by Lisa Hughey
She was a means to an end, nothing more.
Chapter 4
The lump on Hamish’s head was turning purple, and a small smear of blood lingered over his eyebrow.
Jill winced mentally. Oops.
Protect ALIAS at all costs. But to protect Adams-Larsen she needed to find her partner.
She retrieved a dishtowel from one of the kitchen drawers, one she’d given Marsh if she wasn’t mistaken, and dampened half of it so she could clean him up. Because she couldn’t stand to see that trickle of blood on his face.
She didn’t trust him. But she needed to use him and his information about Beatrice.
However Jill couldn’t appear too eager to collaborate with Hamish. He’d suspect she was up to something. That was part of the reason she’d been so flippant a second ago. She wanted him off that line of questioning.
She wanted to do some more digging into Beatrice and the missing money and every other thing that suddenly seemed off about their client.
Her first responsibility was to the client, second, the agency. But if Hamish Ballard was telling the truth, then their client had fraudulently represented herself and she might even be guilty of bigger crimes, potentially stealing the money from the drug rehab centers.
If they had inadvertently helped a criminal evade justice, she would be first in line to take the woman down. But quietly.
Hamish Ballard sat at the small table, his elbow on the edge. He blinked when she flipped on the light hanging over the clear glass tabletop.
She peered at his lump and then wiped at the small smear of blood, her touch gentle. His shoulders loosened, rounded, and his eyes drifted shut.
And Jill was suddenly aware of his shoulders. Wide and bulky, they filled the space between her and the table. He wasn’t particularly tall, but his broad chest and solid form were a somehow comforting presence.
When she stepped closer, her body responded to his. Her pulse tripped at his nearness. Goose bumps cascaded over her skin at the soft puff of his breath against her neck. The air between them heated, thickened.
Jill inhaled, trying to ignore their sizzling attraction even as her body overruled her brain. If her hormones were in charge, she’d be jumping him right now.
She sighed. Because that wasn’t going to happen.
His eyes opened, the blue darkening to a sexy navy. He grabbed her wrist as she bent over.
“What are you doing?’ His fingers were firm around her wrist, not too tight but unyielding.
His scent heated the chilly air. Pine—like the aroma of Christmas, holidays, and the longing for family—surrounded her. She shoved away that fanciful thought. Jillian Larsen didn’t do fanciful.
She was tough, formidable, not the type of woman who emanated softness. She’d had years to perfect her outer shell. She took no shit and she followed her own code.
She stared at his fingers around her wrist.
Grown men quivered in fear when she turned her assessing stare on them.
Just because she’d been tried and convicted in the court of public opinion about her conduct when she’d left the Marshals didn’t mean that she’d dropped her standards. She’d been raised to have an unshakeable core of ethics and a strong moral compass. And she hadn’t deviated off course.
“Cleaning you up.” Her voice was even and seemingly unaffected, but it took work.
Completely out of character for her. She didn’t have a nurturing bone in her body, and she figured adults could take care of themselves. But she had the overwhelming urge to tend to him.
“You’re taking care of me?”
“Yes,” she said through gritted teeth. “Is that so strange?”
“You don’t seem like the type.”
Yeah, she wasn’t. She tossed the bloodied fabric at him. “Then you do it.”
He snatched the dishtowel out of the air before the rag could hit him in the face.
“I didn’t mean….”
Yes, she was annoyed. She had no idea why, but it was fine. She didn’t need to be acting out of character here.
She was just out of sorts with Marsh gone. She didn’t like how the loss of her safety net made her vulnerable. And annoyed as hell—she’d just given away a crucial piece of information. No one rattled her. But within the span of a few minutes Hamish Ballard had gotten her to reveal that she knew Beatrice’s skill set. Dammit. Hopefully he had missed her flub. But she didn’t have faith that he was that unobservant.
She inhaled harshly.
His gaze dipped to her chest. Lingered.
That was one way to distract him from his line of questioning.
But that move backfired on her as Jill’s body reacted without her permission. Again. Her nipples tightened, probably visible beneath her cream silk blouse. She pressed her lips together. This attraction was inconvenient.
“Sure doesn’t feel like anyone has been here in a while.” The apartment had a musty, unoccupied air.
“I told you he’s on sabbatical,” she gritted out.
He let go of her wrist and she breathed a sigh of relief.
He rubbed his hands together like an old-fashioned villain. “Could he be working with a…client?”
“None of your business.”
“Maybe he took on Brianna Walsh on the side.” He was trying to give her an out. A way to pretend that she didn’t know anything about Beatrice.
But she didn’t jump at the opportunity. “No. We are equal partners. We don’t take on clients without a major consultation and agreement from our staff. Some public relations problems don’t fit our model and we refer them if we can’t help.”
“So then what were you doing here? Looking for files?” Hamish prodded.
“We don’t take any information out of our office. Our files are secure,” she growled. Ugh. He wasn’t going to give up. And she needed to formulate a plan to deal with Hamish Ballard. Normally she’d come up with something on the fly, but nothing was normal about today and she needed to regroup and attack this again tomorrow.
