Chapter Thirty
Three days passed and nothing. The house was overrun with security people. Along with the extra team Will Egan had brought in, Beau had hired a bodyguard named Frank Marino, a redheaded former police sergeant who had worked for Linc. When Marino wasn’t prowling the grounds, he was staying in the studio apartment at the other end of the house.
The only good news was the purchase of Missy’s house in Pleasant Hill had closed, and Missy, Josie, and the baby had already moved in. Josie was looking for someone to help with the baby part-time but hadn’t found the right person yet.
There was lots going on in the world outside the house, but inside, Cassidy was becoming claustrophobic.
“I can’t take this anymore,” she said glumly, sitting with Beau at the breakfast table Thursday morning. “I’m going to go bat-hat crazy if I have to stay in this house one more day.”
He chuckled. “I’m happy to take you back to bed, honey, keep your mind off your troubles for a while.”
A little sliver of heat washed into her belly. She’d love nothing more than to spend the day in bed with Beau, but with a killer hunting them, they had work to do. She was hoping there was a safe way to get out of the house.
She managed a grudging half smile. “You did more than your share this morning, and I have to admit it worked—for a while. But it’s not fresh air. Why don’t I take your guy Marino with me down to the office? I called earlier. Jase is back in town and Rome might be there. Maybe one of them has heard something that’ll help us.”
“You don’t think they would have called? And who’s this guy Rome? The former gangbanger who gave you the car door opener, right?”
“Yes, and Rome might need it.” She seized the excuse like the last breath of oxygen in a roomful of poison air. “I really should take it back to him. What do you say?”
The corner of Beau’s mouth edged up. “I say we hang on to it a little longer, just in case. But if you want to get out, we’ve got good people around us. We’ll take Marino along and I’ll go with you.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
He didn’t say a word, just cocked a black eyebrow, reminding her that someone was trying to kill them.
“Okay, fine. We’ll both go. The Ferrari’s back, all patched up and ready to hit the road.”
“Be smarter to take the BMW. Blends into traffic better. The Jeep would be best—too bad it’s red.”
He was right, dammit. Not the Ferrari, and a red Jeep was out of the question. She bit back a smile. Beau and his flashy cars.
“Fine, we can take the Beamer. Maybe we could, you know, go to lunch or something. We can’t hide in the house forever.”
He scowled. “I was hoping Vaughn would make some kind of move by now. So far he hasn’t gone anywhere interesting and his conversations have been way beyond boring.”
They had stayed on top of the audio and GPS, but so far, Vaughn had spent very little time on his cell while he was driving, just calls to his office—including some steamy phone sex with his secretary. Nothing they could use, and he hadn’t had anyone else in the car to talk to.
They had followed his route on the computer screen, but mostly he just went to the office, then home. The man was definitely a workaholic.
They headed down to the agency, with Frank Marino following the Beamer in a black SUV. He parked behind them in a space in front of the building and stayed with the vehicles, keeping an eye out for trouble.
Connie was working at the front desk when they walked in. She glanced up, spotted Beau, and both black eyebrows shot up.
“My, my, girlfriend, now I see why you haven’t been coming to work.”
Cassidy just smiled. “Connie, this is Beau Reese. Beau, Connie Thurston. She runs the place and somehow manages to keep all of us in line.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Connie. And I congratulate you. I know from personal experience, keeping this lady in line is a monumental job.”
Connie laughed. “Oh, he’s got your number, girl. I can tell you that.”
There was no one else on the floor. Cassidy looked over as Chase Garret walked out of his office. He was tall and very good-looking, in his midthirties, with dark blond hair and a lean, hard body. Like Jase, he was most comfortable in jeans and cowboy boots, though he kept his boots polished to a mirror shine.
He walked straight up to Beau. “Chase Garrett.” He extended a hand.
“Beau Reese.” The men shook.
Chase tipped his head toward the door he had just walked out of. “Why don’t you two come into my office, where we can talk?”
Beau glanced at Cassidy, but she had no idea what her boss wanted. They followed him into the room, a smaller version of the main office, with a big oak desk, chairs, and bookshelves. Pictures of Chase’s family ranch out in the Hill Country hung on the walls.
Chase closed the door. “Have a seat.” Both of them sat down in comfortable brown leather chairs in front of his desk. Chase sat down on the opposite side. “I hear you two have been having some problems.”
The muscles in Beau’s shoulders tightened beneath his shirt. “You heard that?” He didn’t like people knowing his business. He flicked Cassidy a glance, but she just shook her head. “What exactly did you happen to hear?”
Cassidy didn’t tell him Chase had a way of knowing everything that went on in Dallas.
“For starters, I heard there’s a contract out on the two of you. Someone with big money wants you dead. I was just getting ready to call Cassidy when you walked through the door.”
