Chapter Seventeen
“I probably should have been a little more diplomatic,” Beau said as he opened the passenger door and waited for Cassidy to settle herself in the seat.
She looked up at him. “You’re kidding? Really?”
He slammed the door and rounded the car to the driver’s side, slid in behind the wheel and fired the engine. “So I baited him a little. Maybe it’ll stir something up. I don’t know what it was, but I didn’t like him. I felt like he was telling us part of the truth but not all, like he was leaving something out.”
“Malcolm Vaughn brokers big-money deals. The men who bankroll his loans are the kind who can make people disappear. You should have stuck with your story, Beau, that you were clearing up your father’s accounts. You shouldn’t have said you were investigating his murder.”
She was right, but he didn’t like hearing it. He wasn’t used to someone else calling the shots, even if he respected that person’s opinion.
“Maybe not, but we were getting nowhere and I warned you before—I’m not a patient man.”
She flicked him a sideways glance. “Except in bed.”
He looked at her, saw the amusement in her eyes. A curl of heat settled low in his groin and a smile tugged at his lips. “Yeah, except in bed.”
Just thinking about it had his blood rushing south. He glanced at Cassidy, spotted an unruly curl at the base of her neck, and wanted to nudge it aside with his tongue. He wondered what she’d say if he pulled into the Adolphus, took a suite, and hauled her back to bed.
Inwardly he sighed. Not going to happen. He was a suspect in two murders.
“It’s too late to worry about it now,” he said. “And you never know, maybe Vaughn will panic and do something stupid. Maybe we’ll actually get a break in the case.”
Her brow arched, warning him not to get his hopes up. “Let’s go back to your house. We need to take a look at the bank records on that other flash drive. We’ve got a little more information now. Maybe we can make more sense of what we see.”
But when he neared the driveway, he spotted the media, out in full force. He said the F-word under his breath, then glanced at Cassidy. “Sorry.”
“They would have shown up sooner or later. I’m surprised they waited this long.”
“The bad weather probably helped for a while.” He muttered another swear word. “I need your phone.” He turned the corner before anyone spotted the car, and pulled over beneath the spreading branches of a magnolia tree.
Cassidy handed him her cell and Beau called Marty Chen. “I need you to get some security over to my house ASAP. There’s media all over the place. I’ll need men round the clock, at least for a while.”
“They’re already there. Should be a couple of black SUVs parked out front. Oh, and I brought back the Lamborghini. Rob drove Ms. Jones’s car back.”
“Great. Anything else?”
“A detective named Briscoe called the office earlier this morning. He said they’d gotten what they needed off your cell phone. I picked it up at the police station on my way out of town. You’ll find it in your car.”
“Thanks, Marty. Can you call whoever’s in charge at the house and tell them we’re coming in?”
“His name’s Will Egan, works for Citywide Security. I’ll give him a call.”
Marty hung up and Beau turned to Cassidy. “Security’s in place. They’ll clear the way for us. Marty also brought back our cars.”
“That’s great. I have some errands I really need to run.” A smile curved her lips. “Marty seems superefficient. I hope you pay him well.”
“I pay him a small fortune and he’s worth every dime.” He pulled the car away from the curb. “He even retrieved my cell phone.”
“On second thought, no matter what you’re paying him, I think he deserves a raise.”
Beau chuckled and drove the car down the street toward the house. Two black SUVs sat on the road opposite the driveway while four uniformed men urged the crowd of reporters out of the way as the Beamer approached. Beau ignored the shouted questions, nudged aside a few persistent reporters with the bumper of the car, and turned up the drive while the guards fell in behind the vehicle, blocking the way.
A few seconds later, he drove past Cassidy’s silver Honda hatchback, sitting out front.
“Marty is a prince,” she said. “I’ve got things I really need to do.”
Beau pulled into the garage, parking between the Lambo and the Ferrari. The garage door slid closed as they got out and walked into the house.
“We need to look at those files,” Cassidy said, heading for the study down the hall. Beau enjoyed the view from behind, the sexy way her stretch jeans curved over her tight little ass. He tried not to think how much he wanted to peel her out of them and haul her back to bed.
He sighed, forcing his thoughts back to finding a killer.
* * *
Mal looked up as the door opened and Clifford Jennings walked into the office.
“You wanted to see me?” Cliff sat down in a chair on the opposite side of his executive desk and crossed a leg over his knee. Jennings was his right-hand man, his go-to guy when he wanted something done. He was smart and he was ruthless, a man Mal could count on.
“Reese and that female PI came to see me,” Mal said. “Wanted to know if the senator had borrowed money and if he’d paid it back.”
“What’d you tell them?”
“I told them the debt had been repaid, but I don’t think Reese was satisfied. I may have underestimated him. Beau Reese was a winner on the track. It takes balls to drive a race car two hundred miles an hour. Still, I have a hunch once the girl is out of the way, he’ll back off.”