“Let’s meet in the morning at ten.” She needed to get away from him. Think. Plan. Come up with a way to find Beatrice and maybe Marsh? Before the blowhard.
And tomorrow at ten, she’d be conveniently out of the office to meet with Dee. She’d have Kita take the meeting and stall him.
In the past few minutes, they’d somehow drifted closer to each other, like metal shavings to a magnet. All the little pieces of her gravitated toward him.
Jill shoved out her hand to create some distance between them. “Truce?”
When he took it, that jolt didn’t surprise her quite so much. She managed to portray cool and collected.
He stared at her as if he knew she had no intention of working with him. “Sure.”
A wave of exhaustion rolled over his face. He suddenly looked bone-deep tired. She could literally see him sway on his feet. “You okay?”
“Aye.” He rubbed his blunt-tipped fingers over his face and blinked hard. “Been awake for a few hours over the day mark. Need a little sleep.”
“Tomorrow then?”
He hesitated. “Aye.”
That soft brogue rolled through her like a lover in the dark, tempting her with things she couldn’t have and had no business wanting. She had all night to get her hormones under control.
Still it was a good thing she’d be out tomorrow when he came calling.
Chapter 5
Jillian Larsen was a fraud.
She’d thrown out that ten a.m. meeting time knowing full well she already had an appointment scheduled across town. And Hamish had no intention of letting her get the jump on him this morning. He’d done recon on the ALIAS building and grounds and identified that her most likely entrance to the building was the small parking lot in the back whether she drove or took a taxi to the office. He’d gotten takeaway, an Americano for her and a cuppa for him, and sat on the brick stoop leading to the back door of the building.
He had spent the night listen
ing to the transmission from the bug for any movement in her office in case she went back without him. Okay, and maybe dozing because he was tired AF.
At half six in the morning a sleek, sparkling, pearl-white Tesla zipped into the small lot. The frigid morning air nipped at his skin. Steam rose from the paper cups and the hot liquids warmed his palms. She swung out of her car and strode confidently toward the door.
Hamish knew the exact moment she saw him. The slight hitch in her stride and the pinch of her red glossy lips gave away her surprise and annoyance.
She wore a trim wool peacoat in a red that matched her lips, shiny black patent pumps, and a tight skirt that cupped her spectacular arse and ended just below her knees revealing slender muscular calves. Her blond hair was pulled tight into an austere knot at the base of her skull. The severe style showcased her sharp cheekbones and highlighted her classic beauty. He mentally cursed his body as his cock thickened.
She was totally peng. Buttoned up and serious but gorgeous. A glamorous executive with a quick intellect and nothing like what he had expected. She hadn’t hesitated to defend herself last night. And he would admit that he’d lain awake reliving the moments when she’d cleaned the cut on his forehead, her soft breath on his face and the lush curves of her breasts at his eye level.
His body hadn’t gotten the message that she was off limits, and his brain needed to get on board. In many ways she was similar to Brianna Walsh, who wore glamour like a shield with a bombshell body and generous womanly curves. But Brianna’s beauty hid an evil soul.
He wasn’t sure what Jillian’s mask guarded but he would love to find out. If only he had the time.
“Good morning.” He smiled broadly.
Her lips tightened in a parody of a smile. Even this early she was perfectly together, but pale beneath the flawless makeup. She appeared to have gotten as much sleep as he had.
“You’re up early,” she said.
“Eager to get a jump on the day.”
She raised an eyebrow.
So he lied. “Time difference. Been up for hours.” That was the truth. And his thoughts hadn’t all been about Brianna.
She jangled her keys in her hand.
Ten o’clock, my arse.
He had been correct to arrive early. Hamish was ready to convince her to share her information about Brianna. He wasn’t going to be left behind. This fake truce she’d proposed last night was just that. Fake.
And he had no intention of giving up.
Last night he’d gone over his files on Brianna. Then he’d dug into Jillian Larsen’s past again, reviewing his information about her final job and departure from the US Marshals. There was more to that story than what had been released. Why had no charges been filed against her? Ostensibly she was no longer working in the law enforcement community. Except she still had ties. That was clear.
However, being antagonistic wasn’t going to get him very far. So he’d decided to attempt to use his charm. “I brought you a coffee.”
She blinked. That had thrown her. “Thank you.”
She opened the door, multiple locks and a beeping alarm system. She angled her body and punched in an eight-digit code.
Hamish discreetly slipped his hand in his pocket and pressed the record button on his mobile. He would record the telltale sounds and try to recreate the sequence just in case. But when she placed her palm on a reader that slid out after the coded entry, he realized he was going to be out of luck.
Jill reached for the paper cup, and he held the carrier tightly so she could tug it out.
“I’ve got cream and sweetener.”
“Not necessary.” She blew on the hot liquid with pursed lips. He tried and failed to ignore her sexy red mouth. Then she tilted her head back, exposing the long slender curve of her neck as she closed her eyes and apparently had a religious experience with her morning beverage. The soft hum could be mistaken for many things including arousal. And dammit, his body reacted to her erotic moan.
What he’d like was to hear that sound while he was tasting her.
He cleared his throat.
