“What now, Officer Ballard?” Fiona Thomas, Hamish Ballard’s boss at the National Crime Agency, let out a long-suffering sigh.
“I was able to trace Brianna Walsh to America.” Hamish leaned forward, perched on the edge of the uncomfortable chair across from his supervisor, as if he could will her to get excited about his success. He had exhausted all his leads on the woman responsible for his brother’s death. Until today. Finally, one of his connections at MI5 had managed to give him highly classified information about Brianna. Her last known contact was at some public relations firm, Adams-Larsen Inc. and Associates, in Washington, DC. “She’s using the name Beatrice Winter. I want to go—”
“You’ve got to let go of this obsession.” She put her head in her hands.
Brianna Walsh needed to pay. And she needed to be stopped before more people died. “But—”
“No more. If you keep pursuing information about Brianna Walsh, your job is in jeopardy.”
He kept his mouth shut but his expression must have given him away. Family was everything. He’d been raised to stick together. He’d forgotten that lesson for a while. But he would never forget again. Blood, family was everything—even in death, blood prevailed.
“Do you understand?” she pressed.
He didn’t answer.
Couldn’t answer. The rage and frustration that had fueled him for the past year had only grown after it seemed as if Brianna had just…vanished.
“Aye, ma’am.” Hamish Ballard stood in front of his boss’s desk like a little kid in front of the headmaster and nodded while he lied through his teeth.
“Go on holiday for a week and get your head on straight. When you come back, I don’t want to hear anything else about the Walsh family. Her father and brothers are in prison. The rest of their empire is in disarray. The Walsh cousins are impotent and ineffective without them. Brianna served the Crown with her testimony. Leave. Off. Full stop.”
Hamish had no intention of dropping his quest for justice. He hadn’t been there for his brother in life, he wasn’t about to abandon him in death. “Aye, ma’am.”
“Get on with your fuckin’ life, Ham.”
He left the office…and headed to the airport.
He’d find his answers in America. In Washington, DC. At a public relations firm of all things.
He had one week to find Brianna Walsh. No fucking way was he letting this—her—go.