiction is notoriously difficult to cure.”

  “It’s what she did in the UK,” he insisted.

  “There was nothing about that in the trial information that you gave me.”

  “I know. This is the new information.”

  “How do you know?”

  “She was arrested for dealing as a youth, and the charge was taken off her record in exchange for community service.”

  “Fine. But—” Jill pursed her lips “—that could just be supposition. Or dumping the crime on someone who had already been implicated.”

  “No. I discovered her name in the journal of a former rehab center patient in Northern Ireland.”

  “How do you know that information is even valid?” Jill argued. “The patient could’ve been lying.”

  “He wasn’t lying,” he said tightly. She kept pushing back, pushing back. Why wouldn’t she just believe him?

  “How do you know?”

  He’d had it. “Because he was my brother!”

  He hadn’t meant to reveal that.

  Unexpectedly, Jillian Larsen’s cold gray eyes warmed and the lines on her face softened with sympathy.

  His heart clenched. Dammit, he missed his brother.

  Jillian Larsen placed her soft elegant fingers over his forearm. And squeezed gently. “I’m so sorry.” Her gaze held an unexpected compassion.

  Hamish’s throat tightened and he swallowed cutting his gaze away from her. Grief was never far from his mind. He hadn’t been paying attention. And for that he would never forgive himself.

  “What makes you sure it was her?”

  “Are you fucking serious?”

  “I have to ask.”

  “At his rehab center they required the patients to keep a journal. And in his journal he mentioned that Brianna tempted him with drugs.”

  She drew back, shocked. “That’s…evil.”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” Hamish signaled to the bartender, who brought over another Smithwick’s with a smile. Hamish took a long draw on his beer, trying to ease the ache in his chest and compose himself before he went on.

  Jillian asked, “What was she doing there?”

  “She continued to ‘volunteer,’ saying she’d learned the error of her ways.”

  “Why didn’t they ever catch her?”

  “That’s the question.” Hamish said, “Her family was very well connected. They had members of law enforcement on the take who kept them from being arrested. That’s why her defection was such a big deal. They’d never been able to catch them.”

  “Was your brother…involved with her?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “But she lured him back to his addiction.”

  “She has a very persuasive personality. She uses her charisma to sway people…the jury, the system. The only people who didn’t seem to fall under her spell were her family.”

  But that still didn’t change the fact that she was responsible for his brother’s death.

  Jillian’s heart ached at the pure grief in Hamish Ballard’s eyes.

  She wanted to soothe him, comfort him. The emotions were so unexpected that when she clasped his forearm, she squeezed and didn’t let go for quite a bit.

  He was strong and sinewy beneath her palm. The urge to run her hand up his arm had her pulling away in surprise.

  Jillian’s cell rang, interrupting their conversation. She glanced at the display, intending to ignore the call but it was Kita and she needed to talk to her. “Excuse me. I have to take this.”

  “Quite right.” Hamish shifted his body so he faced the long bar and stared at the rugby game on the television as if he was grateful for the interruption. But his expression turned even more morose.

  “Hey, Kita.”

  The voice on the other end was strained. “Hey, Jill. You want the good news?”

  “Sure.”

  “Alex and I are enjoying a lovely, chilly day at the Cape.”

  Kita’s clear exasperation made Jill chuckle. Only Kita could make a vacation sound like work.

  “What’s the bad news?”

  “Marsh’s Cape house has clearly been closed up for a few months. I don’t believe he has been back here since that first week in September.”

  Jill’s shoulders slumped. So Marsh had gone to the Cape and then he’d come to Philadelphia.

  Beatrice Winter had disappeared, left town without a trace.

  “Do you want the rest of the bad news?” Kita asked.

  “There’s more?” Jill didn’t want to hear it. But she pulled on her big girl panties and braced for whatever Kita was going to say next.

  “Marsh called Beatrice’s burner a week after we relocated her.”

  “Do you have the exact time stamp on that?” Because Jill had to wonder about the timing of everything. Had Marsh called Beatrice and she bolted? Or had he called her to arrange a rendezvous?

  Marsh had come looking for Beatrice Winter, according to the landlord. The question was, did Beatrice disappear and then Marsh found her? Or was Marsh still looking for her? Or, the one that crept into her brain without permission…did Marsh call Beatrice so they could meet up and disappear together?

  Had Beatrice Winter persuaded Marsh to follow her? Just like she’d influenced the jury in her trial
in Britain? Just like she’d persuaded Hamish’s brother? Who else had her charisma worked on? The CFO, like Hamish claimed?

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah. There was an empty bottle of Johnny Walker Blue Label on Marsh’s counter.”

  Jill inhaled. That was Marsh’s brooding drink.

  “And his fridge was full of French cheese that he didn’t open.”

  They both knew what that meant. Marsh got in funks occasionally. Both she and Kita had coaxed him out of a mood before.

  And he’d left the cheese? Not a good sign.

  “You need anything else from me right now?” Kita’s voice had roughened with frustration and worry.

  She started to say no, then paused. “I have company.”

  “Who? Marsh? Why didn’t you say so.”

  “No.” She knew Hamish was listening. “Hamish Ballard.”

  Kita hesitated. “He’s in Philadelphia. He followed you?”

  “Bugged the office.”

  “I knew I liked this guy.” Kita laughed softly. “So…what are you going to do?”

  “Do?”

  “Go for it,” Kita urged.

  “Not ideal.” For multiple reasons.

  “Sometimes bad ideas turn out to be the most excellent ones.”

  When Jill didn’t respond, Kita said, “Seize the moment, Jill. You never know when it will come along again.”

  Her heart warmed, expanded at the possibilities. “Enjoy your weekend with Alex.” Jill would carry on here.

  “You’re sure you don’t need me for anything?” So much hope in that question, as if Kita wanted to leave.

  That damn urge to see if Kita needed someone to listen prodded her to ask, “Are you and Alex…getting along okay?”

  “Sure. Yes.” She sighed. “We’re good. Great actually. I’m just feeling guilty about taking time off when you’re still dealing with all this stuff, and I want you to enjoy yourself for a change.”

  Jill could hear Alex in the background grumbling, “Kita, seize the moment.”

  “I’ll seize something.” Kita threatened. “Any information from Beatrice?”

  Hamish was watching the television, but she knew he was listening. His shoulders had tightened when she’d mentioned his name. Every new revelation about Beatrice only underscored that their client had lied to them all. And she was not the woman they’d believed her to be.