Chapter Eight
Ignoring the senator’s Mercedes, also parked in the garage, Cassidy slid into the burnt orange leather seats of the Lamborghini. The doors slid down from above and locked solidly into place.
The gleaming, low-slung, slate-gray vehicle looked like something from Back to the Future, only far more advanced. The cockpit belonged in a high-test airplane and, amazingly, there were no carpets, just industrial steel floors.
As she clicked on her seat belt, she couldn’t help thinking how much her two brothers would love the gorgeous sports car that had to cost hundreds of thousands of dollars.
Beau pressed the start button and the powerful engine roared to life. It growled like a predator as it idled in the garage. Beau backed out, then pulled onto the road and drove out of the subdivision.
“We could take the long way,” he said, tossing her a hopeful glance. “Get up a little speed.”
She couldn’t stop a grin. “Oh, yeah.” She watched his big, suntanned hands on the paddles next to the steering wheel, shifting gears with perfect precision as the car shot forward down the road.
What was it about a hot guy in a hot car that was such a turn-on? She glanced down at the big black high-topped sneaker on the gas pedal. “Where’s the clutch?”
Beau shifted and the engine whined into a higher gear. “Semiautomatic transmission. Clutch is electronically controlled. You can shift manually or drive it in automatic mode.”
She itched to try it, wondered what it would take to convince him, then clamped down on where that thought led. One-night stands weren’t her thing and she didn’t have time for a fling, especially not with a heartthrob like Beau, a guy half the women in Texas drooled over.
They hit an open stretch of road just outside town and Beau let the sleek gray panther out of its cage. The acceleration pressed her back in the seat and adrenaline shot through her blood. She liked speed and she liked beauty and the Lamborghini had both. She could definitely get used to a car like this.
“Wow,” was all she said.
Beau grinned, making him look even more appealing and sending her pulse up again. It was the first time he had let down his guard and shown a side of himself he mostly seemed to keep hidden.
“She’s just getting warmed up,” he said. “We’d need a track to really give her a run.”
“Her? You think of your car as a woman?”
“Sure. She’s got plenty of fire but she’s hard to control. You gotta keep her in hand or she won’t behave the way you want her to.”
A flash of heat rolled through her. She closed her eyes to banish an image of them naked together. Dear God, what was wrong with her? She had certainly never had these kinds of thoughts about Rick.
She kept her gaze determinedly on the road. If she looked at Beau, he might guess what she had been thinking, and nothing would be more embarrassing. Slowing the Lamborghini, he turned and started winding his way back toward town.
“Why did you quit racing?” she asked as her blood pressure returned to normal. “According to what I read, you loved the sport more than anything else in your life.”
He cast her a glance. “I did love it. Racing was my passion, still is and probably always will be. It’s just . . . sometimes life throws you a curve you aren’t expecting.”
“Like what?”
“I got hurt pretty bad in Le Mans a few years back, spent three weeks in the hospital.”
She’d seen that in an article she’d read. “That’s why you quit? You got hurt?”
“Not exactly. As much as I loved the sport, I had other things I wanted to accomplish. I wanted to build Texas American into a company I could be proud of. I never intended to make racing my life. But I quit after Le Mans because the guy driving one of the four cars involved in the crash—one of my best friends—was killed in the collision. The report said I wasn’t responsible, but there’s no way to know for sure. I couldn’t handle the thought of being the guy who got another man killed.”
Emotion moved through her. She couldn’t resist touching the big hand curled around the steering wheel. Her instincts were right about Beau. He was one of the good guys. No way was this man capable of killing his own father.
They parked in front of a redbrick house with white trim. Beau turned off the engine and the Lamborghini doors slid up. He rounded the vehicle as Cassidy climbed out, and they walked up the path to the front door together.
Beau rang the doorbell. A few minutes later, the door swung open and a balding man with glasses and a paunch stood in front of them.
“Hello, George,” Beau said.
“I heard about your dad,” George said. “I’m sorry for your loss, Beau.”
“Thanks. You know how it was between us, but still, finding him that way was hard.” He turned. “George, this is a friend, Cassidy Jones. May we come in?”
Clearly reluctant, Larson stepped back, silently allowing them into the house. He led them through the living room into a family room comfortably furnished with a dark green overstuffed sofa and chairs. A flat-screen TV hung above a redbrick fireplace.
