Chapter Eighteen
Cassidy pulled the Honda into a parallel parking space in front of Maximum Security and turned off the engine. All the way to the office, she’d been thinking about the woman in the photo on Beau’s desk. Sarah. She tried to tell herself the burning in the center of her chest wasn’t jealousy. Sarah was dead. Had died years ago. Surely she couldn’t be jealous of a dead woman.
But the bitter truth was, she didn’t want to share Beau with another woman, even if that woman was no longer living. Clearly, Beau had been in love with the beautiful, statuesque blonde. By his reaction, some part of him still was.
From the beginning, Cassidy had known Beau wasn’t a long-term kind of guy. Which had been fine with her. If her past relationships were any indication, she wasn’t a long-term kind of gal.
And yet, her feelings for Beau continued to grow, changing little by little into something far from superficial. She was involved with him on a deeply emotional level and the more she was around him, the worse it was going to get.
She wondered what Beau felt for her. Certainly not the pain-filled, heartbreaking, deeply abiding love he’d felt for Sarah.
Rubbing a fist against her chest as if it could make the burning go away, she climbed out of the car and headed into the office, which was simply furnished, with sturdy oak desks and pictures of Texas cattle ranches on the walls. A hooked rug on the floor in front of the brown leather sofa in the reception area gave it a homey feel the guys all liked.
The usual crew was there: PIs Jase Maddox, Dante Romero, Ford Weatherby, and Lissa Blayne. There were some part-time contractors who worked for the agency, but they weren’t in at the moment. The owner, Chase Garrett, sat in his office on the far end of the room, while a plump older woman, the widow of a cop who had died in the line of duty, manned the receptionist desk.
Connie Thurston did way more than run the office. Chase was the backbone, but Connie was the heart.
“Where you been hidin’, girl?” Connie called out in a voice tinged with her African American heritage and her Detroit upbringing. “That ex-boyfriend of yours, Richard What’s-his-name, stopped by three times in the last two days. Said to tell you he’s had time to think. Wants to talk things over.”
She barely paused. “If he comes in again, tell him I’m not interested.” They’d been finished as a couple weeks before they’d actually parted, and that had been several months back.
“Hey, Cass, honey,” Jase called out. “Wait up!” He was a big man, hard-bodied and handsome. Rising from his desk, he caught her in two long strides, reaching her just as she set her laptop down on her desk.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“Just wondering how it went with that scumball, Dooley Tate. He didn’t give you any trouble, did he?”
Jase looked down at her with a pair of steely blue eyes that rivaled Beau’s, but she didn’t feel the slightest twinge of attraction. She had never dated any of the guys in the office. Not only were they dedicated bachelors, but it was her personal rule.
Since they liked and respected her, they hadn’t pushed for more than friendship. Instead, they’d taken on the role of protectors, which was a little irritating at times since she was fairly good at protecting herself.
“No trouble with Tate. Beau tangled with a bunch of bikers. He handled himself like a pro.”
“Beau Reese, right? Hotshot race-car driver?”
“Not anymore.”
“So what happened?”
“Beau took care of three of them. One of them came after me and I shot him in the foot. Aside from that it was fairly uneventful.”
Jase grinned. “The poor sonofabitch should have known better than to tangle with Hopalong Cassidy Jones.”
She rolled her eyes. “Very funny.”
“Let me know if you need anything else.” He winked and ambled back to his desk.
Cassidy went to work making follow-up calls to recent clients, just to make sure everything was okay. She had a couple of messages from people who wanted to hire her, one that required going undercover as a CPA to find out if an employee was embezzling money, another from a distraught housewife who wanted her husband followed.
Cassidy referred Lissa for the CPA job and Dante for the housewife. “Romeo” Romero had a way of cheering up lonely, abandoned women.
Beau called once, but he was still working, which gave her time to go home and change before they went out. Her apartment was only a few blocks away, walking distance unless she needed her car or the weather was bad, and close to the neighborhood gym she hit three or four times a week.
It was dark outside by the time she was finished and ready to leave. By then, everyone was gone except Jase. Her phone rang again and she checked the caller ID, smiled as she pressed it against her ear. “Hey . . .”
“Hey, baby, you ready for something to eat?”
The endearment rolled over her and her stomach floated up. Sometimes when they made love he called her Cassie. She liked it way too much.
Dammit to hell, why did it have to be him? Why not someone else? Someone not in love with a ghost?
She had always wanted the kind of relationship her parents had, both of them madly in love till the day her mom had died. She could still remember hearing them upstairs at night, laughing softly in the darkness. Remember the summer holidays, the two of them lying on the beach side by side, her mom feeding him potato chips, him grinning. He would call sometimes just to tell her he loved her.
Her throat tightened. Maybe someday . . .
Cassidy bit back a sigh. “I’m definitely hungry,” she said. “Even a greasy burger sounds good right now.”
Beau chuckled. “You won’t believe the food in this place I’m taking you.”
“I can’t wait to try it. I’m heading out right now, on my way home to change.” Slinging the strap of her laptop over her shoulder, Cassidy tucked the phone beneath her chin, grabbed her purse, and headed out the door.
