Chapter Twenty-Nine
All the way back to Dallas, Beau kept replaying the scene in his head, him holding the baby, Cassidy looking at him with a soft smile on her face, him smiling back.
Like a lunatic, he thought now, a guy caught up in something he didn’t completely understand and would never experience.
That kind of thinking was over, long in the past. It had died with Sarah, and he wouldn’t allow it to return.
Memories arose, long summer days on campus, he and Sarah making plans, talking about having a family, how many children they wanted.
It was only a few weeks later that the cancer diagnosis had come in. Terminal. Nothing they could do but accept the inevitable. They didn’t want to believe it, flatly refused to give up hope. But as Sarah slowly wasted away, there was no use denying the outcome. Sarah’s anguish and suffering had been intense. In a different, less obvious way, so was Beau’s.
He thought of Cassidy, his deepening feelings for her, the way her smile somehow warmed him inside. The way she steadied him, helped him deal with the problems he was facing.
The last thing he needed was to fall in love. He’d made a life for himself. One that didn’t include a wife and kids. He was comfortable. Safe. He thought of the agony of losing Sarah. He’d be a fool to let down his guard and take that kind of risk again. Since he wasn’t a fool, he needed to back away.
He’d talk to Linc, find a way to ensure Cassidy was protected until this was over, set up security twenty-four hours a day.
He was deep in thought, running over his options, discarding possibilities, when he pulled up to a stop light on Lovers Lane and noticed a car in his rearview mirror. It was a fairly new white Toyota four-door sedan, a family car, though the driver appeared to be the only person in the vehicle at the moment.
The Ferrari was idling, satellite radio playing soft rock tunes. A few other cars were on the busy street, a Ford F-150 facing him on the opposite side of the intersection next to a Subaru Outback, a Chevy with a dent in its right fender behind the Toyota, nothing that looked threatening.
He checked the mirror, saw the turn signal on the Toyota go on as the driver pulled into the right-hand lane on Cassidy’s side of the car and came to a stop beside them. Beau glanced over at the driver, a guy in a ball cap, noticed the window was rolled down. The driver’s arm came up.
“Gun!” Beau shouted. Both of them ducked as two quick shots smashed through the glass in the Ferrari’s passenger window, tearing into the headrest, missing Cassidy’s head by inches, the other shot shattering the window on the driver’s side of the car, exactly where he had been sitting.
Cassidy popped up and fired through the broken window as the Toyota charged into the intersection, squealed around the corner, and roared off down the block.
Beau jammed his foot on the gas, punching into the intersection, slinging Cassidy hard against her seat belt just as the light changed and the F-150 lurched toward him. Beau steered hard to the right to miss a collision and stay behind the fleeing car.
“Keep low!” He pressed harder on the gas pedal, and the Ferrari leaped ahead like a panther after a gazelle, engine growling, gaining on the white Toyota at breakneck speed. He’d almost caught up when the car braked and cut in front of two slower-moving vehicles, blocking Beau’s approach. He jammed on the brakes and managed to duck in behind them, followed for a few seconds before the Toyota screamed through a yellow light, turned left as the light changed to red, and shot off down the block.
Cursing, Beau downshifted and hit the gas, running the light, shooting into the intersection to the sound of blaring horns and the squeal of burning rubber, barely missing a Cadillac coming the opposite way. He cranked the wheel, made the turn, and raced after the Toyota, which cut in and out with more skill than Beau expected.
A red light loomed ahead. Cassidy kept her gun angled toward the driver in the Toyota, but there were too many people around to get a clear shot. The Toyota ran the light, but a moving van rolling into the intersection forced Beau to slam on the brakes and squeal to a stop.
“Come on . . . come on.”
The van finally cleared the lane and Beau punched the gas. But as he roared down the street, there was no sign of the Toyota.
“I don’t see him! Which way did he go?”
“Left!” Cassidy shouted. “He went left!”
Beau jerked the wheel and jammed on the gas, running another red light, but he didn’t see the Toyota. The streets were crowded, people pouring back into the city after the weekend. He ducked in and out of traffic, but the Toyota never reappeared.
“I don’t see him,” he said, muscles tight across his shoulders.
“I don’t either.”
Beau swore foully. He turned left and cruised around the block, tried another block, but there was no sign of the car or the man in the ball cap.
“He’s gone,” Cassidy said glumly, slumping back against the seat.
Beau slammed a hand down on the steering wheel. “I can’t believe I let him get away.”
“He caught us off guard. We overreacted last time. I guess we didn’t want to do it again.”
“It shouldn’t have happened. He was driving a fucking Toyota!” He glanced at Cassidy, saw the corners of her mouth twitch in amusement, and released a slow breath. “So I guess we’re both okay.”
“I’ll be better when we get home.”
“Yeah, me, too. We need to call Briscoe, tell him what happened. Did you get a plate number?”
“BC4 X589. I doubt it’s legit.”