“Myra’s out shopping,” George said. “You want something to drink?”
“No, thanks. This won’t take long.” He and Cassidy sat down on the sofa while Larson sat in one of the chairs. “Cassidy’s a private investigator, George. The cops haven’t found the guy who killed the senator, so we’re trying to help them tie up loose ends. Can you tell us where you were on Thursday morning about eleven o’clock?”
George’s eyebrows pulled into a frown. “I don’t like your asking, but since I wasn’t anywhere near your old man when he got pretty much what he’s deserved for years, I’ll tell you. I was in Iron Springs, in the middle of a meeting with my attorney, Phil Wheeler. You can call and verify if you want.”
Beau just nodded.
Cassidy looked at Larson. “You said he got what he deserved. You must have known about the side deal he made when you sold the business—the money he got that he should have split with you?”
“I found out later.” George focused on Beau. “I guess your father has cheated me for the last time. Strangely, I’ll miss the challenge of catching him at it, which I usually did.”
“How did you find out about the building?” Cassidy asked.
Larson shrugged. “It’s a small town. Stuff like that gets around. I figure I was lucky it wasn’t worse.”
“Why is that?” Beau asked.
“Your dad needed money, Beau. He always lived above his means and it finally got away from him. He told me he owed someone a chunk of money and he needed to pay it back. He pressured me to sell, and eventually I agreed. Now that it’s done, I’m glad I’m out of it. Maybe I can actually enjoy my retirement.”
“You know the guy’s name?” Beau asked.
“Stew didn’t say. He mentioned some guy in Dallas once, but it was years ago.”
“What was the name?”
“Dooley Tate. It was just odd enough I remembered.”
Cassidy’s stomach tightened. Dooley Tate was a notorious loan shark, a bottom feeder of the worst sort, not the kind of man she would have imagined the senator to be connected with. But if he’d borrowed money from Tate and hadn’t repaid him—
Cassidy mentally added Dooley Tate to her suspect list.
Beau stood up from the sofa. “We appreciate your talking to us, George. I never really thought you were involved. Now we can take you off our list.”
Without replying, George rose and started walking, leading them back to the front door. “Be careful, Beau. Your father knew some very powerful people. Whoever murdered him isn’t going to like your asking questions. You don’t want to wind up dead, too.”
Cassidy felt a chill. Anytime you tracked a killer, there was a chance it could turn deadly.
She walked in front of Beau down the path to the Lamborghini. He helped her inside, then rounded the car and slid in behind the wheel.
Once he’d clicked his belt into place, he closed the car doors. “George said my father borrowed money from a guy named Dooley Tate. You ever heard of him?”
Cassidy nodded. “He’s a loan shark. He’s a real scumball, Beau. I can’t imagine your father being involved with someone like that.”
“George said it was a long time ago.”
She sighed. “It might be worth a try. At least it would give us a place to start. If your father owed Tate money and didn’t pay him back—”
“You think he’d go as far as murder?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“How do we find out if my dad owed him money?”
“If you’re up for a trip to Dallas, we ask him.”
Beau checked the time on his expensive gold wristwatch, a Patek Philippe. The man definitely had expensive taste. So did his father, she recalled, thinking of the perfectly tailored suits Stewart Reese wore and the Mercedes in the garage.
“The afternoon’s shot,” Beau said. “I’ll call for the chopper in the morning, arrange for a pickup. We can be in and out of the city in a couple of hours.”
“George is right, Beau. We need to be careful.”
He turned to look at her, blue eyes searching her face. “You can go back to Dallas, Cassidy. I won’t think any less of you.”
Ignoring him, Cassidy leaned back in the burnt-orange leather seat. “We can cross off Larson’s name,” she said as she clicked her belt into place. “Dooley Tate is next.”
Beau’s features hardened. “Tate and the other two names on my father’s list.”
* * *
As Beau turned the Lamborghini off Country Club Lane onto Fairway Drive and drove toward the house, he spotted an unmarked dark brown police car parked in front. Tom Briscoe unfolded his sturdy frame from the vehicle and walked toward them as Beau drove the Lambo into the garage next to his father’s Mercedes, making a mental note to put the cover on the vehicle so he wouldn’t have to look at it.