“So you want me to have her taken care of?” Cliff smoothed his fingers over his mustache as if he relished the notion.
Mal leaned back in his chair. “As I said before, only if it can be made to look like an accident. Make sure that’s understood.”
“I’ll handle it.” Clifford rose from his chair. “We finished here?”
“For now.”
Jennings turned away and ambled out of the office.
Mal thought of the disposable phone in the bottom drawer of his desk. He should probably make the call, bring his client up to speed and inform him of his decision. On the other hand, if things were handled properly, the problem would be solved and his client would never need to know.
Mal leaned forward and buzzed his receptionist. Pamela didn’t have much in the brains department, but she had other talents. He didn’t like problems, and after his conversation with Reese and the woman, he needed some stress relief.
The door opened and she sashayed in, sporting big hair and pouty lips, ass swinging in her short tight skirt, cleavage on display. He was surprised she wasn’t chewing gum, the way she usually did.
“You need something, Mr. Vaughn?”
He didn’t have much use for women, paid this one too much for the ridiculously easy job she did, but she had skills more valuable than answering phones and taking messages.
He reached down and unzipped his trousers. “I think you can guess what I need.”
She tossed her long blond hair over her shoulder. “Oh, yes, Mr. Vaughn. I think I know exactly what you need.” Pamela rounded the desk and dropped to her knees.
* * *
Now that they were safely back in the house, Beau retrieved the flash drives he had brought with him when they’d left Pleasant Hill. He checked the labels he’d put on the back and found the one he wanted. When he turned, he saw Cassidy examining the photos on his desk.
She held up a picture of him in his orange-and-black fire suit displaying a first-place trophy, Cain’s arm over Beau’s shoulder. “You and Linc. Where was this taken?”
“Los Angeles Times Grand Prix.”
She picked up a photo of him and his college roommate, an African American student with a wide, goofy grin. “Ronnie Jackson,” he said. “He was my best friend at UT-Austin. Great basketball player.”
“He looks like he would be. He’s even taller than you.”
His nerves began to build as she moved to the next photo, last Christmas with Linc and his brother Josh. Next to it was a photo of him and Sarah back in his senior year of college.
His chest clamped down when she picked it up, studied the slender girl with the long, silver-blond hair and the face of an angel. “She’s beautiful.”
His jaw went tight. “Yes.” Cassidy’s head came up at the harsh note in his voice.
“Is she the woman you were engaged to?”
Memories rolled over him, the joy of finding her, the love and laughter they had shared, the cancer diagnosis and long months of suffering, the despair of losing her. He felt a sharp instant of pain before he managed to nod.
“What was her name?”
“Her name was Sarah. Look, Cassidy. I prefer to keep my private life private. Besides, it’s all in the past.” He held up the flash drive. “This is the drive with the bank account information. Let’s see what we can find out.”
Cassidy didn’t press for more, just set the photo back down and walked over to her side of the partners’ desk. She was letting him off the hook, at least for now.
He handed her the flash drive. “So far this whole mess seems to revolve around money. Let’s see if the insurance payment shows up in my father’s bank accounts. If it does, let’s see where it goes.”
“Follow the money. Always a good place to start.”
He relaxed, grateful she was accepting the change of subject. Sarah’s death wasn’t something he discussed. Not with anyone.
“We can use my laptop. I’ve got the senator’s current banking information in there. We can cross-reference, see how the accounts interconnect.”
He felt a smile edging aside the dark mood that had claimed him. “I’m not even asking how you got into my father’s banking records.”
Cassidy smiled. “Good idea.”
Beau rolled his chair around to her side of the desk while Cassidy sat down and plugged in the flash drive. She opened it, brought up the files, and went into the senator’s offshore Cayman account records.
“Let’s go back a ways,” she suggested. “See if we can see the bigger picture.” She began to scroll down slowly, reading each line as it passed. “Look at this. Seven months ago, a big chunk of money was deposited directly into the offshore account. Three million dollars. Those accounts are extremely sophisticated. No way to know for sure where it came from.”
“I’ve got a pretty good idea,” Beau said.
“Equity Advance.”
“AKA Malcolm Vaughn. He admitted he’d loaned my father money for the construction project.”
Cassidy opened a tab on her C drive and brought up the records from the United Bank of Dallas. “Here’s the transfer. From the looks of those foreign currency charges, it was money from the Cayman account.”
She studied the pages. “Over the next few weeks and months, the money gets dispersed to Alamo.”
“He’s using the funds to build the apartments,” Beau said.
“That’s right. He’s also using the money to pay his living expenses. His car payments, mortgage payments, credit card bills. Since your father lived the good life, he was rapidly depleting the account.”
Beau pointed to a line on the screen. “There’s another sizable deposit.”
“That’s about the time he sold Green Gables Realty. He got half the money, George Larson got the other half. There’s another deposit here, got to be the sale of the building he took in that side deal. The senator transfers all of it into the Cayman account, then uses it to make payments to the original lender.”
“Equity Advance,” Beau said.