“How about you wear something like that little black dress I saw in the guest-house closet. That and nothing else would be good.”
Oh, wow. The little black dress was still hanging in Beau’s closet, but going out with no underwear was such an erotic thought her belly clenched. “You are a very wicked man.”
He laughed as she arrived at her car door. She was digging for her keys when she heard the roar of an engine, followed by the squeal of tires. Glancing up, she saw a beat-up brown sedan roaring toward her, the car weaving, the driver obviously drunk.
“Oh, my God!” There was no escape, no time to run and nowhere to go. The phone slipped from her nerveless fingers and clattered to the pavement. Fear slammed through her as she dropped to the asphalt and rolled beneath the car, banging her head in the process, feeling the sharp sting of broken glass slicing into her arm.
The sound of grinding metal and a rush of air hit her as the car plowed into the side of the Honda, careened off and kept going, speeding on down the road. For several moments, Cassidy lay under her car, breathing in the smell of motor oil and rubber, trying to stop trembling.
“Cassidy! Cassidy!” Heavy footfalls pounded toward her; a pair of long legs and big feet in cowboy boots appeared in her line of vision. “Cassidy!”
She turned her head to look at Jase, who crouched down next to the car. “I’m . . . I’m okay.” Trying to avoid bits of hot metal and more broken glass, she eased herself out from under the vehicle.
Jase stared down the road but the car was long gone. “Crazy fuck.” He led her over to the sidewalk and eased her onto the curb. Glancing down at herself, she saw that her sweater was torn and covered with grime, the knees of her leggings ripped open and the skin scraped bloody underneath.
Jase saw the gash in her forearm and swore again. Pulling a handkerchief out of the back pocket of his jeans, he wrapped it around the cut on her arm. “Press down on this. You might need stitches. I’ll drive you to the emergency room and you can get it checked out.”
Her head was spinning, her pulse still hammering. Suddenly she remembered she’d been on the phone with Beau and realized he had probably heard the accident as it happened. He’d be frantic.
“Can you find my cell? If it still works, I need to make a call.”
A siren sounded in the distance. The cops were on the way. Beau had probably called them. Jase retrieved her purse and laptop and set them down on the curb beside her. He handed over her phone, which was battered but still working, and she punched in Beau’s number. There was panic in his voice when he picked up.
“Cassidy! What the hell happened? Are you okay?”
“I’m . . . I’m okay. Some drunk nearly ran me over. I’m pretty banged up, but I’m . . . I’m okay.”
His voice steadied. He was back in control. “The cops are on the way. So am I. I’ll be there in just a few minutes.” She could hear the roar of the powerful Ferrari engine, knew he was driving like a maniac to get there.
She nodded, though Beau couldn’t see. “Okay.”
“I’m coming, baby. Just hang on.” The line went dead. Her head hurt. Her arm throbbed and her knees burned. Jase’s handkerchief was covered with blood. When her hand started shaking, he took the phone and tucked it into her purse.
“Come on. Let’s go get the docs to take a look at you.”
She shook her head, blotted the blood on her arm with his handkerchief. “It’s not that bad. I’ll be okay. Besides, I want to wait for Beau.”
Jase’s piercing blue eyes sharpened. “You’re cut and bruised and you might have a concussion. Reese can pick you up at the hospital.”
“Beau’s coming from his office. It’s only ten minutes away. Less, the way he drives.”
Jase swore softly. A police car rolled up just then and Jase walked over to talk to them, but the beat-up brown sedan had long since disappeared and catching the driver wouldn’t be easy. Still, she wanted to make a report. They needed to stop this maniac before he seriously hurt someone.
She heard the squeal of tires and her head jerked up. The Ferrari slid to a halt in the middle of the street, the door flew open, and a tall, black-haired man ran toward her. A car horn honked, but Beau didn’t stop.
“Cassidy!” He pulled her up from the sidewalk into his arms and hung on tight, buried his face in her hair. “You scared me. Jesus, you scared me.”
She wasn’t the crying type, but for once she wished she could just let go. She clung to him, only for a moment, then forced herself under control. A shudder ran through Beau’s hard body as he eased away.
He looked down at the bloody handkerchief, her torn leggings and skinned knees. “Christ, I’m calling an ambulance.”
“Wait! It isn’t as bad as it looks. I’ll be okay.”
He tipped her chin up, saw a smudge of blood on the side of her head. “You might have a concussion. I’m taking you to the emergency room.”
Jase walked up just then. He was nearly as tall as Beau. “I told the cops you’d give them a statement at the hospital.” He turned a hard look on Beau. “’Bout time you got here. I tried to take her to emergency but she wanted to wait for you.”
“I’m here now. Who are you?”
“Jason Maddox.” Neither man moved or looked away.
“He’s the guy who helped us find Dooley. Now do you two think you could postpone your pissing contest until later?”
Beau just turned, swept her up in his arms, and started striding toward the Ferrari. Jase brought her laptop and purse, settled them in the low-slung sports car.
“Thanks.”
Jase just nodded.