“The guy was using a silencer,” Beau said, still trying to comprehend what had just occurred.
“I noticed. Means he’s a professional. I don’t think he was just after me this time. I think he planned to take both of us out.”
Beau’s insides tightened. The guy was a professional. Which meant there was no way in hell he could back away from Cassidy now, no matter the personal cost. It was a pipe dream, anyway. He never could have gone through with it. He wouldn’t have been willing to risk putting her safety into the hands of someone else, not as long as she was in such grave danger.
Beau ignored a vague feeling of relief that she would be staying with him, and turned the car toward home.
* * *
As soon as he got to the house, Beau spoke to Will Egan, bringing him up to speed on the shooting and authorizing him to hire more men. Next he phoned Tom Briscoe. Using the landline in the kitchen, he put the phone on speaker so Cassidy could join the conversation.
“It’s Beau Reese, Tom. I was hoping you’d be in. Looks like we’ve got more trouble.”
“What’s going on, Beau?”
After a brief summary of the shooting, which included how close the assassin had come to killing both of them, Briscoe started asking questions.
“So we’re looking for a late-model, white, four-door Toyota,” he said, recapping what they knew. “You get a plate number?”
“BC4 X589,” Cassidy replied.
“You sure the guy was using a silencer?”
“Dead sure,” Beau said and he and Cassidy shared a glance at the pun.
“Description of the assailant?”
“Average height. Never got a look at his face. Wore a dark blue ball cap tugged down over his forehead. Dark brown hair, I think.”
“Cassidy, you got anything to add?”
“Two shots fired close together. One for each of us, I’d say. Near misses. Miracle Beau caught on in time for us to duck, throw off his aim.”
Which, Beau thought, he probably wouldn’t have done if it hadn’t been for their false alarm run-in with the black SUV.
“You think the hit was on both of you, not just Cassidy?” Briscoe asked. “Keep in mind, whoever it was has already made two failed attempts.”
“I’m guessing this was a different guy,” Cassidy said. “The shooter was a pro. I think if he’d been the one to run me off the road, he would have come back and finished me.”
Beau’s stomach knotted. He didn’t want to think there might actually be two people trying to kill them instead of just one.
“If you’re right,” Briscoe said, “odds are he’ll make another attempt.”
“I know,” Cassidy said.
Beau clenched his jaw. “He can try. He won’t succeed.”
“We’ll need statements from both of you. And DPD will want a look at the car. I’ll call them, have them send someone out. And I’ll ask them to keep your neighborhood on their radar.”
“Thanks, Tom. I’d appreciate it if you kept this out of the media. They’ll be climbing all over me again.”
“I’ll do my best. Listen, Beau, there’s something else. I hate to be the bearer of more bad news, and it’s not official. I’m probably not supposed to say, but rumor has it they’re thinking about convening a grand jury. The DA is up for reelection. Your dad was a senator; you’re his wealthy, celebrity son. The DA doesn’t want any hint of impropriety or favoritism.”
“Surely with Milford’s murder and all the stuff that’s been going on, they can see this is bigger than just an argument between me and my father that escalated into me killing him.”
“So far we haven’t got any kind of connection between your father’s murder and anything else. If you have evidence, we need to see it. Do you?”
Did they? Hell no. They had nothing but a bunch of theories that so far led nowhere. The hit-and-run and the crash could have been nothing more than coincidence.
“What about the guy who just tried to take us out?” he asked. “That ought to prove something.”
“No proof it’s related. At least not yet. We’ll keep working the case here in Pleasant Hill, and the Dallas PD will be working the shooting. Until we come up with something that ties all this together, that’s all we can do.”
Tom was right. They had no real proof the shooting was in any way connected to anything else. “We’ll keep after it, Tom, find the evidence you need.” Somehow.
“I should tell you to back off, leave the investigation to the police, but I’m not going to. You need to find something, Beau, and you better find it soon or the DA will move forward with his plan.”
Beau felt sick. It seemed things were getting blacker and blacker. Cassidy’s hand settled gently on his shoulder. Beau looked at her and took a steadying breath.
“I appreciate your telling me, Tom.”
“I’ll run that plate number, see what turns up, but I wouldn’t get too excited. Not if the guy is the pro you think he is.”
“Yeah.”
“Watch your back. Both of you.” Briscoe hung up the phone.
Beau walked over to the kitchen table, sank down in one of the chairs. Cassidy sat down in the chair next to his.
“I know this is overwhelming,” she said, “but we’re getting close, Beau. That’s why they’re coming after us so hard. Once we figure out what’s going on, it’ll be clear you weren’t the one who killed your father.”
Beau raked both hands through his hair. “At the moment, I’m not as worried about the people who killed my father as the people who are trying to kill us.”
“We’re building a case, digging up evidence. We’re going to figure this out. Once we do, there’ll be no point in killing us.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Cassidy rose from the chair. “I’m going to take a look at the GPS on Vaughn’s car. I’ll check my phone, see if the audio’s picking anything up.” He watched her walk away, following the movement of her sexy ass in the skinny jeans she was wearing, wished he could just take her to bed and forget everything else.
