Chapter Twenty-Four
For the last three days, since her release from the hospital, Cassidy had been lying in bed in Beau’s guest room. She was slowly going crazy. She glanced toward the door. Her black-haired, blue-eyed prison guard was gone, at least for the moment. He’d be back, she knew, making sure she stayed in bed and got her rest.
Not today. It was nearly noon and she had too darn much to do. Easing off the mattress, ignoring the soreness in her ribs and the swirling in her head, she made her way to the bathroom and turned on the shower. She hissed at a sharp stab of pain as she stripped off her long cotton nightgown and stepped beneath the warm, rejuvenating spray.
She took her time, washed her hair twice just to have an excuse to stay in longer. Soaping herself one last time, beginning to feel like her old self again, she gasped as the shower door flew open, letting in a draft of cold air and shooting out a jet of water. She bit back a grin as Beau mopped the wetness off his face.
“What are you doing?” he asked. “You aren’t supposed to be up for another day.”
“Too bad. I’m up and I’m staying up. Now if you don’t mind . . .”
For the first time, he seemed to realize she was standing in front of him naked, warm water trailing over the tips of her breasts, cascading into her navel, sliding through the dark curls at the apex of her legs.
Beau’s gaze ran the length of her body and a familiar hot gleam came into his eyes. He cleared his throat. “Sorry.” Hurriedly, he closed the shower door.
“I’ll be out in a second,” she said.
“Are you sure you’re okay? You aren’t dizzy or anything?”
“I’m okay, better by the minute.” She considered inviting him to join her but as achy as she still was, that might be pushing her luck.
“Call me if you need me. I’ll be just outside the bathroom door.”
He was worried about her. He’d been endlessly patient and unbelievably gentle. She wouldn’t have guessed he could be so sweet. Cassidy finally gave in and turned off the water, climbed out of the shower and toweled herself dry. She combed the tangles out of her hair, then had mercy on her prison guard/nurse, wrapped the towel around herself, went over and pulled open the door.
“I’m okay, all right? No dizziness, nothing.” She gave him a big, wide smile. “See? I’m fine.”
Beau glanced away. “As soon as you’re dressed, we need to talk. I’ll be in my study.”
She didn’t argue. They had plenty to discuss—like how to keep from getting killed.
Beau had told her he’d brought Will Egan and his team back to the house, had Will beef up security to the max. There were men around the property 24/7, but that couldn’t go on forever.
Cassidy partially dried her hair, leaving it damp enough to dry in soft curls around her shoulders. She took a pair of stretch jeans off a hanger in the closet, then sucked in a breath at a fresh jolt of pain as she pulled them on. She found a yellow cashmere scoop-neck sweater, gritted her teeth, and eased it on over her head.
Breathing a sigh of relief, she glanced down at her feet. The sneakers could wait. There was only so much torture a person could endure at one time.
Padding barefoot down the hall, she found Beau seated at his desk in the study. His head came up as she walked in, and his gaze ran over her once more, came to rest on her feet.
“I can’t believe your bare feet are turning me on.” He glanced up. “You drive me crazy. You know that?”
A little thrill went through her. She thought of his beautiful body, the ladder of muscle across his flat belly, his wide shoulders and hard-muscled chest. Yesterday he’d worked out with his martial arts trainer, then boxed with a sparring partner in his home gym behind the garage.
She wondered if there was a way to make love without hurting her ribs, imagined how good it would feel, and desire rose so hot and sweet her mouth watered.
“We need to talk,” Beau said again, breaking the moment. “You’re out of bed, so I’ll assume you’re feeling up to a change of location. I’m taking you out of town, a place you’ll be safe.”
She should have seen this coming. She was shaking her head even before he finished the sentence. “We need to stay in Dallas, Beau. We’re starting to put things together, figure things out. That’s why they came after me. There’s a good chance they’ll come after you, too.”
