by Lisa Hughey
Hamish started to throw on his clothes, determined to follow Jillian. But with each piece of clothing he put on, kind of like putting on armor, he realized that he should just let her go. She needed a little time to cool down. Because clearly he had nothing to do with the break-in at her office.
He also wanted to spend a few more hours in Philadelphia. Something Jillian said last night had sparked his thought process. He knew that Brianna had been in Philadelphia and he knew she had been close by. He had gone into an Irish pub for a little taste of home. Maybe she had the same impulse. So he packed up his things, checked his bag with the bell captain and headed back to Murphy’s pub.
Hamish walked into the pub, the dark interior warm and welcoming, and evoking memories of his favorite pub back home. He sat down at the bar and smiled at the bartender from last night.
“You’re here again?” Hamish asked.
“Family owned. We all work long hours.” He shrugged. “Same as yesterday?” the bartender asked, grabbing a bottle of Smithwick’s and getting ready to pop it open.
“You’ve a good memory.”
“Pays to remember your customers’ preferences.”
“True. But I was only in here once.”
“I never forget a face.”
Could it really be that easy? Hamish nodded. “Actually today I’ll take a Guinness.”
Going on a hunch, he reached into his satchel and pulled out a photograph of Brianna. “Has she ever been in here?” He held the picture of Brianna toward the bartender.
The guy set his Guinness on the bar, the head of foam a perfect pour. He reached out his hand and Hamish placed the picture in it. The guy held it up to his face. “She does look familiar.” He squinted at the picture for longer. “Okay, yes. But she had brown hair when she was here.”
“Do you recollect how long ago she was here?” Hamish’s blood quickened, and his heart began a rapid tattoo. This guy had actually seen Brianna in this bar. This felt like a big step forward.
“Would’ve been in the summer. She was always wearing dresses. She had a very nice baps.” The guy gestured to his chest. Brianna Walsh was very well endowed.
“Did she have an accent?”
“Not a strong one, but there were hints.”
“So, she came in more than once?” Hamish considered that. Brianna had a weakness. A longing for home.
“She was here every day for about a week.” The bartender propped his elbow on the bar, settled his chin on his fist. He sighed. “And then one day she said goodbye.”
Hamish sat up straight in in his bar stool. “Did she say where she was going?”
“North. She sat in the corner with her Bulmers Pear Cider and a train schedule on the counter.”
Hamish wondered how personal he could get, then figured fuck it. He needed to know where she went. “Don’t suppose you know where she was going?”
The bartender narrowed his gaze at Hamish. “You seem like a nice enough bloke, but how do I know you don’t mean her harm?”
“You are right.” And he couldn’t lie because the truth was he wanted her in prison for her crimes. He wanted her to pay for killing his brother. Even if she hadn’t shoved the needle into his brother’s arm, she had given him the means to overdose. “Hate to break it to you, mate. But she’s a criminal.”
The bartender raised his eyebrows. “Seriously?”
“Yep. I’ve been tracking her from the UK.”
“Well, isn’t that a kick in the pants.” The bartender shook his head. “You could be lying.”
“I could be. But I’m not.” He flipped open his wallet and showed the bartender his warrant card that identified him as an NCA officer and included his picture.
“Ballard? I thought you looked familiar.” He glanced at the television, where yet another rugby game was playing.
A pang of grief hit Hamish.
“You’re the spitting image of Charlie—”
“Twins,” Hamish said abruptly.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” He spoke the simple words quietly.
Hamish nodded. “Thanks.”
The bartender cleared his throat and nodded at the picture. “I don’t know exactly where she was going, but she seemed to be looking at train schedules from Philadelphia to Portland, Maine.” The bartender wiped the already clean bar in rough circles as if deep in thought. Brianna could do that to a man…or a woman.
Hamish tossed down twenty US on the bar and stood to leave. “Thank you for your help.”
His hunch had paid off. He now knew that Brianna had left Philadelphia after being here a week and she had headed north. But when he pulled up the Amtrak train schedules on his mobile, he realized there was a lot of territory between Portland and Philadelphia. And she could have stopped at any of those towns. But it was a step in the right direction.
His first thought, his first instinct, was to call Jillian and fill her in. Except she wanted nothing to do with him. And she still wanted to believe that her partner wasn’t guilty of colluding with Brianna.
But Hamish understood that Brianna was a user. She used her sexuality and her acting skills to convince people to help her.
She was also memorable. Not the smartest move when on the run.
Which meant that he had to speak with Jillian again, even if she wanted nothing to do with him. And he wanted to share the information he’d just gotten.
Because he was going to need her resources to find Brianna. And he hadn’t told her everything.
Chapter 11
Hamish headed to the train station. Yes, it was a long shot but at this point he didn’t have any other leads to go on.
His mobile rang and the number looked to be from the Washington, DC area. It wasn’t Jillian’s cell but still his pulse quickened. Maybe she had changed her mind and decided she could work with him.
