Chapter Thirteen
Beau stirred at a sound in the darkness and awoke from the depths of the most restful sleep he’d had since his father had been murdered. The familiar ring of his cell phone dragged him fully awake and he reached toward the nightstand to quiet it before Cassidy awoke.
The digital clock on the nightstand read 1:00 A.M. He checked the caller ID but didn’t recognize the number. Slipping out of bed, he padded naked into the living room. “Reese.”
“You want to know who killed your father?”
His hand tightened around the phone. “Who is this? How did you get this number?”
“Drive to 516 Brookdale Road. Go in through the back door. You’ve got twenty minutes. No police and you’d better be alone.”
“Tell me who this is.”
The line went dead. Beau glanced toward the bedroom. After a third round of incredible sex, Cassidy was deeply asleep. Which was probably good since he had been warned to come alone.
Quietly returning to the bedroom, he grabbed his jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt out of his go-bag, grabbed his sneakers and went back into the living room to put them on.
Cassidy’s car keys sat on the table in the entry. Driving the Lambo didn’t seem like a good idea, so he picked up her keys and slipped outside, quietly closing the door behind him. He headed for the Honda, slid inside and started the engine, then punched the address he had been given into the nav system in the dash, a necessity, he imagined, for a detective.
The map showed the house was on the south side of town. Driving the speed limit, careful to stop at all the lights, he still made his destination in eighteen minutes.
No lights on in the single-story redbrick house. Clouds covered the moon, making it a pitch-dark night. He headed around to the back of the house and walked up on the patio. No movement inside, no lamps went on.
Reaching for the doorknob, he turned it, found the door unlocked, opened it and slipped inside. He owned a gun, kept it in his home for protection, had learned how to handle a weapon in his bad-boy days. If Cassidy’s little pistol had been handy, he would have brought it, wished he had it now.
He tried to see through the darkness, caught the gleam of a stainless dishwasher next to the sink in the kitchen. He’d taken a couple of steps before he noticed something sticky on the floor.
“Anybody home?” he called out.
No answer. There was an odd smell in the air, coppery and dense. His pulse hammered. A trickle of sweat rolled between his shoulder blades. A bad feeling crept over him, warning him to beware. “Anybody here?”
No answer, nothing but the lingering smell and the darkness. He had two choices. Turn on the lights or turn around and leave as quietly as he had come. Leave without the answers he had been promised.
“I’m leaving!” he called out.
Still no answer. He turned, started to retrace his steps when the back door flew open and the kitchen light went on. Two uniformed patrolmen, guns drawn and aimed at his chest, stood in the doorway. “Don’t move!” one of the officers called out. “Put your hands in the air!”
Cautiously they stepped into the kitchen. Beau’s gaze shot from the policemen to the thick pool of blood spreading over the kitchen floor. His stomach heaved when he spotted the man’s lifeless body. His eyes were open, a neat hole in the side of his head.
“It’s not what you think,” Beau said. “I got a phone call. I was told to come to this address.”
“Move away from the body and get down on your knees,” ordered the cop. “Keep your hands in the air.”
“I didn’t kill him. I don’t even know who he is.” Keeping his hands raised, he got down on his knees at the edge of the pool of blood, which was beginning to congeal. The second officer, younger, fresh faced and pink cheeked, rushed toward him, grabbed one of his wrists and twisted it behind his back. Beau could have stopped him with a single movement. Instead he felt the click of metal around first one wrist then the other.
“You’re Reese, aren’t you?” the first cop said. “Beau Reese?”
“That’s right.” The younger cop was on the radio calling it in, giving the location of what appeared to be a break-in that had ended in murder.
“Look, I walked in just a few minutes before you got here.” Beau’s pulse raced, throbbed in his head. “Someone called my cell and told me to come to this address. They said they had information about the man who killed my father, Senator Reese.”
The cop walked toward him. “So I guess it’s just another coincidence, same as before.” He jerked Beau to his feet and shoved him toward the door. “You just happen to be around when somebody ends up dead.”