“I know that. Cain’s offered us the use of his ranch. We can bring in security. Deke Logan’s a friend of his, former special ops. He’s one of the best security guys around and he’s got a great team. Plus Josh is there. Former Marine sniper. We wouldn’t have to worry.”
“Listen to me, Beau. I realize you’re trying to protect me, but we can’t hide forever. As soon as we come back to Dallas, I’ll be a target again. A guy like Vaughn has plenty of patience. He’ll just wait us out. We need to stay here and deal with this.”
“Are we sure it’s Vaughn?”
“Everything we’ve come up with so far points to him.”
“All right, so I’ll hire another detective to handle the case. Cain worked with a guy named Ross Townsend when Carly was having trouble. Townsend’s good.”
“So am I. And I’m not about to trust my life to someone else. We need to stay on this, keep working the case ourselves.”
Beau leaned back in his chair, released a slow breath. “I had a feeling that’s what you were going to say. I’ve thought about it, tried to look at this from different angles. Are you sure you don’t want to take some time, try to get a handle on this thing before we go at it again full speed?”
She moved around to his side of the desk, stood close enough to get a whiff of his sexy cologne. “I’m dead sure. I don’t want to be looking over my shoulder for the next five years. I want these guys dealt with. Which reminds me—did you talk to Detective Briscoe?”
Beau looked up at her. “I called him. He said he’d get in touch with the Kaufman police and the Dallas PD. But unless there’s proof the hit-and-run and the crash are related—”
“Which there isn’t. The only way the police are getting involved is if we find the proof they need. You asked me once if I wanted out. Now I’m asking you. We both know the risks. If you want out—”
“No way!” Temper sparked in his eyes. “I brought you into this. I’m not letting you deal with it alone.” Beau reached across his desk, picked up the semiautomatic pistol she hadn’t noticed lying there. “This belongs to me. Glock seventeen, nine mil. I’m a damn good shot and I’m permitted to carry. You want to stay in Dallas, we’ll stay. But from now on, we’ll be prepared.”
* * *
Beau stood in front of the whiteboard Cassidy had created. He wasn’t a professional investigator, but he’d read enough true crime novels and watched enough cop shows to be able to contribute to her efforts.
“All right, we’ve got the victims—Milford and Senator Reese.” She stood at the board, one hand on her hip, the other clenching a yellow pencil, her gaze fixed on the pair of photos spaced apart at the top. “In one way or another, we think Vaughn is connected to both men.”
On the Internet she’d found a photo of Malcolm Vaughn at a charity benefit, printed it, and tacked it up between Milford and his father.
“Under Vaughn we have Clifford Jennings,” Beau said. “Vaughn’s right-hand man.” Cassidy had found a police mug shot from ten years back. Jennings had been twenty-four years old at the time. The photo showed a man of average height and weight, with tight blond curls pushed up by a headband. He’d been arrested for forging checks and promoting prostitution, meaning he’d been a pimp. Jennings had served two years in the Federal Detention Center in Houston. No arrests since his release.
Beau held up a line drawing he’d sketched because they didn’t have a photo. “This represents the guy who tried to kill you.” He pinned the drawing up on the board. “Assuming it was the same man both times.”
“It was him,” she said. “Two old cars, both of them barely running. He’s getting them somewhere. A used-car lot or a junkyard someplace.”
“Lot of used-car lots in Dallas,” Beau said. “Not as many junkyards, but still . . .”
“It’s a place to look. Maybe someone will remember the pickup.”
“It was stolen, so even if they do, likely they won’t admit it.”
Frustration turned her mouth down at the corners. Beau wanted to see those pretty lips curve into a soft, warm smile.
“For the moment, why don’t we concentrate on Vaughn?” he said. “He’s the guy running the show.”
Cassidy perked up. “All right. If we’re starting with Vaughn, we need to know more about him. We’ve found the basics—divorced, never remarried, no kids. He lives in a million-plus condo in Turtle Creek. Started Equity Advance five years ago. But we need more than that.”