Briscoe waited while the doors slid up and Beau and Cassidy got out.
“Beautiful car,” Tom said, eyeing the Lamborghini.
Beau’s gaze went to one of his most prized possessions and he couldn’t help a smile. “It has 740 horses, V-12 engine, zero-to-sixty in 2.7 seconds. Tops out at two hundred seventeen miles an hour. Not that I plan to drive it that fast around here.”
“Good thinking,” Tom said.
“Let’s go inside.” Beau led Cassidy and the detective in through the kitchen, closing the garage door behind them. He continued into the open family room, where he and his parents had spent most of what little time they had ever shared together.
“You want something to drink?” Beau asked. “A Coke or some water?” Not alcohol, not for Tom while he was on duty. Beau knew him well enough to be sure of that.
“I’m fine.” Briscoe seated himself on one of the taupe and brown plaid overstuffed chairs, Cassidy sat down on the matching sofa, and Beau took a seat beside her.
Like most of the house, the room was done in a traditional style, with high molded ceilings and plush beige carpets. The Pleasant Hill Sentinel rested on the walnut coffee table. Brass lamps sat on matching end tables next to the couch.
“I might as well cut to the chase,” Brisco said, taking a small, lined spiral notebook out of his coat pocket. He was wearing an inexpensive dark brown suit and wing-tip shoes that needed polish.
He looked down at his notes. “No DNA found at the crime scene. No one else’s blood.” He glanced up. “No evidence of a struggle, so we expected that.”
“What about fingerprints?” Beau asked.
“Just yours and your father’s on the letter opener.”
“So the killer wore gloves,” Beau said. “Or wiped the handle clean.”
“Maybe. There was no forced entry, Beau. That means the killer had to have been someone your father knew. He must have invited the man into the study.”
Beau’s stomach began to churn.
“Not necessarily,” Cassidy said, flicking him a glance. “I took a look at the locks on these doors. A simple set of picks would open them in about five seconds.” Which Beau figured Cassidy knew firsthand, since she had let herself in the night of the murder to search for the hidden files.
Tom flashed her a look of respect. “It’s possible. There’s still the alarm.”
“He didn’t turn it on during the day.”
Briscoe looked down at his notes. “The housekeeper was off that day. Good chance the killer knew that.”
“The murder weapon indicates the murder wasn’t planned,” Cassidy said, “just something that happened on the spur of the moment. So maybe the housekeeper not being here was just coincidental.”
“I’m not big on coincidence,” Briscoe said.
Neither was Beau.
“What about the senator’s phone?” Cassidy asked. “Did you find anything on it?”
“We’re still looking for the phone. So far we haven’t found it.” Tom turned in Beau’s direction. “When we talked at the station, you didn’t tell me the reason you came to Pleasant Hill.”
“I told you I came to get some papers signed. That’s why I was here.”
“I’d like to take a look at them, Beau.”
The adoption papers. “It was personal business between my dad and me. I’d rather it stayed that way.”
“I’m sure you would, but in a town the size of Pleasant Hill, word gets around pretty fast. Currently, the hot topic is you, Beau, you and Missy Kessler. And of course that includes Missy’s baby. Gossip has it that baby is yours. People think maybe you and your dad were fighting about it. You lost your temper and killed him.”
The knot in Beau’s stomach went tighter. When he made no reply, Cassidy spoke up. “The baby isn’t Beau’s, Detective. Senator Reese is the father.”
He should have been angry; the information was private. But all he felt was relief. He didn’t want to betray Missy, but he didn’t want to go to jail, either.
Briscoe settled back and drilled Beau with a glare. “That’s what Missy told me. Might have been better if you’d told me, Beau. Might not look like you had a reason for wanting to keep the information secret.”
“He was trying to protect her,” Cassidy said.
“It’s all right, Cassidy,” Beau said softly. “I should have told Tom the truth from the start.” He spoke to Briscoe. “Missy was afraid of what people would think if they knew she’d had an affair with a man so much older than she is. I figured she’d suffered enough. Since her pregnancy had nothing to do with the murder, I was hoping no one would need to know.”
“When did you find out?” Tom asked.
