Chapter Fifteen
“Your home is lovely,” Cassidy said, ambling through the modern interior. Twelve-foot ceilings, lots of white with accents of cool tones: blue, green, turquoise. Beautiful modern paintings to brighten the walls. The windows at the back of the house looked out on the aqua waters of a free-form swimming pool.
“If it was warmer, we could go for a swim,” Beau said as he walked up behind her, bent and nuzzled her neck. Little slivers of heat shot through her.
“It’s nice and private,” he said. “We wouldn’t even need swimsuits.” Another nibble, followed by the warm press of his lips against the sensitive spot below her ear. “Or we could get in the whirlpool down at the end. Nice and hot in there.”
Hot. She was already on the verge of bursting into flames. She closed her eyes, imagining what it would be like to make love with Beau in the warm water of the hot pool.
She turned, rested her palms on his chest as she looked up at him. “We need to be working the case. Besides, it’s starting to rain.”
She hoped her refusal didn’t sound as half-hearted as she was afraid it did. They didn’t have time for sex. Every moment was crucial. “By the way, I found something. It might be important.”
Beau bent his head for a soft, lingering kiss, then drew away. “I hope you’re giving me points for self-control here, because working is the last thing I want to be doing right now.”
“You haven’t had much sleep. Maybe we could take a nap later.”
His eyes gleamed. “Now there’s an idea I like.” He grabbed the files he had set on the table, grabbed the handle of her carry-on and rolled it down the hall. “Let’s get you settled, then we can talk about what you found.”
She should tell him she couldn’t stay. She didn’t need to get involved even more deeply with Beau. Instead, she followed him, ignoring a pang of disappointment when he walked past the master suite and tugged her carry-on into the bedroom next door.
“You’ve got your own bathroom. Do you need to unpack first, or should we set up your computer?”
She glanced around the room, which continued the modern theme of the house. The platform bed was low, the bedspread chocolate brown with bright orange and red throw pillows. “I don’t see a desk. Maybe the kitchen table or someplace else would work.”
“There’s a partners’ desk in my study. It’s handy if you have someone working with you on a project. Linc used to come over at least once a week. He’s home most nights now that he’s married.”
Beau led her back down the hall, opened a ten-foot door that matched the others in the house, and walked her into the study.
“So how come you never got married?” she asked.
Beau turned. His smile had faded, his features closed up. Any hint of heat in his eyes was gone.
“I was engaged once. It was a long time ago.”
Clearly it was a sensitive subject. His hard look warned her not to press for more, but she was a detective. Discovering secrets was part of her DNA.
“What happened?”
His mouth tightened. “She died,” he said flatly. Definitely end of topic.
Grabbing the computer out of her hand, he walked to the opposite side of his freestanding desk. Built of the same blond wood as the hardwood floors, the desk was lovely, all smooth lines and perfect angles. On top sat a masterwork of modern computer technology that had to cost thousands of dollars.
She walked over to study the equipment. Two Mac Pro six-core computers with matching 33-inch monitors perched next to a pair of Sennheiser HD 800 wireless headphones. Cassidy silently swooned at the 78-inch curved Samsung television with Bose SoundTouch audio. It was good to be king.
Her gaze moved away from the expensive technology to the modern fireplace, the sleek brown sofa and chair in front of it, then to the built-in blond credenza and bookshelves behind the desk. She moved toward them like a zombie, compelled to know what Beau read.
Winning: The Racing Life of Paul Newman rubbed bindings with a book of racing photos by Louis Klemantaski. On another shelf, sat a row of how-to books on marketing and sales. He was, after all, the head of marketing for a billion-dollar corporation. She recognized Zig Ziglar’s Selling 101. Next to it was Social Media Marketing for Business.
There were a number of contemporary art books: Picasso, Miro, Jackson Pollack. Current artists like Cattelan, Cindy Sherman, and Jeff Wall were included.
She turned to him with a smile, found him no longer scowling. “You can tell a lot about a person by what they read.”
His mouth edged up. “That so? What do you like to read?”
She shrugged. “I’m into fiction. I like to escape the problems of the world. I read everything from literary fiction to mysteries, thrillers, and romance.”
He started smiling. “Romance, huh?” The gleam was back in his eyes.
“Yeah . . .” She looked at him and hoped he didn’t hear the little hitch in her voice. The men in romance novels were sexy as hell, but Beau Reese had them beat by a mile.
He tipped her face up and very softly kissed her. “We’d better get our work done, so we can take that nap.”
Heat washed through her. She had never met a man who affected her the way he did.
“One last question,” she said, and he stiffened, definitely not wanting to talk more about the past. “How did you get that very sexy scar on the side of your face?”
Beau relaxed. “Fistfight in high school. Guy was wearing his senior class ring.”
“Who won?”
“I did.” He rubbed the side of his face. “Not sure it was worth it.”
“I think you owe him. Otherwise you might have been too pretty.”
Beau smiled and just shook his head. As Cassidy went to work setting up her computer, then plugging her cell phone in to charge, Beau brought over another desk chair. She sat down and adjusted the seat, opened her laptop, and brought up the file she’d been working on.
“Here’s what I’ve got so far,” she said. “As you know, Alamo was jointly owned by Stewart and Charlotte Reese. That didn’t change even after the divorce. But the company is no longer in business. Alamo closed its doors after a fire destroyed a three-hundred-unit apartment project they were building in Iron Springs.”
Beau frowned. “The company went broke? There must have had been insurance money.”
“There was. The building was still under construction when the fire occurred. The insurance company paid the claim, but Alamo decided to cancel the project. They said the rental market had changed. Demand was low. The project was no longer viable, so they took the money and closed the doors.”
