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

by Lisa Hughey

  He deserved the truth.

  Not the whole truth of course. He didn’t have to know that ALIAS was responsible for creating her new life. But she could reveal that Beatrice was no longer in Philadelphia.

  “No. Beatrice abandoned her apartment in Philadelphia about ten weeks ago.” Beside her, Hamish’s whole body stiffened. “I went through her apartment today to look for any clues to where she went.”

  “So you’re saying she is missing?”

  “It would appear so.” Although missing wasn’t really correct. Hiding might be a better word.

  “Huh, so I guess the Scottish Hottie was right.”

  “It would appear so,” Jill agreed again.

  “You sure you don’t need me to come down and check it out?” Kita asked.

  “No. I’ve got this.”

  “Okay, then I’ll make nice with my boyfriend.” Kita giggled. “It’s good to have a marshal in our pocket. And Jill, thanks for sharing.”

  Jill punched the end button on her phone and waited. Because she just given Hamish Ballard a clue.

  He turned to face her and she braced for his condemnation.

  The disappointment, the sheer grief on his face, only deepened her remorse. She didn’t owe him anything. And yet…she wanted to help him. Understood the emotion that drove him to seek justice for his brother.

  He didn’t even say I told you so and he would be fully justified in saying so. The weight of everything she’d learned today pressed in on her. She wanted to drown her worry in stout. Or something even more addictive.

  She raised her hand signal to the bartender.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I’ll take a side salad and an order of fries with a side of mayo.” She tried to ignore Hamish sitting beside her, but he was hard to ignore. And he still hadn’t spoken about Beatrice. “What?”

  Hamish took a sip of his beer, then set it on the polished wood countertop.

  “I didn’t say a thing.”

  “But you’re thinking it.” She took another sip of her beer and mulled things over. She kept coming back to three salient facts. “Loudly.”

  One: Beatrice Winter was a criminal.

  Two: Marsh had disappeared after calling Beatrice after she’d been relocated to Philly.

  Three: Marsh had been infatuated with Beatrice. Jill knew with absolute certainty that appearances could be deceiving—after all, everyone believed that she’d let Dominic die.

  But the fact was she hadn’t heard from Marsh in weeks. He was deliberately not available, which made it suspicious. Dee’s words from yesterday hit at Jill again. Partners never know what we go through.

  The cute bartender placed the salad in front of her with a smile and a quirk of his eyebrow. He was a little too young for her but cute in that “I’ll be happy to please you” manner.

  Even cuter, out of the corner of her eye Hamish bristled. He pressed his wide blunt palms on the bar and pushed half out of his stool to lean over and whisper in the bartender’s ear. Bartender held his hands up by his shoulders and backed away, cutting a quick glance at Jill.

  “What did you say to him?”

  Hamish shrugged. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  From the other end of the bar the bartender glanced between the two of them curiously.

  “Seriously? What did you say?”

  He took another sip of his beer. She watched the muscles in his throat work as he composed himself. “A gentleman never takes advantage of a vulnerable lady.”

  “You had no right—”

  “You want me to call him back?” Hamish asked.

  “Of course not.” That moment she’d considered letting go with the bartender was a fleeting, quick little fantasy. He wasn’t what she was looking for.

  “That one isn’t man enough for you.”

  “And I suppose you are?”

  “Well, love, if you’re asking.”

  “You wish.”

  “I do wish,” Hamish blurted out in a confession that surprised them both.

  Jill held her breath. Because she knew with a certainty that couldn’t be denied that Hamish Ballard had just uttered the absolute truth.

  “Scratch that,” he muttered. “Bad idea on all fronts.” He took another sip of his beer.

  She couldn’t help but taunting, “It would be a great way to be bad though.”

  He choked on his beer, sputtering as his gaze shot to her.

  “Crikey, woman.” He wiped his palm across his mouth. “Are you trying to kill me?”

  “But what a way to go.” Jill chuckled.

  In that moment, he grinned. The unguarded amusement lit up his face and he appeared much younger.

  “How old are you?” she asked without thinking.

  “Older every day.”

  Jillian Larsen placed her hand over his, and the shot of adrenaline from that slight touch dropped into her bloodstream like a hit from a needle. “I’m sorry.”

  “Not your fault.” Hamish worried at the label on the bottle. “There are days when I think I’ll never find peace again. And then I feel guilty because my brother will never have that option.”

  She sucked in a breath at his stark honesty. “Are you okay?”

  “I will be.”

  Her fingers squeezed his fist in commiseration.

  The bartender placed her French fries in front of her with a thud, breaking the intense moment, and Hamish turned back to his beer.

  “Who were you on the phone with?”

  “Kita.”

  “Ah yes, we met in your office.” He smirked for a moment, and she wondered what he found so funny. “She’s quite the handful.”

  “She’s taken.”

  “Just an observation, love.” He raised a dark eyebrow as if to say can we get back on task? “She hasn’t heard from your partner?”

  She hesitated. “No.”

  His intensity was compelling. “Has it occurred to you that he’s with her. Maybe he’s her accomplice.”