Her pulse shot up. She’d known someone was hunting them, but a professional hit sounded even more frightening. “Any idea who took out the contract?” she asked.
“No, but I’ve got feelers out. The minute I hear I’ll let you know. In the meantime, you need to get somewhere safe until this blows over.”
“It isn’t going to blow over,” Beau said. “Not until we figure out what the hell is going on. Holing up somewhere isn’t going to solve the problem.”
Chase’s dark gaze rolled over him, surveying the protective gleam in Beau’s eyes, taking in more than Cassidy wanted him to know. “Okay, I get that. Maybe there’s something I can do to help. Tell me what you’ve got so far.”
Cassidy glanced at Beau and read his reluctance. He didn’t know Chase Garrett from the man in the moon. He didn’t know if he could trust him. No way did he want to spill the information they’d been collecting.
Cassidy set a hand on his arm. “I’ve worked with Chase for years, Beau. He’s one of the best investigators in the business. I’d trust him with my life. On a couple of occasions where guns came into play, I actually have.”
Beau released a pent-up breath. “All right. That’s good enough for me.” For the next half hour, they filled Chase in, bringing him up to speed on the murders, including the possibility that Senator Watson’s death had not been an accident. They also relayed their suspicions that Mal Vaughn was involved up to his money-lending neck.
Neither of them told Chase they were tracking the man. The PIs in the office were independent contractors. Not knowing some of the gray areas they worked in gave Chase credible deniability. She didn’t want him losing his license—or worse—over something she’d done.
“If you’re right,” Chase said, “whatever’s going on—it’s big. Cassidy’s had two previous attempts on her life. Now a pro has come out of the woodwork hunting both of you. If Mal Vaughn is involved, he’s not the big fish. Someone with way more to lose is calling the shots.”
“Any idea who?” Beau asked, leaning forward in his chair.
“I don’t know, but maybe I can find out.” Chase rose from behind his desk, his attention fixed on Beau. “The people who work for me, they’re family. You can believe I’ll stay on this. I know Jase is digging around. Rome and Lissa know about the contract. They’ve got their ears open for anything that might be useful. I’ve warned them to keep it low-key. With luck, something will turn up.”
For the first time, Beau seemed to relax. He stood up and extended a hand, which Chase shook. “Thanks.”
“Stay safe. Both of you. I’ll be in touch.”
As they walked out of the building, Frank Marino waited beside the front door. He was a lean man, fit and watchful. Cassidy didn’t miss the swell of a pistol in the shoulder holster beneath his jacket. The man took his job seriously and she was damned glad he did. She and Beau were also armed.
“No sign of trouble?” Beau asked.
Marino’s gaze went to the upper stories of the buildings lining both sides of the street, scanning for a shooter who might have a sniper’s nest in a location above. “None so far.”
Beau followed his gaze, then looked down at Cassidy and gently touched her cheek. “I don’t think going to lunch is a good idea.”
She sighed. “Not when we know for sure there’s a hit out on us.”
“Let’s go back to the house, take another look at Vaughn’s movements. We’ll send Frank out for something to eat. He always seems to be hungry.”
She nodded, checked her phone. No audio alert. “Vaughn isn’t talking.”
Beau’s features hardened, tightening the scar along his jaw. His eyes were a fierce shade of blue. “Maybe not, but nobody’s perfect. Sooner or later, Vaughn’s going to screw up. When he does, we’ll be ready.”
* * *
Vaughn’s mistake came at nine P.M. that night. It started when the GPS signal pulsing from beneath the bumper of his car began to travel from his office along the streets of the map on the computer screen.
Standing behind Cassidy, Beau watched the moving red dot as Vaughn’s Mercedes headed for home the way he usually did this time of night. But halfway there, Cassidy’s iPhone alerted to sounds inside the car.
She flashed Beau a look, picked up her cell and dialed the audio bug, which made a silent connection to the device hidden under the dash. She set the phone on speaker.
Beau heard a ringing inside the car, not Vaughn’s usual cell phone ringtone, but something different. “It’s another phone,” he said as Vaughn answered.
“I’m listening,” Mal said to the caller. Silence while the person on the other end of the phone was speaking. “I told you I’d take care of it,” Vaughn said. More conversation, then, “All right, if you think it’s necessary. But it’ll take me half an hour to get there.”
The line went dead. The pulsing image on the computer screen slowed, then turned around and began to move in the opposite direction.
“He’s meeting the guy on the phone,” Beau said, his pulse beginning to thrum.
“It could be anyone,” Cassidy reminded him, looking at him over her shoulder from her chair in front of the screen. “We shouldn’t get our hopes too high.”
“Vaughn took that call on a different cell phone. If he’s up to no good, probably a disposable. I can’t wait to see where he’s headed.”