“Josie called me a couple of days ago. She asked me to meet her at the café, which I did the day before the murder. She gave me a copy of the DNA test that proved the father of Missy’s baby was my dad.”
“How did that make you feel?”
Beau could see it coming, feel the trap closing in on him. “I was angry. I couldn’t believe my father would take advantage of a girl that young. I drove out to the house to talk to him. We argued. He agreed to give Missy full custody. I went back to Dallas and had the paperwork drawn up, then came back to get it signed the next day. When I walked into the house, I found my father lying on the study floor.” He clenched his jaw against the painful image that hadn’t left him since that morning.
“You realize, Beau, you’re the only suspect we have. The only person who had access to the house, to the weapon that killed him—the only person who had a motive to want him dead.”
Beau came up off the sofa. “I didn’t want him dead! We didn’t get along. I didn’t approve of his relationship with Missy. That doesn’t mean I killed him.”
Briscoe slowly rose from his chair. “Then there’s the fact Ms. Jones saw you leaning over the body with the letter opener in your hand.”
Cassidy stood up. “I’ve had time to think about that, Detective. Yes, I saw Beau with the letter opener, but his hand wasn’t wrapped around the handle in a manner that would have been used to strike down a victim. He was pulling the instrument out in an effort to save his father’s life.”
Beau could feel his heart beating a loud, rapid cadence inside his chest. She was changing her story to protect him. Taking a terrible risk.
Briscoe stared at her, his gaze unwavering. “Are you sure you want to go down that road, Ms. Jones? Giving a false statement to the police is a criminal offense. So is aiding and abetting.”
Cassidy’s chin inched up. “I’m a private investigator, Detective. I’m trained to look for those sorts of clues. I saw Beau Reese removing the letter opener from his father’s chest in an effort to save his life. I was upset when I gave my initial statement. I hadn’t had time to process what I’d witnessed, go through the sequence of events. What I just told you is exactly what I saw, and should it come down to it, exactly what I’ll tell a jury.”
Clearly unhappy, Briscoe closed his notepad and tucked it back into his coat pocket. “I’d suggest you get a lawyer, Beau. Unless something new develops, you could be in serious trouble.” He turned to Cassidy. “As for you, Ms. Jones, since you’re so convinced Beau is innocent, I suggest you use your investigative skills to find the person who killed Senator Reese.”
Briscoe turned and walked out of the house. The door slammed shut behind him.
Beau turned to Cassidy. Neither of them had moved. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
She just shrugged. “We needed some time. I bought us some time. You’re innocent, so I don’t have to worry. We just need to find the person who killed your father.”
She looked so damn determined. Beautiful, smart, incredibly sexy, and fiercely determined. Wanting hit him, deep and primal, stronger than ever.
“I’d really like to kiss you,” he said. Though he wanted to do far more than that.
Cassidy just shook her head. “I’m not going there with you, Beau. I’m not sleeping with you now or anytime in the future. I’ll help you clear your name, but that’s it.”
“You said you were attracted to me. You admitted it. Why shouldn’t we act on our mutual attraction?”
“I’ll tell you why. Because you’re Beaumont Reese, Texas heartthrob. You’re famous for your love-’em-and-leave-’em affairs, and I’m not interested in becoming one of your statistics.”
He grinned. “Heartthrob. I’ve been called a lot of things but never that.”
“I’m not kidding, Beau.”
He ran a finger down her cheek. “I want you, Cassidy Jones. You have no idea how much. If you did, it might scare you.”
Her chin firmed the way it had when she had faced Briscoe. “I’m not scared of you, Beau.”
“Good, because I’m the kind of man who goes after what he wants. I don’t stop until I get it. It’s only a matter of time, Ms. Jones.”
A flush crawled up Cassidy’s throat and spread over the cleavage above the bodice of her soft knit sweater. He could see a tiny pulse beating wildly on the side of her neck.
“We have to find Dooley Tate,” she said. “And I want to know as much as possible before we talk to him.”
Her reminder of the murder hit him like a pail of cold water, sweeping away his need and putting his head back on straight. “You’re right. For the moment I have more to worry about than taking you to bed.”
A tiny sound escaped Cassidy’s throat before she turned and walked toward the sliding glass doors leading out of the family room on her way back to the guest house.
Beau just smiled and fell in behind her.