“Presumably. He pays down the loan, but he still owes them a chunk.” Cassidy scrolled through the Dallas account. “In December, the senator makes a deposit that doesn’t go to the Caymans. It goes directly into his stateside account.”
“The fire was in November,” Beau said. “Got to be his share of the insurance settlement.”
“Okay, so after his claim gets paid, he takes the money, sells the land the apartments were being built on, closes Alamo, pays off Charlotte, and deposits his share into the Dallas account.”
Cassidy pointed to another line. “Here’s where he transfers the money from the Dallas bank into his Cayman account.”
“He moved the money so he could pay off Equity Advance. They would have called the loan. When the fire destroyed the project, he no longer had any collateral.”
Cassidy studied the screen. “Here’s the payment, but it wasn’t enough to repay the total amount of the original loan.”
Beau leaned back in his chair. “Malcolm Vaughn said my father repaid the money, but according to this, he didn’t have enough to repay it all.” Beau’s gaze swung to Cassidy. “So Vaughn was lying. And if he didn’t get paid back, he had a reason to murder my dad.”
“Maybe.”
“What, you don’t buy it?”
“Once Stewart Reese was dead, there was no way Vaughn could get the rest of the money.”
“Maybe he was making a point. You don’t pay me, you’re dead.”
“Maybe.”
Beau tipped his head back in frustration. “I still think he was involved.”
“If he was, we need to prove it.”
He sighed. “So I guess we keep digging.”
“We do, but not today. Now that my car is here, I need to go into my office. I want to change into something more casual, then I’ve got some business I need to take care of.”
“So do I. Linc has more than enough on his plate without trying to handle my job, too. Why don’t I pick you up later and take you out to supper? I know a place I think you’ll like.”
She tipped her head toward the front of the house. “What about your paparazzi?”
“I’ll take care of them.”
“All right, but I’d rather meet you there. That way I’ll have my car.”
Beau reluctantly agreed. He was getting used to having Cassidy around. He thought of her sweet curves and big green eyes and how much he enjoyed her company.
It bothered him to think that once this was over, they would go their separate ways. But he wasn’t good at long-term relationships. He’d been down that road and it was just too painful. Sooner or later, the inevitable was bound to happen. The thought depressed him.
He brightened a little, thinking about dinner and the place he intended to take her. And afterward he’d convince her to come home with him instead of going back to her apartment—after all, they still had a murder to solve.
He left the house first, driving the Ferrari, purposely drawing the media away so Cassidy could escape. He lost them a couple of miles down the road and continued on to the office.
It was late afternoon by the time he arrived at the Tex/Am building. He had plenty of catching up to do. He went over his schedule with Marty, agreed to a dinner with the CEO of the LEN Corp. and his wife. The sales team had pitched LEN’s manufacturing division on Tex/Am Transport’s taking over their freight contract. All Beau had to do was schmooze the big boss a little, give him a nudge in the right direction.
He’d need a date for the evening. With any luck he could convince Cassidy to go with him.
Two hours after he got to the office, a light knock sounded and Linc walked into the room. “Thought I’d drop by, see how you’re holding up.”
Sitting behind his black lacquer desk, Beau leaned back in his chair. “I’m hanging in, I guess you could say. You were right about Temple. He’s a good man. I just hope I won’t need him again.”
“Maybe the police will come up with something.”
“Yeah. Cassidy and I talked to Charlotte this morning.” He looked up at his friend, a man he would trust with his life. “You remember that big fire last fall in Pleasant Hill?”
“I remember. Apartment project Alamo was building.”
“That’s right, though I didn’t know about it at the time. Jess Milford was foreman. My dad let him go just a few days before the fire. We think the fire may be connected to the murders.”
“We?” Linc, who rarely missed a thing, picked up on the reference. “You and Cassidy?”
“That’s right. She’s a PI, remember? That’s why I hired her.”
“Beautiful girl. Apparently she’s smart, too. We both know she’s more than just your employee. I think you really like this girl.”
“Cassidy’s a lot of things and yeah, I like her. Won’t change the outcome.”
“Why not? Because you’re determined to grieve for the rest of your life?”
Beau came out of his chair, braced his hands on top of the desk. “In case you don’t know, grief doesn’t have a time limit.”
His friend looked at him with a trace of pity. “Not if you don’t want it to.” Linc started for the door, turned back. “You don’t need to worry about the business. I can handle whatever comes up. You just need to focus on clearing your name.”
Beau sat back down in his chair. “You’re right.” A long sigh escaped. “Sorry about . . . you know. I’ve got a lot on my mind right now.”
“I know you do. Just remember, I’m here if you need me.”
As he always had been, since back when they were in school.
The phone on his desk rang. No matter what Linc said, there were things he needed to do. As for Cassidy, he intended to enjoy the time they had together. He wouldn’t let the past interfere. Tomorrow he would deal again with the murder.
Tomorrow—if he wasn’t on his way back to jail.