  Jill stiffened. No way would Marsh aid a criminal. He’d been raised in a household that revered the law. His father was a federal judge. And while Judge Robert “Call Me Bobby” Adams was a sexist jerk, he had instilled a strong sense of right and wrong in Marsh.

  Of course, Marsh hated his father.

  “She’s attractive and she uses it.” He spoke of Beatrice.

  “He isn’t one to be influenced by a pretty face.”

  “We’re all susceptible sometimes,” Hamish countered. “He wouldn’t be the first to fall under her charms.”

  “Not an option.” She gritted out.

  “How sure are you?”

  “Very.” But his persistence sparked a niggle of doubt. Jill had let Marsh handle this case. He’d obviously been attracted to Beatrice. She was pretty sure they’d been having sex.

  She’d even asked him about having to let Beatrice go when it was time to place her and leave. Marsh had assured her that he had it under control and Jill had believed him.

  She’d been wrapped up in damage control from the shooting incident with the Russians earlier in the year. They’d taken on more pure PR clients just to quell the suspicion and the secrecy that had surrounded that clusterfuck.

  And she would be absolutely, positively sure of her partner except for two large glaring questions. Why had Marsh taken the file? And why had he disappeared?

  “What’s wrong?” Hamish asked.

  “Nothing.” Jillian dredged her French fries through the mayonnaise. If she had been alone, she would have slumped and propped her chin on one fist. But because the Scottish Hottie—thank you Kita for planting that one in my brain—was right next to her, she refused to show any weakness. But a wave of self-pity rolled over her. “You certainly don’t need to sit here with me.” Her back ached with the rigidness of her muscles.

  “I’ll walk you to your hotel when you’re done.”

  “You don’t have to do that.” She was a big girl, she cou
ld take care of herself.

  “A gentleman walks a lady home.”

  “Who says I’m a lady?”

  His quick grin caused a flutter deep in her belly. Jesus, he was cute. He had broad shoulders, thick thighs, corded forearms, and shoulders that could hold up the world, or keep it at bay.

  She was tempted. Disillusioned and disappointed by one of her oldest friends. Marsh, where the hell are you? Jill shoved off the bar stool. “Can you watch my stuff for a second?”

  “Happy to.”

  She hustled to the bathroom, furtively pulling her phone from her large bag. Once she was in the small space on the second floor that doubled as a storage closet for toilet paper, paper towels, and other paper goods, she quickly dialed Marsh’s cell number.

  Jill wanted her old friend to answer. To reassure her that the traitorous thoughts running through her brain were all figments of an imagination gone too long without seeing him. But his phone just rang and rang. Finally, the answering message kicked on. “You’ve reached Marsh. Leave a message.”

  Her shoulders slumped and she wondered how much longer she could go on making excuses for him.

  “Marsh,” she whispered. “I need you to get in touch with me. There’s a guy here asking about Beatrice, asking about you. And I’ve run out of things to stall him with.” Jill paused, waited, and then whispered. “I’m losing my faith.”

  Shit. Guilt swamped her. They had been friends for what felt like forever. They had had each other’s backs. Gone through crazy times together. But it seemed like every time Hamish Ballard opened his mouth, Jill had more questions and no answers.

  She made her way slowly back down the stairs and headed toward the bar to settle her bill.

  She slid onto the bar stool and gestured to the bartender. “Check, please.”

  Hamish frowned at her. “Aren’t you going to finish your dinner?”

  She looked down at the food, the grease from the fries congealing in her stomach. Even the fresh salad no longer looked tempting. “Not hungry.”

  The bartender placed a check on the counter and she pulled out her black credit card. This trip was off the books and she was using her own personal card. No way did she want any of this tied to Adams-Larsen.

  Hamish Ballard was watching her with a puzzled expression. His intense regard unsettled and annoyed her. If they had met under different circumstances, she might have asked him out for a drink. But right now all those unspoken and hidden secrets made that impossible.

  She quickly settled the bill and gathered her bag and coat.

  “Where are you staying?” He crooked a brow at her.

  “As if you didn’t know.”

  “Right then.” Hamish nodded. “Let me walk you back.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “But I want to.”

  “Seriously, you don’t.”

  “The way I see it. We have two options. One: I can escort you back your hotel and we can converse like two mature adults.”

  “Or?”

  “Or two: you can walk to your hotel and I will skulk along behind you, making sure that you arrive safely.”

  “Skulk?” For some reason, that amused her.

  “In a nonthreatening manner, of course.”

  She laughed, just a little. “Of course.”

  “Now, are you going to let me escort you or do I have to follow you like some creeper?”

  She would admit, only to herself, that she wanted him to escort her. Her feet hurt. Her stomach was still rumbling. And her heart was heavy with all the doubts and questions surrounding her old friend.

  Hamish could tell he had her. He crooked his elbow and waited for her to thread her hand through it.

  “Escort it is.”

  “Shall we, milady?”

  And that was how she ended up walking back to her hotel with him.

  Jill had valeted her car at the hotel and left her bag with the bell captain earlier. She wasn’t even sure what had compelled her out into the streets of Philadelphia. The logical choice would have been to check in and order room service. Instead, she’d wandered to the pub.