He sighed as he leaned back in his chair. First thing tomorrow morning, he’d make some calls, try to get the names of the contractor Scott Watson had personally recommended.
If the cops were done with the Ferrari, he’d call Marty, have the car picked up and the shattered windows and the bullet-torn headrest repaired. Maybe the cops would be able to dig a slug out somewhere, get a lead on the weapon, but if the guy was the professional he seemed, it wouldn’t matter much.
He shoved up from his chair. He was mentally exhausted, weary to the bone. He headed down the hall to Cassidy, knowing she had to be feeling the same. And there was still a police report to be made before they were done for the day. Until this was over, they needed each other. He hated to admit it, but in some ways he needed her even more than she needed him.
Beau paused for a moment in the doorway. Cassidy was sitting at her laptop, tapping away, her soft dark curls falling around her face. She was one of the most feminine women he had ever met. At the same time, there was a toughness about her, an ability to handle whatever life threw at her.
Some men might be intimated by that toughness, but Beau admired it. With everything that had been happening, he was grateful she was no delicate flower.
* * *
It was blustery outside the next day, temperatures in the high fifties, overcast with no chance of rain. Egan had patrols set up and men stationed all over the property.
Cassidy holed up in Beau’s study and by midmorning had the names of all the companies awarded contracts by the oversight committee. The work, which had started January first, was already well underway.
Unfortunately, the list included everything from plaster and lathing, to electrical contractors. There were plumbing companies, painting contractors, flooring companies, lighting suppliers—six hundred million could buy a helluva lot of construction work.
She glanced up as Beau walked into the study, looking yummy in a pair of creased blue jeans and a light blue long-sleeved T-shirt. For a moment, her mind went back to the delicious wake-up sex they’d had earlier that day.
“’Morning.” He leaned down and brushed a quick kiss on her lips.
“Good morning.” She smiled at the recollection that she’d thought he needed a haircut when she’d met him. His glossy black hair was even longer now, curling softly at the nape of his neck. She wanted to run her fingers through it, pull his mouth down to hers for a far less platonic kiss.
“I may have found something,” he said.
She brightened. “Good thing, because I’ve found way too much. There must be dozens of contractors working on those repairs.”
“Maybe so, but only one of them was recommended by Senator Scott Watson.”
Her eyebrows went up. “You got it? Beau, that’s great! Which company is it?”
“Hardrock Trenching. They’re based in Houston.”
She looked back at her list, saw the name. “It’s listed in public records. I printed the list so you could see.” She circled the name. “That’s good work, Beau.”
“Maybe. The thing is, they’re not a very big company. In order to participate in projects over a million dollars, they had to qualify under the Texas Facilities Commission Small Contractor Participation Assistance Program. Which apparently they did.”
“So how big a contract did they get?”
He picked up the printed paper, looked down at the name she had circled. “That’s the weird part. The job was only worth two hundred thousand dollars. The company won’t actually net anywhere near that.”
Cassidy frowned. “I don’t get it. If Vaughn wanted a favor, why would he pick something with so little value?”
Beau’s head tilted back and he stared up at the ceiling. Then his gaze, dark with frustration, zeroed in on her. “Don’t you get it? We screwed up. There’s no way this is the favor Vaughn wanted. Hell, maybe Senator Watson’s death really was an accident. We’ve got to go back, start completely over.”
Rounding the partners’ desk, he sat down heavily in his chair, a mixture of disappointment, regret, and worry all etched into his face.
“You think we’re on the wrong track,” she said, not willing to give up yet.
He sighed. “We must be. Killing two people—possibly three—over a low six-figure trenching contract doesn’t make any sense.”
Cassidy’s shoulders slumped. He was right, dammit. If there was a favor involved, it had to be something worth way more money than that.
“Okay. We’ll leave it for now. We still have an audio bug in Vaughn’s car and a GPS tracker on his bumper. We’ll stay on top of them, monitor them twenty-four hours a day if that’s what it takes. We aren’t giving up until we find out if Malcolm Vaughn is the man behind the murders.”
Beau propped his elbows on the desk and leaned forward, his expression a little less tense. “You’re right. If Vaughn’s our man, we’ll catch him.”
Cassidy turned back to her computer, clicked up the screen showing the GPS locator. The address for the current location appeared on the screen.
“This is Vaughn’s office,” she said as Beau got up and padded around the desk behind her. “His Mercedes is parked in the parking lot. We’ll check it every half hour until he leaves. Then we follow his route, see where he goes.”
She pulled out her cell phone, but the audio signal wasn’t alerting. “We’ll keep a closer eye on this, too. If he calls anyone, we’ll know it. We’ll phone the device and listen in on the conversation. One way or another, if Vaughn is guilty, sooner or later, we’ll catch him. If he’s guilty, Malcolm Vaughn is going down.”