Beau closed his eyes. He hated to think what Cassidy was going to say when she found out he was involved in a second murder. He hated for her to think he’d been stupid. Which clearly he had been.
He looked up at the older cop. “I’m not saying any more till I talk to my lawyer.” From the way the guy looked at him, it was the first smart thing he’d said since he’d left the guest house.
* * *
Beau had been sitting in a holding cell for two hours when Tom Briscoe arrived. Tom let him make a phone call. He called Linc, told him what had happened, and asked him to hire an attorney.
“I’ll call Nate Temple,” Linc said. “He’s the best criminal defense lawyer around. He’ll have you out of there as fast as humanly possible.”
“It was a setup, Linc. I can’t believe I got sucked in. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.”
“You had no idea this was coming. You wanted information. You went after it. What about the lady detective? Why didn’t you call her, take her with you?”
“She was asleep. I didn’t want to wake her.” There must have been something in his voice.
“Asleep? Where, in your bed?”
He didn’t deny it. Linc was his best friend. “Not exactly. Look, this wasn’t her fault. I made a bad decision; now I need to fix it.”
“Take it easy, all right? I’ll call Temple. Just stay cool until he gets there.” The line went dead.
Linc was there for him, the way he had been since high school. Beau, the spoiled rich kid ignored by his parents, and Linc, who lived with his mother and drunken, abusive father in a seedy apartment down near the railroad tracks.
Linc had been the official town bad boy, tough as nails and loyal to a fault. He was a Texas multimillionaire now, but he hadn’t really changed.
At sixteen, Beau had been tall but still gangly. He was being bullied by a couple of varsity football jocks till Lincoln Cain, the biggest, strongest kid in class, had befriended him. He’d taught Beau how to defend himself, which led to boxing lessons his father had gladly paid for—anything to keep him busy and out of the house—martial arts lessons after that.
Beau had grown into his tall, lanky body, which was now hard-muscled and well-defined; if it came to it, he had no trouble defending himself.
Which might be useful if murders kept happening wherever he went.
He looked up as a police officer walked toward him. The cop returned him to the same bare-walled interrogation room he had been in before. Tom Briscoe was waiting, looking sleepy-eyed, ticked-off, and disappointed all at once.
“What the hell happened, Beau?”
Beau shook his head. “I should probably wait for my attorney.”
“It would look better if you cooperated—assuming you’re innocent.”
“I’m innocent. For chrissake, I didn’t kill him. I don’t even know his name. Who was he, by the way?”
“Guy named Jess Milford. Ring any bells?”
A muscle ticked in his cheek, which Briscoe must have noticed.
“I can see that it does. Milford worked for Alamo, one of your father’s companies. He lost his job a little over two months ago. Did you know that?”
He knew it. Milford was one of the names his father had hired Cassidy to check out. “I’m not answering any more questions, Tom. Not until my attorney arrives. In the meantime, I’ll tell you what I told those two cops.” Beau recapped the events of the night, starting with the phone call he had received and ending with the police showing up exactly in time to catch him at the murder scene.
“Someone had to have called 9-1-1. The cops arrived right on time. It was a setup, Tom. I’ve been digging around, asking questions about my father’s murder, and somebody doesn’t like it. That call is bound to show up in the dispatcher’s log. Maybe they can track the number, see who made it. The call alone ought to be enough to convince you it was a setup.”
“Look, Beau, it’s not that simple. The call came in as an anonymous tip, a possible burglary at 516 Brookdale Road. When the police arrived, they found you and a dead guy. That makes two dead guys, Beau, both connected to you.”
Beau glanced at his watch. He needed to call Cassidy. He had no idea what she’d think when she discovered him gone, along with her car. He wondered if Linc had been able to line up an attorney. If Temple took the case, how long would it take him to get to Pleasant Hill? How much time would Beau have to spend in jail before Temple could bail him out?
He looked at Briscoe and tried to focus. “What about my father’s murder? Any new suspects? Anything new on the case?”
“Not so far.”