“Needed that.” She sighed and her eyes drifted open, revealing a blurry dove gray. The sharp, take-no-prisoners business owner, protecting her partner and her contacts, had disappeared and in her place was a soft, pliable woman with a capital W. Up close he could see the faint blue shadows beneath her eyes and the fatigue that wasn’t quite disguised by her perfect makeup.
He wanted to soothe, to protect. Which okay sure that was usually his MO but not now and not with this woman. She had information that would help him find Brianna. And she was hiding it from him.
He couldn’t afford to feel sympathy for her. He needed the reminder that she was not his friend, nor would she be his lover.
“Let’s get started, shall we?”
She stiffened, the softness burning away. She led the way to her office, turning on the building’s lights as she went. The office was in an old brownstone, converted from a single family home into a comfortable and expensive work space.
He paid more attention this time as he followed behind her, taking in the Persian carpet, the reinforced steel doors, an open gym with free weights and pads and benches for serious weight lifting.
“You lift?”
“Everyone does daily PT.” Jill tacked on, “Including self-defense.”
He raised a brow and skimmed his gaze over her body. “Nice.”
He let the suggestive tone linger. He was drawn to her. He was pretty sure she was attracted too, and clearly she wasn’t opposed to getting involved with subjects in an active op, based on her history. Maybe that was the way to play this. Indicate his interest and see if she took the bait.
Hamish shoved away the feelings of guilt. He was going to use her. The means justified the end result if he could find Brianna and bring her to justice.
She shoved open the door to her office and then let it swing shut, the thick wood slab practically banging him in the face.
The door hit him with a thud. “Oof.”
“Not going to work.” She tossed over her shoulder as she carefully placed her sleek leather bag on the credenza behind her massive desk. “But nice try. The accent is…persuasive.”
Hamish gritted his teeth. Good to know she was immune. The acute sense of disappointment took him by surprise. And he’d admit, if only to himself, that perhaps the idea hadn’t been all ploy. But she’d never believe him.
“Well then, let’s get down to it.”
“Let’s.”
The door burst open. “Remind me never to drink with a Russian again!”
A petite Asian woman with a waterfall of long black hair barreled into the office, wearing spandex leggings and a loose tank top that bared her shoulders and ripped arms, and carrying a laptop like a football. “What the hell did you—” She stopped abruptly when she saw Hamish.
“Oh.” She began to back out of the room. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“Come on in, Kita.” Jill waved the woman in.
She continued to stare at Hamish with a suspicious gaze. And Jillian did nothing to dispel her blatant suspicion.
So Hamish stood. “Hamish Ballard.” He thrust out his hand.
“Kita Kim. My resident computer guru.” Jill introduced the woman.
Hamish blinked and likely did a piss poor job of hiding his surprise. Why had Jillian requested an early morning meeting with her computer specialist?
Jill smirked.
He shoved away his confusion and held out his hand. “How do you do.”
“Hamish is in town for information on a PR client.”
He barely held back a jolt. Yesterday she had denied even knowing Brianna. What was she up to?
“Is that so?” Kita plopped into on the crewel-embroidered wing chair. “And you think we can help you?”
“I hope so.” He turned on the charm, but he knew right away that this Kita would be immune. “Your agency worked with Beatrice Winter.”
“The America’s Recovery Centers case?” Kita didn’t move but she stiffened slightly. She glanced at Jillian as if waiting for permission. Hamish almost missed Jillian’s imperceptible nod. Kita rubbed at a bruise on her jaw. “We did some PR work, social media seeding for her, sure. But that was a few months ago.”
Hamish eyed Jillian. This was the first time that anyone had admitted that they had contact with Brianna. He raised his brows at her. So now you admit she’s a client?
She shrugged. “We protect our clients.”
He glanced between the two of them. “Were you aware that Beatrice Winter has disappeared?”
Her tension was subtle, and Jillian Larsen was giving her office mate a solid, inscrutable look.
Kita laughed. “Unlikely.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because no one truly disappears. They just mask their location.”
“Can you figure out where she is?”
“I’m assuming that if you can’t find her, she doesn’t want to be found.” Kita didn’t budge.
“Perhaps, but I need to speak with her.”
“Why?”
“She is wanted in the UK.”
“Doubtful,” Kita shot back.
This was getting annoying. “Why are you so sure?”
“The press would have glommed on to that tidbit if it were true. Journalists are vultures.”
“Unless the British government gave her perfect papers.”
Which fuck him, they had. She’d manipulated the authorities, the jury, and the judge into believing that she’d been forced to work in the family “business.” They’d believed her sob story after she’d testified against her mob family, even though she had been complicit in many of the illegal activities that her family had been convicted of.
Her sweet face and soft innocent façade had fooled everyone.
She was pure evil.
He clenched his hands into tight fists. They’d all been taken in by her appearance. Her charming sorrow and her insincere apologies for the sins of her family had been soaked up by everyone. Including him.
She’d managed to betray her family and get a new start in the US. And she might have gotten away with it if she’d stayed under the radar. Instead she had gotten involved in another criminal enterprise and screwed over her bosses yet again.