Chapter Five
Crime-scene tape fluttered in the breeze, but it was almost midnight and the police cars were gone from in front of the house. Beau parked his Ferrari in a spot half a block away, a place in the trees he used to sneak off to when he was in high school, a place his friends could park and wait for him to join them without being seen.
He’d been wild back then, always pushing the limits, trying to prove himself. He and Linc and a kid named Kyle Howler, the sheriff’s son, were constantly in trouble. Then one night, Kyle had goaded them into robbing a convenience store.
Beau, who drove a suped-up red Mustang his dad had bought him, agreed to act as the wheelman. Linc and Kyle wore ski masks and carried revolvers when they went into the store around midnight. But they were kids, not killers. When old man Lafferty brought a shotgun out from under the counter, they put down their weapons and all three of them were arrested.
Linc, who had just turned eighteen, spent two years in prison. A few months younger, still seventeen, Kyle and Beau had had their juvenile records sealed.
What happened that night had changed all of their lives.
The memories slid away as Beau climbed out of the car. No dome light went on, a trick he’d learned as a kid. Grabbing a flashlight out of the Ferrari, he stayed in the shadows as he walked toward the house.
After he’d left the police station, he had checked into the Holiday Inn, but he hadn’t been able to sleep. Even after drinking a couple of beers he had picked up at the store and brought to the room, he couldn’t calm his mind enough to block images of his father lying on the study floor covered in blood.
He had planned to postpone his search until he moved into the house tomorrow, but he was sure the cops wouldn’t find whatever was in his father’s secret place, and the information could be extremely important.
And what if the murderer also knew about the hiding place? What if he went back to the house and took whatever his father kept there before Beau had a chance to look at it?
Giving in to temptation, he’d left the motel, climbed into his car, and driven to the house that had been his childhood home.
He kept walking, crossed to the other side of the road, and made his way around back. No lights on in the guest house. He figured Cassidy had probably returned to Dallas, wondered if he’d ever see her again and felt a surprising flicker of disappointment.
He hadn’t met an interesting woman in weeks, longer really, and especially not one who appealed to him physically as much as Cassidy Jones.
He was crossing the yard toward the back door when he spotted a dim light moving around behind the curtains in the master bedroom. Adrenaline shot through him. Clicking off the flashlight, he ducked out of sight behind the thick trunk of an oak tree.
Someone was in the house, and the way the light was circling, that someone was searching for something.
Moving quietly through the darkness, he reached the terrace and crossed to the back door, found it unlocked, turned the knob, and slipped into the laundry room. Beau headed down the hall toward the master bedroom, pausing just outside the door to listen for movement inside. The sound of footsteps crossing the deep cream carpet in the bedroom signaled the intruder was heading in his direction.
Beau flattened himself against the wall behind the door, muscles tense as he waited. The knob turned and the door swung open. Beau stepped out and grabbed the intruder around the waist, heard a gasp as he slammed the man against the wall.
The guy was small but he didn’t go down easy. Beau blocked an elbow jab, jerked his knee up to stop a kick to the balls that would have done serious damage to his masculinity, did a quick turn, and used the side of his foot to sweep the guy’s feet out from under him.
They both went down on the floor of the hall, Beau landing on top, pinning the guy in a wrestling move that took less than three seconds, with the intruder’s legs splayed and his arms immobilized above his head. It was the lush, pillow-soft breasts pressing into his chest that said the intruder was a woman.
The height and feminine curves said it was Cassidy Jones.
“Cassidy, what the hell?”
“Beau.” Recognizing his voice, she stopped fighting and relaxed a little, shoved hard at his chest. “Get off me. I can’t breathe.”
Nestled in the soft vee between her spread thighs, his body felt perfectly fine where it was. Seeing it as payback for the trouble she’d caused, he dipped his head to catch a whiff of her soft perfume, shifted a little just because she felt so good, then lifted himself away before he started getting hard.
As he came to his feet, gripped her hand and pulled her up beside him, his irritation returned. It was followed by a shot of suspicion.
“In case you’ve forgotten, this is a crime scene,” he said. Since neither of them were supposed to be there, he tugged her down the hall into the powder room, where he could safely turn on the light. “What the hell are you doing here?”
She hesitated just long enough for him to know she was going to lie.
“The truth, or I’m calling the cops.” Not that it wouldn’t cause him as much trouble as her.
Resigned, Cassidy sighed. “I was looking for your father’s private papers.”
“The police took his laptop and all his files. You must know that. What makes you think there’s something more?”
“I got the impression the senator wasn’t the type to leave his personal information lying around. He liked his privacy. He didn’t even have security cameras outside the house. My guess is he kept his important papers somewhere safe.” She cocked a dark eyebrow. “If there’s nothing to find, what, exactly, are you doing here?”