“Did you ever find my father’s cell phone?”
“No. We tried to ping it. Last call went through a tower in the area. We figure the battery’s gone dead.”
“Or the killer disabled it. Look, Tom, we both know the senator had enemies. Have you checked that angle, tried to figure out who else had motive?”
“If you’re thinking of Josie Kessler, she and Missy were both working at the café at the time of the murder.”
“I wasn’t thinking of Josie . . . well, I admit she crossed my mind, because she definitely had motive. I didn’t think it could have been Missy, because of her condition. I’m glad it wasn’t either one of them.”
“So am I. Anything else you want to add before you go back to the holding cell?”
“Only that I didn’t kill Jess Milford or my father. I’m counting on you, Tom, to figure out who did.”
Briscoe made no reply. Which didn’t make Beau feel any better.
* * *
Cassidy got to drive the Lamborghini. Beau had called. He was in jail, being held on suspicion of murder. The police could hold him for forty-eight hours before they officially had to file charges. Cain had found him an attorney.
Cassidy’s emotions had been in turmoil from the moment she had awoken and found herself alone. Beau was gone. She’d been sure he’d left to escape the awkward morning-after conversation, the way a lot of men did.
Self-loathing rushed in. She’d been a fool. She’d allowed Beau to use her when she had known what a heartbreaker he was. After a long, hot shower and time to think, she’d finally admitted it wasn’t all his fault. She had wanted him every bit as much as he’d wanted her.
Whatever happened, she finally decided, the night had been an incredible experience, one she would never forget. She told herself it didn’t matter that one night was enough for Beau.
Then she’d gone in search of her car keys and discovered them missing. Glancing out the window, she realized her car was gone and a whole new set of worries swept in.
It wasn’t until later in the morning that Beau had finally been allowed to make a second phone call, this one to her. When he’d explained what had happened, she’d felt the most unsettling combination of fear and relief. Fear for Beau and relief it wasn’t over between them.
Beau told her where to find the keys to the Lambo and she promised to be there as quickly as she could.
“You don’t have to hurry,” he said darkly. “It doesn’t look like I’m getting out of here anytime soon.”
She’d done her best to lighten his mood. “I don’t have to hurry? What, are you kidding me? It’s a Lamborghini, Beau. It doesn’t know how to go slow.”
He chuckled, though she thought it sounded forced.
When she got to the Pleasant Hill police station, Beau’s attorney had already been there awhile. He was making arrangements for Beau to be released.
“You must be Cassidy,” he said as he walked toward her, not a wrinkle in his navy pinstripe suit. “I’ve spoken to Beau. He said you’d be coming. You’re the private investigator working on his father’s case.”
“Cassidy Jones.” She extended a hand, which he shook.
“I’m Nathan Temple. I prefer Nate. Linc called, asked me to handle Beau’s case.” Nate Temple was older than Beau by at least five years, an attractive man with traces of silver threading through his light brown hair.
“I understand Beau called you and explained what happened,” Temple said.
“That’s right. He said he got a phone call around one P.M. The caller promised information about his father’s death. He was given a location and twenty minutes to get there. It had to be a setup. He didn’t even see the body until the police came through the door.”
Temple was nodding. Cassidy figured he was looking for possible discrepancies in Beau’s story. He led her a few feet away where they couldn’t be overheard.
“The victim is a guy named Jess Milford,” he said. “Do you recognize the name?”
Beau had mentioned it when he’d called. She nodded. “Milford was one of the people the senator hired me to check into. He thought he was being followed. He said someone had been asking questions. Milford was the foreman of Alamo, the senator’s construction and development company. He was fired a few months back. Senator Reese thought he might be holding some kind of grudge.”
“And now Milford’s dead.”
“Yes, and Beau was set up to take the blame.”
“You seem sure of that. You don’t have any doubt of Beau’s innocence?”
She stiffened. “No. Do you?”
Temple relaxed. “I’ve known Lincoln Cain and Beau Reese for years. I don’t believe Beau killed anyone. We just need to prove it. Or in more legal terms, make sure the police can’t prove it.”