“When did it happen?”
She looked down at the monitor. “November twenty-first of last year.”
“So about two months ago.”
“That’s right. The thing is, Beau, the blaze was deemed arson by vandals. There was writing on the unfinished walls, piles of workplace debris were set on fire. But the police never caught the vandals.”
Beau kept watching her. “There’s something else. What is it?”
There was definitely something else. She wasn’t sure she liked the way he was beginning to read her. “From what I can tell, the senator was right about the market. If they had completed the project, they never would have been able to fill that number of rental units. Alamo would have lost millions of dollars. Instead, Stewart and Charlotte took the insurance money, paid off any debts against the property, sold the land to a guy who wanted it for part of a subdivision project, and came out with a very nice profit.”
His gaze remained on her face. “So you’re saying my dad was behind the fire.”
She shrugged, though that was exactly what she thought. “Maybe he just got lucky.”
“My dad had a way of getting lucky that always seemed to cost other people money.” He walked over to the window that looked onto a stretch of manicured lawn. A narrow creek carved its way through the land.
Beau paced back. “What about Milford?”
“For the last five years, Jess Milford was foreman of the company.”
“So Milford would have been working on the apartment project. I’m wondering if my dad got rid of him so he’d be out of the way when the fire was set. It would certainly be easier without the foreman around. You know the date he was fired?”
“No, but I can probably find out.”
“How?”
“Unemployment benefits. Maybe your friend Rob could go into the records, see if Jess Milford signed up for unemployment. That would give us roughly the date he was let go. Or I guess we could just ask Charlotte.”
His mouth edged up. “Better idea. Way better than hacking into government records.”
Cassidy just smiled. “If Alamo fired Milford before the arson, he probably wasn’t involved. So why would they kill him? And if they did, why did they wait so long?”
“Milford had to be pissed when he was let go,” Beau said, frowning. “He was a longtime employee. He would have heard about the fire after it happened—it would have been in all the papers and on TV.”
“Let’s say Milford had his suspicions, but he didn’t have any proof. Then something happened. Maybe he kept digging, turned up some kind of evidence. He found out who’d set the fire, went to them and . . . I don’t know . . . tried to get them to pay him to keep quiet?”
Beau started nodding. “Maybe my father’s murder was the catalyst. Milford believed it was connected, went to the men responsible, and pressed them for money. But instead of paying him, they murdered him and set me up to take the fall.”
“They wanted you out of the way. They don’t want you asking any more questions.” Cassidy sighed. “Of course, at the moment, it’s all just conjecture.”
“Yeah, but it makes a helluva lot of sense.”
She had a hunch they were on the right track, but they needed more. “Let’s go see Charlotte. We want answers and Charlotte might have them.”
Beau pulled her up from the chair and into his arms. He kissed her so thoroughly her toes curled inside her sneakers.
“The day’s shot,” he said. “Tomorrow we go see Charlotte, find out how much she knows.” He caught her hand, brought it to his lips, then started tugging her down the hall. “In the meantime, I really need to get some sleep.”
When they reached the master bedroom, he scooped her into his arms. “You promised me we’d take a nap and I can’t think of a better idea.”
Cassidy slid an arm around his neck as he carried her over to his big king-size bed. He settled her in the middle, then eased down on top of her and his mouth settled hotly over hers.
She barely remembered Beau stripping off her clothes, then removing his own. She focused on his amazing body, loved running her hands over the hard muscles in his chest, across his flat abdomen, loved the way they bunched when she touched them.
She knew he was exhausted. He had barely slept last night, but he refused to rush. Beau Reese clearly liked sex and he made certain his lover enjoyed it, too.
He settled himself on top of her, propped himself on his elbows as he kissed her. His heavy weight pressed her gloriously into the mattress as he nibbled the side of her neck, kissed his way down her body, taking his time, making her moan with need.
By the time he was inside her, she was begging, pleading for the sweet, simmering pleasure he had given her the night before. Beau surged deep and she clung to him, arched her back to take him deeper, dug her fingers into the muscles across his shoulders.
“That’s it, baby, just hang on.”
A soft moan escaped. His rhythm increased, faster, deeper, harder, carrying her upward, closer and closer to the peak. No matter how much he took, she wanted more, wanted all he could give her, gave back all she had.
Then she was flying, trembling and crying his name.
Beau came hard, following her to release, every muscle rigid. For long seconds they drifted down, floating, returning slowly to their surroundings. Beau kissed her softly one last time, then left her a moment before he padded back to bed.
Lying on his side, he curled her spoon-fashion against him. He was asleep the minute his head hit the pillow, but Cassidy lay awake.
She had never understood the world’s fascination with sex. Now she knew. Now she realized the kind of power amazing sex could have over a person. Now she understood, and it scared her.
The way she felt about Beau was completely new to her and utterly frightening. Part of her wanted to slip out of bed, put her clothes on, leave and never look back. Another, stronger part wanted to stay right where she was and never leave.
Even if she found the will, she couldn’t go. Not with the trouble Beau was facing. He was embroiled in murder, bone deep. His father was dead, and one of his father’s employees. Beau had been at both crime scenes. His troubles weren’t going away anytime soon.
Not unless they found the killer, and Beau needed her to help him do that.
Cassidy began to ease away, to let him rest while she went back to work on the computer, but his arm tightened around her and he shifted her back against him, needing her even in his sleep.
She took a deep breath. Maybe a short nap would be okay. She was nearly as exhausted as he was. Surely a little more time in bed with him would be all right.
But Cassidy was beginning to wonder if a little more time with Beau would ever be enough.