He answered quickly. “Hamish Ballard.”
“Hello, Mr. Ballard, it’s your hostess.”
His level of disappointment was disproportionate to his hope. He should’ve known better.
“Aye. What can I do for you?”
“Are you on your way back to the city?”
He had kept the rental since he wasn’t sure how long he would be in Philadelphia, but he had notified his hostess that he wouldn’t be there for a day or two. “No. I’m sorry, I am still in Philadelphia.”
“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.”
“What seems to be the problem?”
“I’m sorry to inform you that there’s been a break-in.” His temporary landlady let out a sob. “The cops need to ask you some questions.”
The American police. Not what he wanted to hear and not the best news. “I didn’t leave much there….”
He trailed off. He had brought his clothing with him to Philadelphia. However, the recording equipment for the listening device that he’d placed in Jillian’s office was there.
“They really need to speak with you.”
Hamish thought quickly. There’d been a break-in at Jillian’s office. And there’d been a break-in at his Airbnb. Could the two be connected?
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Several hours later Hamish surveyed the destruction of his rented flat. Several small things stuck out at once. One: his recording equipment was gone. That could be attributed to a general theft. Two: much of the flat’s furnishings had also been destroyed.
“Can you tell me if anything is missing?” The young constable asked Hamish. And no, he bloody well couldn’t share with the local police that his illegal surveillance devices had gone missing.
Hamish glanced around the apartment. “I’d only been here a couple of nights.” His gaze took in the rage evident in the trashed parlor.
“Can you tell me you’ve been over the past twenty-four hours?”
Hamish was so busy calculating odds in his head, it took him a moment to process what the constable was asking
“Am I a suspect, then?” He shook his head.
> “I’m just trying to rule out the obvious.”
“I am an officer at the National Crime Agency here on holiday.” But Hamish quickly realized that he certainly did not want his boss to verify his occupation because then she would know that he had disobeyed a direct order and come to the United States. “And I was in Philadelphia.”
“Can anyone verify your story?”
Jillian Larsen could. Hamish rubbed his fingers over his right eyebrow over the small cut from Marsh’s closet door. “Aye.”
“Name and phone number?”
Hamish sighed. He had no other choice. Then another thought struck him. What if she hadn’t removed the bug? Whoever had stolen his equipment could be listening to her right now.
He rattled off Jillian’s name and her mobile number, which he’d fortunately memorized.
She’d had a break-in at her office. And she’d planned to go there as soon as she got back to DC. What if she’d been attacked once she arrived?
The officer quickly punched in her number. He stared steadily at Hamish as the mobile rang on the other end.
“This is Jillian.”
When Hamish heard her voice, his tension eased and he let out the breath he’d been holding.
After a few questions, the cop nodded and got ready to hang up the phone. Hamish’s mind had been ticking along as he listened to the cop ask her the same questions and catalogued her answers.
He finally nodded sharply. “Your story checks out.”
Of course it did. But Hamish kept his expression calm and polite. No need to piss off the police officer.
“Wait. Before you hang up, can I speak with her?”
The constable hesitated, then nodded. “Mr. Ballard would like to speak with you.”
Hamish waited. With Jillian, he never knew what her response would be. The constable studied him for another second and then handed Hamish his mobile.
“We need to talk,” Hamish said to Jillian. “Immediately.”
“I’m dealing with some things here right now. It isn’t a good time.”
Hamish huffed out a breath. “It really can’t wait.” She started to object again but he had learned his lesson. Instead of trying to convince her, he hung up the phone and handed it back to the police officer. “Thank you for your time and the use of your mobile.”
“Good luck,” the cop said. “That was one pissed-off woman.”
The cop had no idea.
“Are we done here?”
“For now.”
Hamish nodded. “Then I’m free to go?”
The constable agreed. “You’re free to go, but if you recall anything, any information that might help us determine who did this, please call me.” He handed Hamish his card.
Hamish headed for the ALIAS office at a run.
He made it down the street in record time. When he got to the understated brownstone, he rushed up the steps and pressed the video doorbell.
A disembodied voice said, “We’re not open for business.” Not Jill.
“I need to see Jillian.” He needed to see her. See for himself that she was okay. He knew the need was irrational. He knew it and still no fucking way was he backing down. The constable had just talked to her and he was mostly sure she was still at her office.
“Come back tomorrow during regular business hours.”
He wasn’t waiting until Monday morning to confirm that she was okay and hadn’t been harmed. Hamish pressed the button again.
“Jillian, I know you’re in there.” He wanted to pound his fist in frustration at the doorjamb. Instead, he closed his eyes, drew a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Listen, Mac, I need to speak to Jillian.”
Another longer pause.
The door buzzed. “Come through the hallway to the back entrance.” Her voice. Thank Christ. He grabbed for the door handle, yanking the heavy wood door open quickly, just in case she changed her mind.