  The walk was quick, only about ten minutes. Once they got to the lobby, Hamish Ballard disappeared with a courtly bow.

  She would admit that she had sort of been hoping he would stick around. Okay, truth to tell, she craved his company.

  She watched him saunter out the exit doors and then turned her attention to the young man behind the front desk. After she checked in, she headed toward the mirrored elevator tucked away in the corner.

  While she was waiting for the elevator. Hamish appeared again.

  “Now you’re skulking?”

  “Of course not. I’m staying here as well.” He held up a paper bag gripped in one fist. “Nightcap?”

  Jill was tired. Really tired. And discouraged and wondering what had happened to her world. The very last person she should have a drink with was Hamish Ballard. Once upon a time she had been bold, fearless, vibrant. But lately her identity had been shaken by the loss of her foundation. She knew he wanted things from her. She knew he believed Marsh was guilty of something. And suddenly she was pissed at Marsh. Would it have been so difficult for him to drop a quick text? To just freaking reassure her that he was still there, that he hadn’t abandoned her and their company?

  Screw it. “I’d love to.”

  “Really?”

  Ha. She had done the unexpected. And it felt damn good. “You turning me down?”

  “Never.” The air around them shimmered with tension as his gaze swept over her lingering on her mouth. He vowed, “I will always say yes.”

  Chapter 9

  The elevator dinged announcing the car’s arrival.

  “Into the lift with you.” He punched the button for the same floor as her room. Jill could give him a hard time or she could let it go. And because she wanted a drink and some company and maybe a flirty conversation, she didn’t give him a hard time.

  After dumping her bag and briefcase in her room, which conveniently or coincidentally was just down the hall from his, she headed to Hamish Ballard’s hotel room. Maybe this was a bad idea. And she certainly didn’t want him in her room. This way she could leave whenever she wanted.

  Jill knocked on the door, banged really.

  He opened it so quickly he must have been hovering, waiting. “I thought you might change your mind.”

  “I considered it.” But here she was.

  He unscrewed the cap of the bottle of Balvenie 17 and poured a generous inch and a half into two water glasses. He handed her a glass, then lifted his and clinked them together. “Here’s to justice.”

  She wondered if this was some new tactic. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

  “Certainly not,” Hamish said. “But I would like to get to know you better.”

  “Why?” Jill blurted out rather ungraciously. She watched him, and he was getting ready to spin a lie. “Don’t.”

  “Okay, pure honesty. You’re an attractive woman.” Hamish took a sip of his whisky, clearly savoring the burn. “Under other circumstances, in another time and place, I would ask you out.”

  A sense of loss shimmered in front of her. Because there was no other time and place, “There’s only now.”

  “Let’s pretend…that we met while I was on holiday.”

  She wanted to draw out this mellow truce between them so she smiled. “Okay.” She took another sip, the rich-bodied liquor burning all the way down.

  “So what’s the one thing I shouldn’t miss in this fair city of Philadelphia?”

  “Liberty Bell. Independence Hall. Oh, here’s a good one, the haunted prison, Eastern State Penitentiary.”

  “So my choices are symbols of you Yanks and your successful disentanglement from the Crown—” he laughed just a bit “—or the prison where said Crown would toss you if they found out you were plotting against them.”

  “All good points.” She smiled. “But good reasons to visit
here.”

  Hamish sobered. “I’ve only one reason to be here.” He took a gulp of the expensive scotch.

  Since he brought it up, rather than keep it light, she asked the question that had been lingering in her mind. “How did your brother become addicted?”

  And there was a way to stop the conversation dead.

  He hung his head, avoiding her gaze.

  “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “He…played rugby.” Hamish circled his glass, watching the liquid swirl. “Got injured when he was tackled, needed knee surgery, got hooked on painkillers, and when the doctor quit prescribing them, he looked for less legal ways to numb his pain.”

  Jill’s heart clenched. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s a sad, familiar story.”

  “It doesn’t make it any less tragic.” She wanted to wrap her arms around him and give him peace. That urge took her by surprise. She wasn’t what you’d call a warm, fuzzy person. She tended to be fairly matter-of-fact. Sometimes life sucked, and then you moved on. But she found she wanted to comfort him.

  But she held back.

  “There’s shame, you see.” Hamish studied his glass, his eyes sad. “A moral failing, that’s what most people think about drugs and addiction.” He tipped up his glass and finished it off.

  She didn’t know what to say so she just kept quiet and took a sip of the liquor savoring the sweet notes of vanilla and winter spice.

  “‘Just don’t start,’ people say. My brother—” he paused “—didn’t want to admit to our family that he was hooked.” He rubbed his blunt-tipped fingers over his face down his cheeks and mouth, holding his hand over his lips as if by stopping what he was going to say, he could stop what had happened. “I didn’t even have any fucking idea that he had relapsed.”

  “I’m sorry.” She wanted to comfort him but wasn’t sure how. Besides, why would he even want comfort from her?

  “He had done his stint at the NHS facility. And it didn’t take. So he’d gone to a private facility in Ireland.”

  Jill kept quiet, letting him talk.