by Kat Martin
“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.
Chapter Six
Beau thought about driving his car from the motel to the house the next morning and calling for the Tex/Am helicopter to fly him the twenty-five-minute ride into Dallas. The Pleasant Hill Golf Course backed up to the house, providing enough open space for the chopper to land, but driving had always been a stress reliever, and the time on the road would give his head a chance to clear.
By the time he pulled up to the Texas American Enterprises building, a six-story mirrored glass structure on North Central Parkway, the tension had drained from between his shoulders and he was coming to terms with his father’s death.
Stepping out of the elevator on the executive floor, he crossed the deep, beige carpet. The low tables in the reception area were of smooth, rust-grained teak, a warm contrast to the nubby oatmeal fabric on the sofas and chairs.
He waved at the feisty redheaded receptionist, Leslie Bingham, who had once held high hopes of snaring Linc but had given up after his recent marriage and now seemed to be crushing on Beau.
“Good morning, Mr. Reese. I’m so sorry to hear about your father.” She was bright and ambitious and good at her job. And aside from an occasional over-adoring smile, she was a very good employee.
“Thank you, Les.” On the drive to the office he had geared himself up for the dozens of condolences he would be receiving over the next few weeks. Whatever he thought of his father, Stewart Reese was an important man and Beau was his son.
He stopped to speak to Linc’s personal assistant, Millie Whitelaw, who worked in a private area at the back of the reception area. Staff worked in cubicles nearby.
“Is he in?” Beau asked.
“Yes, and he asked me to let him know when you got here. He said for me to send you right in. I’m really sorry, Beau.”
“Tha
nks, Millie.” He had phoned Linc from the motel and told him what had happened, asked him to take charge for a while, till he got things handled in Pleasant Hill. Linc was probably the only person in the world who understood the mix of emotions he was feeling.
He opened the door to his partner’s private office, which was surrounded by a wall of windows like the ones in his own. The room was done in the same teak décor as the reception area, but with caramel leather sofas and chairs instead of fabric.
As the door closed, Linc stood up from his desk. A big man, six foot five, two hundred twenty pounds of solid muscle, he was good-looking, smart, and loyal to a fault.
Rounding the desk, he grabbed Beau’s shoulder and drew him in for a brief man-hug. “I’m sorry, bro. I know how hard this must be. Carly sends her sympathies. And Josh called when he saw it on the news. He said to let him know if there’s anything you need.” Joshua Cain was Linc’s younger brother, just out of the Marines and home from the war after a near-fatal injury.
Beau just nodded. He paced over to the wall of windows, stared out at the sprawling city of Dallas. Cars buzzed along the busy streets below and a stiff wind shifted through the branches of the trees.
The words seemed to just spill out. “He was murdered, Linc.” He walked back to the desk. “Jesus, what the hell did my old man do to get himself killed?”
“You’ll find out or the cops will. One way or another you’ll make sure whoever did it pays.”
“I’ll find him. I won’t be able to move on from this until I know what happened.” An image arose of the woman who had been with him the night before in the study. “Believe it or not, I’m going to have some help. I hired a lady detective. I mentioned her when I called.”
Linc nodded. “Cassidy Jones. You said she walked in just as you found your dad. They mentioned her on the news.”
“She got there just as I was pulling the letter opener out of Dad’s chest. The way things went down, I don’t think she believes I did it, but she’s smart enough to reserve judgment until she’s sure.”
“She’d have to be smart or you wouldn’t have hired her.”
Beau told Linc how he had gone out to the house last night to look for his father’s secret files and found Cassidy prowling the master bedroom, searching for the same thing. He didn’t mention the wrestling match in the hall that had felt way too good, so good just thinking about it stirred him up all over again.
“How’d she know about the files?”
“She told me she’d pegged the senator as secretive and private, not the kind of guy to leave his personal info lying around.”
“You don’t think she was involved with him in some way?”
“Nothing points in that direction. She was right about my dad and about the files, and if she’s lying about their relationship, sooner or later, I’ll find out.”
Linc eyed him with speculation. “What’s she look like? Your father was a notorious womanizer.”
Beau felt the pull of a smile. “I’ll admit she’s hot, but she’s a little too bright for my father’s taste. So far, everything about her checks out.”
“Be good to have a professional working with you on the case, and you know what they say—”
“Yeah, keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”
Linc nodded. “Anything I can do?”
“You’re doing plenty keeping things running here. I’ll let you know when the funeral is scheduled.”
Linc gave a curt nod, his features grim.
Beau headed for his office, the only other private space on the top floor. He paused just outside to speak to Marty Chen, a fine-boned Chinese-American in his midtwenties who had recently become his personal assistant after his longtime female assistant retired.
The kid shot up from his desk. “I heard about your father, Beau. You have my deepest condolences.”
“Thanks, Marty.” He was always a little too formal, but it was kind of a nice change, and the kid was great at his job. “I’m going to need you to step up your game for a while. I’ll be staying in Pleasant Hill while the police conduct their investigation. You’ll be able to reach me, but I’d appreciate if you’d clear my calendar as much as you can. If it’s something important, I can always chopper back to the city, but I’d rather not do it unless I have to.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Beau left him and went into his office. It was different from Linc’s, the desk, tables, and bookcases made of gleaming black lacquer, the sofa and chairs a cream raw silk with pale blue accent pillows. It was sleek and modern and somehow soothing.
