Black Jack (3 page)

reported and forwarded several anonymous e-mails he received requesting any known agents

she may have worked with.”

“That list is long,” Travis bit out, his voice cold. “Lilly Belle was trained for just such

work.”

“And it’s well documented within those agencies that she provided security as well as

contacts,” Jordan agreed. “But we believe her cover will hold.”

Travis nodded thoughtfully. He kept his anger contained for the moment and forced his

mind to consider the angles of this new, far more dangerous operation.

“How will I re-establish myself in her life?” he asked.

“Directly would be the most efficient,” Jordan said. “Her Elite Ops cover as a professional

escort will be in place. If anyone goes digging into the past six years, that’s what they’ll find.

We’ll also stick close to the truth about your past association with her—that you trained her.

But in addition to that, you were one of her more frequent clients, as well as her lover. That

should give you more than enough cover to get close to her. She’ll want to know about those

missing years. Who better to tell her about them than her lover, Travis Caine?”

Travis clenched his teeth and refrained from warning Jordan that this might not be as easy

as he and the others were assuming.

He knew Lilly. She would never accept that she had been a professional escort. She would

know better, and he fully expected she would eventually remember the truth. Lilly was too

stubborn not to remember.

“It’s as if you had this planned from the beginning. It’s laying in smooth as hell, isn’t it,

Jordan?” Travis mused sarcastically.

“Nothing about this has been smooth,” Jordan informed him. “You were the one who

rescued her that night. If you hadn’t been there, she would have died six years ago. It’s

unfortunate we weren’t fast enough to save Lord Harrington though or to identify the killers.”

Travis regretted that as well. And sometimes it shook him to think that it had been mere

luck that had saved Lilly’s life that night. He and Noah had been there hoping to steal the

information Lord Harrington was going to turn over to MI5.

“So is MI5 in on this?” Travis asked.

Jordan shook his head. “We’ve been involved with this one since the beginning and it

concerns one of our own agents, so they’re handing it over to us completely. Besides, you

know they’d prefer not to have to go after one of England’s most privileged themselves, and

that’s exactly where this thing is pointing.”

Jordan sighed. “As for Lilly, this is her chance to go home, Travis. We both know she’s

missed it, despite the fact that she never mentions it.”

“Even if she doesn’t belong there anymore?” Travis ran a hand through his hair.

“Yes,” Jordan said with a joyless smile, “even if.”

Travis paced to the large window, though he didn’t pull the curtain aside to stare into the

night beyond.

Lady Victoria Lillian Harrington.

Victoria Harrington had been quiet, filled with laughter, and as polite as hell. She had been

all woman, though.

He remembered dancing with her before his own “death.” He had been very married at the

time. He had also been very aware of his wife’s infidelities. He’d danced with Lilly and

fought his arousal as he saw the very innocent, very feminine hunger in her eyes. He’d seen

her regret, too, just as sharply as he had felt his own.

“Do you think it’s truly possible for her to go home after the life she’s lived the past six

years?” Travis mused. “She’s not that innocent, idealistic young woman any longer, Jordan.”

Was it really possible to return to innocence no matter the memories lost?

Jordan breathed out roughly at the question.

“Who knows?” He finally shrugged. “Either way, we have a mission to complete and a very

dangerous person to find. Lord Harrington was a very specialized, well-trained agent.

Whoever killed him knew what the hell they were doing.

“MI5 focused on the new lord. Desmond Harrington, Harold Harrington’s half-brother

from their father’s second marriage. He’s caretaker of the Harrington title now.”

“I’m surprised Lady Harrington remarried so quickly.” Travis knew Angelica as well. There

were few things that mattered as much to her as appearances did.

Jordan sat back in his chair and finished his beer before speaking. His expression was

thoughtful, suspicious.

“If she hadn’t, the title would have been lost to her son. If Desmond Harrington married

and had other children, Jared would have no chance of inheriting it.” He looked at Travis.

“Speaking of Angelica, it seems she tried to have Lilly sent to a psychiatric clinic in France to

cure her of obstinacy.”

Travis grimaced at the information. “It’s a very nasty but common occurrence in some of

the titled families,” he responded. “It’s kept quiet, considered a shameful secret, but highly

relied upon to control the actions and decisions of the younger generations.”

Jordan was staring at him as though he were crazed.

Travis sat down heavily on the bottom of the bed and stared back at his commander in

resignation. “Did you read my wife’s file?”

Jordan frowned. “There was nothing there about psychiatric problems or hospitalization.”

“There wouldn’t be,” Travis agreed. “It’s kept quiet, as I said. Very quiet. Even I was

unaware of Patricia’s ‘stay’ in France until after her death. It was then her father informed me

of her psychiatric problems. The fear of going back ensured that Patricia kept any activities

her father or I would disagree with carefully hidden.”

Not that Travis would have allowed her to be hospitalized again.

“Hell.” Jordan shook his head in amazement. “Will Lilly be at risk?”

Travis’s lips thinned. “It’s possible. If Lilly associates with Travis Caine, Lady Harrington

might try. However, when she discovers her daughter’s past as a paid escort, one day she may

simply disappear, and then we’ll be looking at a mess.”

Jordan’s expression hardened. “A mistake Lady Harrington doesn’t want to make.”

Travis’s smile was mocking. “Lady Harrington doesn’t make mistakes. She’s always right.

Always perfect. And she’ll be a pain in our collective asses.”

Hagerstown, Maryland

he was there again
.

Lady Victoria Lillian Harrington glanced out of the corner of her eye as she pretended to

survey the dresses in the shop window while she and her mother strolled down the crowded

sidewalk of historic Hagerstown, Maryland.

