Chapter Fourteen
Beau sat down across from Nate at the table in the kitchen of the main house. Since no one had eaten all day, Cassidy fixed ham and cheese sandwiches from food she found in the fridge and made a pitcher of iced sweet tea.
Beau picked at his meal. He should have been hungry, but his appetite had vanished. As they sat around the table, Nate explained what might or might not happen over the next few days and warned them not to speak to anyone outside their immediate circle, especially not the media.
“They’re going to be after you like bloodhounds on the scent of fresh meat, Beau. Just stick to no comment.”
He sighed. “I plan to avoid them as much as I possibly can.”
“It won’t be easy,” Nate said. “You might want to hire some security.”
Beau just nodded.
After Nate had answered his questions, the Tex/Am chopper landed on the golf course to pick the attorney up and whisk him back to Dallas.
“What’d you think of him?” Beau asked as he padded back into the kitchen and returned to his seat at the table.
Cassidy took a sip of iced tea. “I like him. He doesn’t waste time or words, just tells it like it is.”
“Linc knows him better than I do. He says he’s one of the best criminal lawyers in Texas.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe this is happening. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up.”
Cassidy reached across the table and set her hand over his. It was warm and soft and he remembered how smooth her skin had felt when he’d touched her last night. It made him want to touch her again. Arousal slipped through him. He wanted more of her, way more, but he couldn’t think of that now.
Cassidy squeezed his hand. “We’re going to find the killer, Beau. We’re going to prove you’re innocent.”
“How? Where do we even start?” He scrubbed a hand over the beard stubble on his jaw. “We only had three leads to begin with. George Larson has an alibi and Jess Milford is dead. We don’t even know if the same person killed both of them or if it was two different people. Hell, my father was stabbed. Jess Milford was shot in the head.”
“We have a third lead, Beau. Charlotte Mercer Reese—your stepmother. She was your father’s partner in Alamo. I’m surprised you didn’t tell me.”
“It didn’t seem important, not until today. I didn’t even think of it until Nate and I were discussing Milford’s connection to my father. I can’t see Charlotte as a killer. Besides, she was in Dallas when my father was stabbed.”
“We don’t know that for sure. We haven’t had time to check it out. We also need to look at your cell phone, see if we can figure out who called you last night.”
“The police took it. They’re holding it as evidence.” He ran a finger through the condensation on his half-empty iced tea glass. “I wonder how the caller got my number. It’s supposed to be unlisted.”
“Charlotte would have had it. I know you don’t like the idea, but we really need to talk to her.”
Beau sat forward in his chair. “There’s another possibility, and the closer I look at it, the more plausible it seems.”
“What’s that?”
“My father had my number, and his cell phone is missing. I’m betting the killer took it. If he did, maybe the murder wasn’t the spur-of-the-moment crime of passion it appeared to be.”
Cassidy fell silent as she pondered the notion. “Milford’s death would certainly support that theory. He and the senator were definitely connected. Let me do some digging, see what I can find out about Alamo.”
“Good idea. There’s too damned much we don’t know. Two men are dead and we have no idea who killed them or why.” Frustration rolled through him. “This whole thing just seems to be spiraling out of control.”
“I know this is difficult, Beau, but you’ve got good people around you. I’m good at what I do. Temple is good at what he does. Add to that you’re smart and determined. Together we can put the pieces together. We can do this, okay?”
Some of his frustration eased. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m out of my element here. I need to have some patience and I’ve never been a patient man.” He tossed her a look and felt the faint tug of a smile. “Except in bed. I’m guessing you figured that out last night.”
Cassidy blushed. It was the first time he’d mentioned what had happened between them. If things had turned out the way he’d planned, they would have had plenty of time to talk about it this morning—hell, time to do a lot more than talk.
Cassidy glanced away. Sex was the one thing she seemed shy about. He kind of liked that.
“Apparently you have endless patience in certain matters.” She rose from her chair. “I need to get to work. As soon as I have something, I’ll let you know.”
Beau stood up, too. After a night in jail, he could really use a shower and fresh clothes. “While you’re at it, I’ll take another look at the information on those flash drives.”
He watched her walk out the back door, heading for her computer in the guest house. He wished he could go with her, take up where they had left off last night. It wasn’t going to happen, at least not right now.
Exhaustion rolled over him. He’d slept less than an hour last night. It didn’t matter. The clock was ticking. There were things he needed to do.
* * *
The media arrived. Cassidy was surprised it had taken them this long. Vans filled with reporters from the local news channels as well as Dallas, Austin, and Houston lined up in front of the house, waiting for a glimpse of Beau Reese, former champion race-car driver, multimillionaire, murder suspect in two homicides, and the hottest news story in Texas.
He was pacing back and forth in the living room of the guest house, where he had managed to escape. The curtains were drawn. Cassidy tried to ignore him and finish her work on the computer.
“I feel like a caged cat,” he growled, as if he really were one. “Don’t they have something better to do than stand outside and gawk at someone’s home?”
“They’re just doing their job, Beau. You should be used to it by now.”
He snarled something she was glad she couldn’t hear. Walking over to the window, he peered through the crack in the curtains. “We can’t stay here. Not with those jackals swarming all over the property. My place in Dallas is a lot more secure. There’s a first-class alarm system and security cameras. I could arrange for guards to keep the media away, but I’m not supposed to leave town.”
“Call Temple. See if he can get them to let you go back to your own home. You work in Dallas and the city’s only an hour and a half away. It’s not an unreasonable request.”
“Good idea. If they agree, we can talk to Charlotte.”
“And Malcolm Vaughn. I found him. We can follow that lead, too.”