Hamish made sure the door closed behind him before he rushed through to the back of the building. He zipped past the workout room, another door he still wasn’t sure where it led to, and the former formal dining room that seemed to be set up as a conference room now. When he got to the other side of the building, he finally saw her. That tension that gripped him when he had realized their break-ins were likely connected eased slightly. She was okay.
Other things registered once his irrational fear dissipated. The large black guy with a trimmed Afro and hazel eyes looked up from where he was bent over Jillian. They were very close. Hamish didn’t like how close together they were. The territorial feelings zooming through him were unexpected. One night together didn’t grant him any rights and yet he still didn’t like the implied intimacy.
He didn’t have a possessive bone in his body. He was all about the pleasure and not about the aftermath. He’d had his eye on bigger fish than bagging a girl. He’d wanted to move up the ranks at the National Crime Agency, and to do that he had been unwilling to be encumbered by a wife.
He’d always figured he’d get married after he got his career goals out of the way.
He had also thought that he and his fictional girl would spend holidays at his family’s home along with his brother.
If life had taught him anything, it was that you had to seize moments when you could.
When the black bloke saw him, he straightened and narrowed his gaze. “Are you sure you want to let him in?”
Jillian placed her hand on the guy’s forearm. Those inappropriate and unexpected very territorial thoughts rose again.
“It’s fine, Jake,” she said huskily.
Hamish wanted to pry her fingers off the very buff man’s arm.
They had already placed plywood over the broken glass in the vestibule. But Hamish could see the cracks in the doorjamb. Splinters of stained wood littered the floor as if whoever had tried to get in was enraged.
Kind of like the destruction at his flat. “We need to talk.”
Jillian flicked her gaze to the black guy. “We’ll be done in a second.”
“You want me to wait in your office?”
“Absolutely not. I want you where I can see you at all times.”
“Quite right.” Hamish tried not to let his disappointment show. She didn’t trust him. “Anything I can do to help?”
“We’re almost done here.”
They put up yellow caution tape while Hamish twiddled his thumbs and covertly studied the easy camaraderie between Jillian and her employee.
“You want me to stick around?” His deep voice rumbled in the silence between Hamish and Jillian.
“He’s harmless.” Jill smiled softly at the guy and Hamish wanted to punch him in the face. “Thanks for coming in on a Sunday to help take care of this. If you could wait until we’re done, that would be optimal.”
“Any time, Jill.” Jake hesitated once more. “You know I’ve got your back.”
“Thank you.”
He shot one more cautionary look at Hamish. “I’ll stay on overwatch.”
“What was so important that it couldn’t wait?” Jillian rolled her eyes at him.
“In your office.” Hamish wasn’t sharing this information with anyone but her.
Jillian shrugged. “Let’s go.”
They headed up the grand staircase to her office. She opened the door to her office and Hamish held up a finger to tell her to be quiet.
“Now, what’s so important—”
He should have known she wouldn’t listen to his directive. So he stopped her the only way he could think of at that moment.
He pressed his mouth to hers. Initially it was just to stop Jillian from giving anything away in case whoever broke into his flat was listening.
But the moment that his lips met hers, the desperate move changed into something more primal. She was okay. He poured all the relief and thanks and emotion that had torn through him when he’d been worried about her into their kiss.
And she must have forgotten that she was pissed at him becaus
e she kissed him right back.
She moaned softly, bringing Hamish back. He didn’t want anyone hearing those sounds except him. He pulled away gently and whispered in her ear. “Bugs. Someone stole my listening equipment. Worried it’s the same perps. Shh.”
The hazy look in her gray eyes cleared and she nodded.
Hamish stalked toward her desk. He leaned over and searched for the small bug that he’d placed there, was it only two days ago?
He ran his fingers along the underside of the desk but the device was gone. He crouched down and double-checked in case he’d somehow missed it. But it definitely wasn’t there any longer.
She’d had it removed. Hopefully, they’d found the other as well.
Hamish went over to the small seating area and searched for the bug he’d put underneath the coffee table. He triple-checked to make sure he didn’t miss it, crouching underneath and lighting up the flashlight app on his phone. But it was gone.
He climbed to his feet slowly. His relief was a physical thing as the panic that had gripped him dissipated. “What did you do with them?”
She grinned evilly. “Flushed.”
He winced. Those had set him back. But it was still worth it if he found Brianna Walsh. “Seriously?”
The daze from their kiss had worn off. Except thank Christ she’d had them removed.
“Someone ransacked my flat and stole my recording equipment.” He gestured to the office. “Clearly they figured out either from following me or from the recording equipment who I was listening to.”
Jill opened her mouth.
Hamish held up his hand again. “They tried to break into your office. You need to leave. Straightaway.”
But she didn’t make any attempt to move. “Who are they?”
“I have no bloody idea.”
“You’re making assumptions.” Jillian crossed her arms over her chest, the posture defensive and he wondered what was going on in that complicated head of hers.
“I’d rather assume and be wrong than ignore the facts in front of us,” he shot back.