She could see him, there in her periphery, standing dangerous and tall, his gaze narrowed

on her, watching her with almost complete absorption.

She should be terrified. She should be fighting against the dark shadows, the terrors that

rose inside her at night and the visions that haunted her even when she was awake. He

brought to mind the one vision she couldn’t get away from even when she slept. The figure

standing by her bed, watching her with such intensity, holding her with gentleness and

compassion as agony screamed through her brain.

It was a vision her mother had sworn time and time again couldn’t have been real. It was

one she knew had to be real. It was too intense, the echo of that pain too agonizing.

She didn’t fight her mother over it, though. Lady Angelica Harrington was too determined,

too certain of herself and her own rules to admit she could be wrong.

Lilly rarely argued with her mother.

No, Lady Victoria Lillian Harrington rarely argued with her mother. But Lilly was finding it

harder and harder to keep from doing just that.

“Darling, you’re too quiet again.” Her mother reached out, her fingers trembling as they

still did whenever she touched her daughter, as though she couldn’t quite believe she was

there.

“Sorry, Mother, I was thinking about that dress.” Glancing back to where she had glimpsed

the aloof figure moments before, she felt disappointment tear through her.

He was gone. Dark blond hair, or was it light brown? Those eyes, what color were they?

she wondered as she turned back to the window of the shop. Brown. They had to be brown. A

raptor brown. Mixed with green. Intent and brooding. Eyes that could fire a woman’s arousal

and her imagination. Not to mention her confusion why she would know that.

“We could go in and try it on,” her mother urged her, the soft lilt of her English accent

drawing gazes from the couple that passed by them. “I’m certain it would look positively

gorgeous on you.”

Would it?

She looked beyond the dresses to the other attire the store offered. Jeans, close-fitting, and

shirts that would have her mother gasping in shock, she was certain. Not because they were

revealing, but because they were common. Her mother strictly detested whatever she believed

was common.

“Victoria, we could look at the dresses.”

Victoria.

She frowned at the image that greeted her in the glass.

She didn’t see Victoria there. She saw an unfamiliar image, a woman she was comfortable

with, yet those weren’t the features—the face, the eyes, or the hair—of the woman she’d been

before. Lady Victoria Lillian Harrington of the London Harringtons. She was related to

royalty, though admittedly, the kinship was a distant one at best. Still, she couldn’t quite

acclimate herself to who she knew she was, the person she knew she was supposed to be.

“Victoria.” Her mother’s voice echoed with exasperation now.

“I don’t think I need another dress, Mother,” she stated absently as she moved for the door

of the shop. “I see something else I might like, though.”

Where the hell was her British accent? She remembered having one. She remembered once

being proud of that accent. It didn’t exist now, though. Her voice was smooth and cultured,

but it lacked any accent, any inflection, that could have identified her as a member of any

particular country or indicated her social status.

“Victoria, you’re acting rather odd.” There was a note of fear in her mother’s voice as she

entered the shop and moved beyond the dresses.

Was she acting odd? She was sure as hell feeling damned odd, she thought, before a brief

moment of shock hit her. More and more often she found herself cursing. There were

moments it was all she could do to hold back the earthy vulgarity when she was talking.

“I’m fine, Mother,” she assured her again as they moved through the small store.

She was going to obey the dictates of what she wanted rather than what her mother would

consider acceptable. It was a dangerous urge to follow. At least, six years ago it would have

been.

And there they were. Snug, low-slung jeans. There were low boots made of soft, supple

leather on a stand beside them. Boots that looked sexy and stylish while being practical and

easy to run in. Which made her wonder. What would she be running from?

“Victoria, we’ve discussed this denim fetish you seem to have acquired,” her mother stated

worriedly as she moved closer and fingered the denim jeans. Tension seemed to thicken the

atmosphere. “Really, Victoria. The dresses are much nicer.”

Lilly had to clench her teeth in irritation.

Lilly, she thought. Her name shouldn’t be Victoria, she had always disliked being called

Victoria. She was Lilly. But she couldn’t recall a single time that her parents had called her

Lilly.

She was Lilly. Lilly . . . something. She tilted her head and stared at the material as she

rubbed the pocket between her thumb and forefinger. Lilly. Not Lady Victoria Lillian

Harrington. Not even Lilly Harrington. But who?

“Can I help you?” the saleslady asked just behind her.

“The jeans,” she told the red-head as she moved to where they hung. “I’d like to try these,

please, as well as the boots.” She moved to the boots and chose the correct size before

stepping to a particular rack of blouses.

“Oh my God, you wouldn’t dare! Victoria, Desmond would have a stroke if he caught you

dressed in such clothing.” Her mother was outraged, as she stared at the flat-heeled, sinfully

black leather over-the-knee boots and snug jeans.

No, it wasn’t Desmond who had a problem with the clothes. It was her mother. Angelica

Harrington demanded a certain image be presented at all times. Jeans did not fit that image,

nor were they allowed in her mother’s presence.

Ignoring her, Lilly walked over to the nearby shirt, reached out and ran her fingers over the

soft, expensive olive-green Egyptian cotton.

“Desmond will not appreciate this,” her mother warned, her voice tight.

Desmond was her stepfather now. In the six years she couldn’t remember, she had managed

to lose her father, and her mother had married his younger half-brother.

“This blouse, please.” The dull olive-green cotton would fit tightly, conform to her body

and shape her breasts enticingly. She wasn’t certain why she was suddenly drawn to the color,

though.

She turned to the polite saleslady trailing them. The other woman smiled gently. Long red-

gold hair fell to her shoulders and an understanding smile crossed her face.

In the meantime Angelica fussed in the background about the jeans and the drab color of

the blouse.

“Victoria, really. The dresses are much nicer.” Angelica continued to object as her daughter