Since Beau’s phone was still at the police station, Cassidy had entered Nate’s number in her cell. She handed Beau the phone, watched as he punched the contact button and waited for Temple to answer.
Cassidy kept typing, working to dig up information on Alamo as Beau explained the situation to his attorney. He listened to Nate’s reply and hung up the phone.
“He’s going to call me back.”
Cassidy got up from the computer and walked over to where he stood by the window. She could feel the tension humming through him, sense his frustration. She wished she could touch him, soothe his worries in some way.
When he turned to look at her, the darkness in those cobalt eyes changed to glittering heat. The answering rush of warmth she felt warned her to keep her distance.
“Did you . . . umm . . . turn up anything new in those flash drives?”
“I only got through the one containing personal information. You were right. Most of it was stuff about people my father worked with in Congress, names of their wives and children, their interests and hobbies, sports their kids were involved it. Stuff that made for good conversation.”
“And the rest?”
“He kept that flash drive hidden for a reason. Some of it was similar to the information on George Larson—personal, intimate, and extremely incriminating. If he used it to get what he wanted, it was blackmail. As soon as this is over, I’ll destroy it.”
Beau hadn’t exaggerated his father’s lack of ethics. As they dug deeper, Cassidy wondered how much worse it was going to get.
“If he was blackmailing someone,” she said, “they would definitely have a motive for wanting him dead.”
“There were notes typed under the names. I didn’t see anything posted recently. George Larson was the last file he opened and the last entry he made, and that was a couple of months back.”
Her cell rang. Beau checked the caller ID, then pressed the phone to his ear. He started talking and some of the tension eased from between his shoulders. “Okay, that’s good. We’ll chopper in so they can’t follow us.”
He hung up the phone. “Chief Warren agreed to let us go back to Dallas.”
“That’s great, Beau.”
Since his pilot’s number was in his cell, he called Marty Chen and told him to have the chopper return to Pleasant Hill.
“I need my car,” Cassidy said. “I’ve got some things I need to do back in Dallas. I can meet you there.”
“We’ve got work to do. I need you to come with me. I’ll send people down to pick up both our cars and bring them back to the city.”
She was ambivalent. She needed to go into her office, do some follow-up with some of her clients. She needed to stop by her apartment and pick up fresh clothes. But she didn’t want to clash with those reporters any more than he did. And there was the problem of Beau, himself. If she stayed with him, she’d end up back in his bed. As she’d said, he was smart and he was determined, and she was wildly attracted to him. She was a woman and in no way immune to that magnetic Beau Reese charm.
Figuring she could make up her mind once her car arrived in the city, she went to pack her things. Beau had managed to escape the main house with his computer and the flash drives. Cassidy packed up her laptop, along with the manila files they had found, which she still hadn’t had time to go through completely.
When she went back and looked out the window, she was surprised to catch a glimpse of two police cars rolling down the block toward the house. A few minutes later, she heard a knock on the guest house door.
Beau had seen the cars, too, and worry tightened his shoulders. He strode over to answer the knock and found four uniformed patrolmen on the porch.
“Afternoon, Officers. What can I do for you?” The reporters had followed the police, trespassing across the backyard and swarming into position around the guest house front door. A dozen cameras waited to catch a glimpse of Beau.
“Chief Warren sent us,” one of the patrolmen said. “We’re here to help with crowd control.”
Beau relaxed. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”
It was getting noisy outside. It seemed even the cloudy weather and threat of rain couldn’t deter the news hounds.
“Hey, Beau! How about a story for old times’ sake?” An attractive blond reporter smiled and waved. Cassidy wondered how well he knew her.
A chorus of others started shouting. “Beau, tell us what happened! Did you kill your father? What about Jess Milford? Give us the scoop, Beau!”
The dull roar of an aircraft engine and a depression of air signaled the arrival of the chopper, circling, then descending, the noise covering the boisterous shouts of the crowd.
Beau turned to Cassidy. “You ready?”
“More than.” One of the officers grabbed the handle of her carry-on. Cassidy slung the strap of her computer over her shoulder and grabbed her purse.
Beau grabbed his computer and the manila files. “Let’s go.”
One of the patrolmen stepped outside, into the throng of pushing, shoving reporters. Beau followed, keeping her close beside him while the other three officers blazed a trail through the unruly mob toward the edge of the golf course, where the helicopter had landed and sat with its blades slowly spinning.
They were still yelling Beau’s name as he and Cassidy climbed inside, strapped themselves into their seats, and the chopper lifted away. Cassidy’s stomach swooped up as the ground dropped away beneath them and the helicopter rose into the air.
“You okay?” Beau asked through the headphones. He seemed more himself now that they had formulated a plan, far more in command of the situation. Beau was a man who liked being in control, another thing she had learned about him last night, a thought that made her face heat up again.
“I’m fine,” she said, though of course she really wasn’t. She was just as worried as he was, maybe more so. Men were dying. No one knew why. Until the killer or killers were caught, Beau could be in danger.
It didn’t take long before the chopper landed on the roof of the Tex/Am building. Beau hurried her into the elevator and they went straight down to the parking garage.
“My house is only seven miles away,” he said as the valet brought up his black BMW. “We’ll be there in less than twenty minutes.”
We. Clearly, he wasn’t giving her a choice. She could argue, make him take her to her apartment, but she was still working the case and it would be easier with his input.
He drove through the Bluffview district, an area of big, beautiful, very expensive homes. No one was around when he turned into the long, curving driveway toward the sprawling, white, flat-roofed contemporary house up ahead.
“Looks like we’re safe for the moment,” Beau said.
Safe? Cassidy thought of last night, caught the hot gleam in those fierce blue eyes, and knew she wasn’t safe at all.