“We need to do better than that. Beau’s reputation will be ruined unless he’s completely exonerated. To do that, we need to find the killer.”
“It would certainly be the best solution.”
“What evidence do they have against him?”
Temple tossed her a look. “Besides being found at the murder scene? The second one in a week?”
“Besides that.”
“The police found the weapon, a Smith and Wesson forty-caliber semiauto. It was on the floor under the kitchen table. The good news is, the gun was wiped clean, no prints, nothing. So far Beau’s only connection to Milford is that the victim worked for the company owned by Senator Reese and his ex-wife.”
Surprise lifted one of her eyebrows. “Charlotte was the senator’s partner in Alamo?”
“That’s right. Beau says he isn’t sure what happened after the divorce, whether one of them bought out the other or they still owned it together.”
She wondered why Beau hadn’t mentioned Charlotte’s involvement, but then they hadn’t had time to work the Milford angle yet.
She glanced toward the door leading to the holding cells, willing Beau to appear. “Will you be posting bail? How long before you can get him out of jail?”
“Chief Warren isn’t ready to charge him. Too many loose ends. In a high-profile case like this, the DA wants to be sure he’s got all his ducks in a row. Doesn’t mean it won’t happen, but until it does, they’re letting him out. Beau has agreed not to leave town.”
The attorney glanced toward the door and smiled. “Here he is now.”
Cassidy turned to see Beau walking toward them. Instead of his usual straight posture, his shoulders slumped and a curl of black hair fell over his forehead. She wanted to go to him, put her arms around his neck and tell him everything was going to be okay.
Instead, she stood quietly next to his attorney. Her heart constricted when he reached for her, pulled her into his arms and buried his face in her hair.
“I was an idiot,” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t kill Milford. I hope you know that.”
Her hold tightened. “I know you didn’t kill him. You were clearly set up.” A shudder of relief ran through his body. Cassidy leaned back and finger-combed the dark curl away from his forehead.
Beau looked at Temple. “We finished here?”
“For now.”
Beau took her hand. “Let’s get out of here.” The three of them walked out of the police station and headed for the parking lot.
“Why don’t we go back to the house where we can talk,” Nate suggested. “We need to develop a strategy. Unfortunately, I don’t have much time. I’ve got to get back to Dallas.”
“You aren’t staying?” Beau asked.
“They haven’t pressed charges. There’s nothing I can do for you here. I’ll come back if you need me.”
Beau nodded. Cassidy spotted her silver hatchback parked in the lot. She had worried the police would hold it as evidence.
“They’ve already searched the Honda,” Nate said. “They didn’t find anything so they released it.” He pulled her keys from the pocket of his suit coat and held them out to her. “I gather these belong to you.”
She glanced at Beau, whose eyes looked bleaker than she had ever seen them, no longer a beautiful blue but more a faded gray. “Why don’t you drive the Honda, Nate? I’ll drive Beau back to the house in the Lambo. You can follow us—if you can keep up.”
Beau’s head jerked in her direction. He stared at her and something shifted in his features. A slow smile spread over his lips. “The lady’s driving the Lambo. You’ve got the address. We’ll see you back there.”
Nate smiled and just shook his head.
* * *
A soft buzzing sounded on his desk. Mal leaned over and picked up his cell phone, pressed it against his ear. “I’m listening.”
“Two birds with one stone—just like I said. Milford won’t be flapping his mouth and Reese has more trouble than he can handle.”
“I doubt they have enough to convict him, but at least he’ll be out of the way for a while. What about the woman? You think she’ll back off or try to dig deeper?”
“She won’t quit,” Cliff Jennings said. “She’ll press even harder. But with Milford gone, she’ll just run into a bunch of dead ends.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“We handle it.”
“We can’t afford another murder. Sooner or later someone will find a way to connect the dots.”
“So we make it an accident, just like you said.”
“Maybe it won’t come to that,” Mal suggested.
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Make sure there are no unexpected complications.” Mal hung up the phone.