Instead of answering, Beau studied her face, trying to come to a decision. He had looked her up while he’d been sitting in that motel room. Twenty-nine years old, graduated at the top of her class from the criminology program at the University of Texas in Dallas, worked for the past five years for a firm called Maximum Security.
She’d been born and raised in Houston, came from a family of decorated cops and soldiers, just like she’d said. Reputation as an extremely competent private investigator. More importantly, no connection to the senator or any of his cronies.
“If you’d found the files,” he asked, “what were you going to do with them?”
“Depends on what was in them. Stewart Reese hired me. That means my loyalty belongs to him. I wouldn’t divulge anything personal I found in the files unless it was relevant to catching his killer.”
“So you’re planning to investigate his death on your own?”
“That’s right. I was on the job when he was killed. That makes it personal. As far as I’m concerned, I’m still on the job and will be until the man who murdered him is in custody.”
“What about money? How do you plan to get paid? Because if you think you can use whatever you find out in exchange for some kind of payoff—”
She stiffened. “This isn’t about money—not for me—not anymore. It’s about justice. I’ll do what needs to be done.”
He was good at reading people. It was one of the reasons his company had become so successful. She felt responsible in some way for the senator’s death and she was determined to make it right.
Of course, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d been wrong about a woman. He had good instincts, but hell, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d been wrong about a man.
The powder room was beginning to feel confining. Or maybe it was Cassidy’s soft perfume. Or that if he leaned just a little closer, he could brush against those magnificent breasts. He forced himself to concentrate.
“So let’s say I know where those papers you’re after might be—if they exist at all. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You’re a private investigator—I’ll hire you to help me find my dad’s killer.”
“Are you serious?”
“You take the job, I’ll pay you double your usual fee, but we work together, and you don’t hand anything over to the police without my say-so. And my decision is final.”
Interest sparked in those big green eyes. She was watching him as closely as he’d been watching her. “I won’t do anything illegal.”
“You ever heard of breaking and entering? You broke into someone else’s house. You’re here without permission.”
She glanced down, toyed with her heavy Maglite. “Point taken, but I still won’t—”
“Fine. Nothing illegal.” But she had better be prepared for what his father might have done. Odds were his dad was involved up to his silver-threaded eyebrows in God-only-knew what. Beau figured he’d handle the problem if or when it arose.
“Where’s the stuff hidden?” Cassidy asked.
“Unfortunately, it’s in the study.”
She rolled those big green eyes. “I was afraid of that.”
* * *
“You agreed we wouldn’t do anything illegal,” Cassidy hissed as they headed down the hall to the study. “Interfering with a police investigation is a criminal offense.”
“So is burglary, but you didn’t seem to have a problem with that.”
She was only planning to look at the documents, not steal them, maybe take some photos with her cell, but she didn’t say that. Not when she had just been hired to do exactly what she was going to do without being paid.
Plus, she’d have Beau’s cooperation—at least to a point.
Following his long, lanky strides down the passage, she couldn’t help remembering the leashed power of his body as he’d taken her down with an ease that was frightening. She couldn’t help remembering the hard, sinewy muscles that had pinned her to the carpet in some kind of wrestling move, her legs splayed, Beau nestled intimately between them.
She had heard of women who harbored rape fantasies. Cassidy definitely wasn’t one of them. Still, there was a split second when she had realized it was Beau, realized she was completely at his mercy, that she had really been turned on.
On the other hand, there were probably a dozen women who would want to have wild monkey sex with Beau Reese.
He paused at the study door, reached down and turned the knob, carefully eased the door open. Fingerprints wouldn’t be a problem. Both of them had been in the study. Their prints would be all over the room.
Beau’s black, high-top sneakers squeaked as he crossed the gleaming hardwood floor, stopping next to a small oak four-drawer stand against the wall. Pulling the stand a few feet away, he knelt in front of the spot where the furniture had been sitting.
Long tanned fingers slid over the surface of the wood floor, feeling for a break in the boards. Finding it, he took out his pocketknife and opened the blade, used it to pry out a square of wood so perfectly fitted it had been completely invisible.
A two-foot-by-two-foot opening about eighteen inches deep appeared in the floor. When Beau shined his flashlight inside, Cassidy could see a stack of manila files, along with what appeared to be a small box containing a pair of USB flash drives.
Her pulse quickened. She’d been right about the senator. Whatever was in that hole could very well lead them to his killer.
Beau scooped up the files and handed them over, grabbed the flash drives and stuffed them into the pocket of his jeans, then replaced the panel in the floor. He slid the furniture back into place, motioned for her to retreat, and both of them stepped out into the hall.
A few minutes later, they were standing in the living room of the guest house, the curtains closed, the files spread open on a table in front of the granite counter along a wall of appliances that served as a compact kitchen.
“There’s a lot of stuff here,” Cassidy said. “It’s going to take some time to go over.” But she was already thumbing through the files, searching for anything that involved the names the senator had given her.
Beau caught on in a heartbeat. “You’re looking for something that pertains to the people he mentioned.”