Once Beau had her belted into the seat, he roared off toward Baylor Medical, which wasn’t all that far. Along the way, Cassidy filled him in on what had happened.
“I swear, that car came out of nowhere—I only had a split second to react. The way it weaved toward me, I could tell the driver was drunk.”
“The bastard could have killed you. I’d like to get my hands around his neck.”
Cassidy made no reply. Wasn’t much she could say to top that.
A few minutes later, she was sitting on a table behind a curtain in the emergency room while an older doctor with thick gray hair looked her over. Aside from a slight headache, she didn’t have any sign of a concussion, no confusion, no memory loss, no dizziness, nausea, or vomiting.
“Will you have someone with you tonight?” the doctor asked.
“I’ll be with her,” Beau said, leaving no room for doubt. The doctor seemed satisfied. A nurse finished up, putting ointment on her scrapes and scratches, bandaging the cut on her arm.
The police arrived just as the woman finished. “She’s all yours,” the nurse said to them as she left.
“Your friend Maddox told us what he saw. But he didn’t actually see the collision. Can you tell us what happened?”
Cassidy took her time, trying to remember those few moments before she had hit the ground, but she hadn’t gotten a license plate number. An old, battered, brown sedan wasn’t much of a description.
“It might have been a Ford,” she added, which didn’t seem to impress them.
“We’ll do our best, Ms. Jones,” said an officer who had red hair and a crooked nose that looked like it might have been broken. “But Dallas is a big city.”
“Could have been an illegal,” the other officer said. “They hit somebody then keep driving because they don’t want to get deported. It’s a huge problem out in LA.”
“You never know, maybe we’ll get lucky,” the red-haired cop said. “Car might show up on a street cam somewhere.”
But Cassidy knew the chances were slim.
Beau led her back to the Ferrari and they drove off toward his house.
“So I guess the little black dress with no panties isn’t going to happen,” he said, trying to lighten the moment.
Cassidy managed to smile. “Not tonight. I’m kind of out of the mood.”
Beau cast her a glance. “Not tonight isn’t exactly a no, so I’ll settle for that for now.”
Cassidy laughed, her tension easing. He’d said that about taking her to bed, and look how that had ended.
As they neared the house, Beau used the hands-free to phone Will Egan, head of security, telling him they were on their way home.
Egan’s voice came over the speaker. “They’re all gone, Mr. Reese. Reporters headed out for a bigger story. I guess you haven’t seen the news.”
Beau glanced at Cassidy. “What’s going on?”
“Terror attack in Houston. Some nutcase strapped on a bomb, went into a restaurant and blew himself up. Luckily, as a bomb maker he wasn’t much good. Managed to kill himself and injure half a dozen people who were there for supper, but nobody else got killed.”
“I guess that’s something.”
“You want my team to stay here in case the media comes back?”
“Go on home. I can always call if there’s a problem.”
“All right, that sounds good. Have a nice evening.”
“You, too.” Beau ended the call.
“Saved by a terror attack,” Cassidy said. “There’s something wrong with that.”
“I guess.” Beau fell silent. No more teasing conversation as they neared the house. She had a feeling he was more upset about the accident than he had let on. Now his adrenaline rush was wearing off and a black mood had settled over him.
He’d feel better tomorrow, Cassidy told herself. Both of them would. But as she studied the dark look in his eyes and the grim set of his features, she wasn’t completely sure.
* * *
Franco Giannetti drove the beat-up old Ford into the junkyard and parked it among a row of wrecked cars headed for scrap metal. He turned off the engine, leaned back in the seat, and slammed his hand down hard on the steering wheel. Dammit, he’d botched the job. He couldn’t believe it.
Fuck, it should have been easy. He’d found the Jones woman at Reese’s house—not hard to do when it was all over the news. Late in the afternoon, he’d followed her to her Uptown office on Blackburn Street: Maximum Security, an office full of PIs.
He’d staked the place out, planning to follow her when she left, hadn’t really figured the opportunity to finish her would come so soon. But he had been ready. This wasn’t his first rodeo. Hit-and-run was one of his specialties, which was the reason Cliff Jennings had called him.
Franco pulled a disposable phone out of his pocket. He needed to make the call, bring Jennings up to speed.
He punched in the number, then paused before hitting the send button. What if he didn’t make the call? He’d gotten away clean. The car would soon disappear, never again to be seen. He and Pete Rodriguez, the owner of the scrap yard, had an understanding. As soon as the vehicle was disposed of, Franco would give Pete his usual fat fee and another old car would be readied for when it was needed.
Pete didn’t ask questions and Franco didn’t give answers. But he had managed to turn deadly car accidents into a very lucrative business.
Unfortunately, not this time.
He looked down at the phone, trying to prepare himself for Jennings’s wrath. What if he waited? Jennings hadn’t given him a time limit, just a job that needed to be done fairly soon. It had to look like an accident—that was the only condition.
On the other hand, if Jennings somehow found out . . . Franco ignored the shiver that ran down his spine, and hit the send button, listened to it ringing.
He was good at what he did. No way the woman had any idea she was a target. He’d come up with a new plan, figure the best way to handle things.
Next time he’d get the job done.