“A lot more,” Beau said.
“We need to know who he talks to, who he associates with. If we could put a bug on his car, we’d know where he goes. Maybe we could even get an audio device inside—”
“You’re kidding, right? That’s highly illegal.”
She tossed him a look. “So’s murder.”
“Good point.”
“So how do we get access to his vehicle?” She tapped the yellow pencil against her cheek. “The parking garage at his office has cameras all over, and way too many security people to get in and out without being seen. I know that development in Turtle Creek. It’s gated, patrolled. Be like getting in and out of Fort Knox. We need some other way.”
Beau ran the notion around in his head. “Linc mentioned Vaughn’s a philanthropist. You found his photo at a charity event. Linc says Vaughn uses his high-society contacts to promote his loan business. Might be able to use the charity angle somehow.”
Cassidy concentrated, worrying her bottom lip. Since her release from the hospital, she’d been spending her nights in the bedroom next to his. He hadn’t touched her. She was recovering, healing. Even thinking about having sex was a betrayal.
She moved, shifting her thick mane of curls, and he went hard. Damn. He’d vowed to keep his distance, get his emotions back in check, but staying away from her was killing him.
“It’s February,” she said. “There’s a couple of big events going on this month. The Heart Association Benefit and the Children’s Home Valentine’s Masquerade Ball. I saw them mentioned in the paper. Both are happening tonight. If he’s planning to attend one of them, we might be able to get to his vehicle while it’s parked in the lot.”
“How do we find out if he’s on either guest list?”
She smiled. “I’ll find out.”
“What, you’re going to hack into their online system?”
“Of course not. I’m going to call and ask.”
* * *
Cassidy found the website for tickets to the black-tie Heart Association Benefit and called the number. A volunteer answered the phone. “How may I help you?”
“My name is Maryann Jones. I was supposed to buy tickets to the benefit tonight for a friend, but I think he might have already purchased them. Can you check for me?”
“Of course. How do you spell your friend’s name?”
“V-A-U-G-H-N.”
The line went silent as the woman checked. “I don’t see the name anywhere on the list. Shall I get you the tickets?”
“I think I’d better wait, make sure I got the information right. Thanks so much for your help.” Cassidy ended the call and went to the page for the Children’s Home Valentine’s Masquerade Ball.
She used the same routine, but this time the woman refused to give her the information. “This isn’t an open event,” the woman said. “There’s a very exclusive guest list.”
“The person I’m calling for is a friend of Beau Reese. I’m sure Mr. Reese is on your list.” She had no idea if Beau was on the guest list. He was a celebrity with plenty of money. She was just hoping his name would be enough to get the information.
“Beau Reese? The famous race-car driver?”
“That’s him.”
“Well, of course Mr. Reese would be welcome to attend. I’m happy to check, see if his friend has tickets. What’s the name?”
“Malcolm Vaughn.”
“Hang on a minute.” She went off-line, then came back on a few minutes later. “Yes, it looks like Mr. Vaughn has already purchased two tickets for the event.”
Cassidy shot a fist into the air. “Then I’ll need two tickets for Mr. Reese.”
“I’m afraid we only have VIP tickets still available.” Figuring Beau could afford the extravagant price the woman rattled off, and the money was going to a good cause, she reserved two tickets. But she had to call back with a credit card within the hour to hold the reservation.
“Mr. Reese would prefer his attendance be kept anonymous,” she finished.
“Of course,” the woman said.
Cassidy ended the call. The good news was it was a masquerade ball. They’d be wearing costumes and masks, which would cover up the bruises on her face and allow them to move around freely. It couldn’t be more perfect. Vaughn would never even know they were there.
The bad news was, since it was a Valentine’s ball, not a Halloween party, the theme was romantic couples. Beau would not be thrilled. Cassidy took a deep breath, determined to convince him.