“That’s right.”
“Since we’re supposed to be working together, be a good idea if you gave me those names.”
She glanced up. “Sorry. I’m not used to sharing.” She pulled out a manila file labeled Green Gables Realty she had spotted in the stack.
“George Larson,” Beau said, correctly guessing one of the names. “Larson was my father’s partner in the real estate business.”
She nodded, tapped the file. “Three months ago, the senator insisted they sell. Apparently Larson wasn’t happy about it.”
Beau frowned. “Insisted? If Larson didn’t want to sell, my father must have coerced him. He must have had something on him, something he was holding over his head.”
“You’re saying Larson was blackmailed into selling?”
“That’s right.” The bluest eyes she had ever seen fixed on her face and a little curl of heat slid into her belly. Not good.
“If you’re going to work this case,” Beau said, “you had better start seeing my father as the man he really was. He was ruthless and conniving, willing to do just about anything to get what he wanted. His list of enemies is going to be way more than three. Who else did he mention?”
“The other man’s name is Jess Milford. He worked for Alamo, the construction and development company your father owned.”
“I don’t know him. Until yesterday, I hadn’t seen my father in nearly a year. I talked to him on the phone when it was necessary, but I never got involved in his business dealings and he didn’t get involved in mine.”
“Milford was fired from an apartment construction job. He’d been with Alamo for years, foreman for the last five.”
Beau scoffed. “Loyalty wasn’t part of the senator’s makeup. Not unless he got something in return.”
Cassidy eyed him with speculation. “You really hated him, didn’t you?”
A muscle tightened in Beau’s cheek, pulling up the thin scar along his jaw. “Hate’s too strong a word. I didn’t respect him. I didn’t approve of his business dealings or the way he conducted himself. Did I dislike him enough to kill him? No. He was still my father and I’ll always be his son.”
“You realize the murder weapon tells us a lot. A letter opener, something probably lying on top of his desk.”
“It belonged to him. The end of the handle was an eagle with its wings spread. I’ve seen him use it dozens of times.”
“That’s just it. It wasn’t a gun or a knife. The murder wasn’t planned. It probably happened in the heat of the moment, a crime of passion, they call it. Which brings me to the third name. Your stepmother, Charlotte Mercer Reese.”
Surprise flashed in his eyes. “I saw Charlotte yesterday at the police station. As I understand it, their divorce was messy but agreeable. Dad found Charlotte in bed with a younger man and insisted on ending the marriage. My father slept with any woman he wanted, but he couldn’t handle it when his wife returned the favor.”
“He said she never got over him, that she wanted them to get back together.”
Beau frowned, shook his head. “I’m not buying it. Dad gave her nothing but trouble. From what I could tell after the divorce, she was glad to be rid of him. When I saw her yesterday, she seemed stunned but not brokenhearted, though she did say they had remained close after the divorce.”
“I guess we’ll see.”
Beau reached over and closed the file. “It’s getting really late. We can work on these again tomorrow. I presume you’ll want to continue staying in the guest house.”
“If you don’t mind.”
“Seems the best solution. I’ve got to make a quick trip back to Dallas, but I’ll be staying in the main house until this is over.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t considered he might do that. The idea of Beau being in such close proximity was somehow unsettling. It was possible he had murdered his father, yet he managed to spark the first real attraction to a man she had felt in months—longer, really, considering her relationship with Rick had been more of a convenience than anything with real physical heat.
He started to leave with the files tucked under his arm and the flash drives in his pocket. Not happening. No way was she giving him the chance to purge information that could connect him to the crime.
“You know, I’m not really sleepy,” she said, stopping him at the door. “Why don’t you leave that stuff here and I’ll work on it a little longer?”
A slow, sexy smile curved his lips. It was the first real smile she had seen and the effect trapped the breath in her lungs.
“You don’t trust me,” he said.
She shrugged. “Let’s just say I’m the cautious type.”
“You’re a smart lady. I like that. Tell you what. Since neither of us completely trusts the other, you keep the manila files and I’ll take the flash drives.” Setting the files back on the table, he crossed the living room in that long-legged stride of his and paused at the door. “Let me know if you come up with anything and I’ll do the same. Good night, Cassidy. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
When the door closed behind him, Cassidy felt as if the heat had suddenly been turned down and she could actually breathe. Aside from his dark good looks and amazingly hot body, there was something intriguing about Beau Reese.
She knew he had dated some of the world’s most beautiful women, but he had also had affairs with a college professor, a female CEO, and a lady stockbroker. Clearly women with brains didn’t intimidate him.
She liked his honesty, the fact he didn’t try to sugarcoat his father’s shady dealings or their rocky relationship. She liked that he wanted justice for his dad even though the two of them had never gotten along.
Assuming what he’d told her was the truth. Assuming he wasn’t just trying to turn suspicion away from himself.
Assuming it wasn’t Beau who’d committed the murder.