Anxious to get back to Pleasant Hill, Beau made his first call to the tech department. He pulled the flash drives out of his pocket and set them on the desk. He had tried to open them when he got back to the motel last night, but couldn’t make it happen. He figured Rob Michaels, his techno whiz kid, was the guy for the job.
Michaels sauntered into the office. Red-haired and freckled, he wore wire-rimmed glasses and would have looked like a typical geek if he hadn’t been pretty-boy handsome.
“Sorry about your dad, sir.”
“Thanks.” Beau handed over the flash drives. “I need you to understand that the information on these is highly personal. No one’s to know what’s in them but me.”
“Goes without saying,” Rob agreed. “I’ll get back to you on this as quickly as I can.”
“I’ll be staying at my father’s house in Pleasant Hill till I get things settled.” He wrote his cell number down on a piece of paper and handed it over. “Call me direct when you have something. Make it a priority.”
“Yes, sir.” Rob walked out of the office with the flash drives in his hand.
Beau went back to work. Returning calls that couldn’t be postponed, he spoke to friends who wanted to convey their sympathies, spoke to some of the employees, had a brief staff meeting, then went over his revised schedule with Marty.
As soon as he finished, he left the office, heading for his home in the Bluffview area north of Dallas, a white, flat-roofed, single-story contemporary on four heavily treed and landscaped acres bisected by a meandering stream.
Built around a free-form swimming pool, the house had twelve-foot ceilings, light hardwood floors, and black granite fireplaces and countertops. Pastel blue, green, and turquoise lent soft accents, and bright-colored modern art hung on the walls.
Parking the Ferrari in the four-car attached garage, he went inside to pack enough clothes for at least a week. Twenty minutes later, he was ready to leave, sliding into a low-slung, slate-gray Lamborghini that fit his restless mood. With its 740-horse V-12 mid-engine, the car was one screaming machine.
Unfortunately, since he was already on the radar as a possible murder suspect, he didn’t dare go faster than a few miles over the speed limit.
Still, the roar of the powerful engine and the vibration of the wheel beneath his hands eased some of the tension humming through him. He found himself wondering what Cassidy would think of the incredible car, wondered if she’d be interested in going for a ride.
Which brought to mind their encounter in the hallway and another sort of ride he’d like to give her.
Not the right time, he reminded himself, not when his father’s body lay on a cold slab in the morgue. Beau felt a shot of guilt for even thinking about a woman when he should be thinking about finding a killer.
By the time he reached the house, his mind was clear, his thoughts focused. He wasn’t leaving Pleasant Hill until his dad was buried and his murderer brought to justice. It was a resolve forged in steel.
* * *
Cassidy did a little research, then set out to dig up as much information in the small town of Pleasant Hill as she could. Earlier that morning, the police had released the crime scene and removed the yellow tape from across the front porch. The housekeeper, Florence Delgado, had arrived, along with a cleaning crew that specialized in suicides and other traumatic events.
Cassidy had met Florence l
ast week when she had first arrived. Flo, as the senator called her, was a round-faced sixty-year-old who had been in his employ for fifteen years. Cassidy figured Flo knew plenty about what went on in the residence but was smart enough to keep her mouth shut about it.
Cassidy approached her in the kitchen, where she stood at the sink washing dishes. She looked pale and shaken, understandably so.
“How are you doing, Florence?” Cassidy made her way toward the glass coffeepot sitting on the counter. “I know this must be very difficult for you.”
Flo glanced up and her eyes filled. “I still can’t believe it. I know there were people who didn’t like him, but he was always good to me.” She was Latina, with olive skin and chocolate-brown eyes.
“Everyone has enemies, I guess. A senator probably more than most.”
Florence nodded. She reached up, took a mug down from the cupboard and handed it to Cassidy, who filled it to the brim. “Do you think the police will catch the man who did it?”
Cassidy nodded and took a sip. “They’ll find him sooner or later. Beau and I are working together to help them.”
“You are a private investigator. I heard you and the senator talking about it.”
Cassidy wondered what else the woman might have heard. “That’s right.” She took another sip. “Beau is the one who found the senator. You don’t think there’s any chance he could have been the one who killed him?”
Flo’s dark eyes widened in shock. “Mr. Beau? Never. He was a good boy, a good son. Oh, he got in some trouble in high school, but what boy doesn’t? And look how he turned out. He has become a great success.”
Cassidy watched the woman over the rim of the mug. “I know he and his father didn’t get along. I heard them arguing. I guess it wasn’t the first time.”
Florence waved her hand as if it meant nothing. “In some ways they were alike. Both strong men and very hardheaded.”
Easy to believe that. “I heard them fighting the day before the senator was killed. The police will probably ask if you have any idea what they were arguing about. Now that the senator is gone, there’s no reason for you to keep silent, and it might help us catch the killer.”