It took thirty minutes for the Mercedes to arrive at its destination, and Beau’s nerves were on edge the whole time. The car slowed, then stopped, the device still pulsing, but no longer moving.
“He’s out in Westlake,” Beau said, studying the map, locating the small town northwest of Fort Worth. “That’s some of the most expensive real estate around. What’s the address?”
“It’s 1555 Ottinger.” Cassidy went to Google Maps, pulled up a satellite image of the house, and Beau whistled.
“Got to be twenty or thirty acres,” he said. “Property’s gated. House looks to be seven- or eight-thousand square feet. In today’s market, place like that has to be eight or nine million.”
“Hang on a minute, let me see who owns it.”
Beau waited impatiently as Cassidy went into county records and cross-referenced the street address with the ownership parcels.
“The owner’s name is Luca Aaron Reichlin. Sole and separate property. No other name on the tax rolls.” She looked up. “Ever heard of him?”
Beau shook his head. “He’s got to have some very big bucks to live out there, but no, I’ve never heard of him.”
“We need to know who this guy is.” Cassidy turned back to the computer and Googled his name. Nothing. No newspaper articles, nothing on PeopleFinder, nothing on Whitepages.com.
She kept looking, tapping away on the keyboard, finally glanced up at Beau. “No Facebook page, no Twitter account, no LinkedIn, no other social media.”
She went to birth records for the state of Texas, found nothing. Went to a national birth record search that required payment, a site she had used before. Nothing.
She found him on a pay-for-use site that searched passport records. “Here he is. Luca Aaron Reichlin was born in Switzerland. Forty-five years old, American mother, German father, dual citizenship.” She did a little more searching but nothing else popped up. All the while, the red dot in front of Reichlin’s house didn’t move.
“There’s bound to be something more,” Cassidy said. “But it’s going to take me a while to find it.” She looked up. “This guy keeps an unusually low profile. I wonder why?”
“I’d sure like to know what he and Vaughn are talking about.”
“I know someone who might have info on him.” Cassidy picked up her cell and punched a number in her contacts. “I’m calling Chase. Reichlin seems to move in the shadows, but he lives in Westlake, so clearly he travels in the higher echelons. Chase might know who he is.”
“Maybe he’s one of Vaughn’s investors,” Beau suggested.
“Could be.” She put the phone on speaker and set it down on the desk. “Chase, it’s Cassidy. I’m with Beau. Sorry to bother you so late, but have you ever heard of a guy named Luca Reichlin, middle name Aaron?”
“Reichlin? Yeah, I know who he is. You think Reichlin’s involved in this?”
“No idea. Vaughn just drove out to his house for a meeting. That’s all we know.”
“He’s bad news, Cassidy.” Worry roughened Chase’s deep voice. “The guy is for sale to the highest bidder, completely conscienceless. Money is his god and nothing else matters. His name surfaces once in a while in some dark corner, but basically he keeps a very low profile. If I’m remembering right, for the past few years, he’s been employed by some billionaire in Houston, but I don’t know his name.”
“You think there’s a chance Reichlin could be connected to all of this?”
Chase fell silent. She could almost feel his mind spinning, going over the information they had, putting it all together.
“Reichlin’s a facilitator but only at the highest levels. He deals with one client at a time. Whoever it is has to be mega-rich to afford him. Reichlin carries out orders, makes sure his client gets whatever he wants—legal or not. My guess, if all of this is connected, whatever’s going down is big.”
“Big enough for Reichlin to put a hit out on anyone who stands in the way of getting it done?” Beau asked.
“That big, yes. If he’s protecting his client.”
“How do we find out who Reichlin works for?”
“It won’t be easy. If you’re right and Mal Vaughn’s involved, maybe he knows. More likely, Vaughn’s only contact with the big-money man is through Reichlin. He may not even know the guy’s name.”
“We need to find out what these people are after,” Cassidy said.
“Yes, you do. It’s the only way you’re going to end this.”
“Thanks, Chase,” Cassidy said. “At least we know more than we did.”
“Keep me up-to-date and I’ll do the same. You both be careful.” Chase hung up the phone.
Beau looked down at the red dot pulsing on the computer screen. “We need to find out the name of Reichlin’s client.”
“I’ll go to work on it right now,” Cassidy said. “Maybe if I dig deep enough, I’ll find something.” She reached up and touched his cheek, ran her hand over the late-evening shadow along his jaw. “Why don’t you get some sleep? No use both of us staying up half the night.”
He should. He needed to be at the top of his game if they were going to figure all of this out. Unfortunately, he found himself reluctant to face his empty bed without her.
He faked a smile. “You aren’t the only one who knows their way around a computer. I’ve got a few tricks of my own up my sleeve.” Moving to his side of the desk, he sat down and went to work.