Beyond Danger

by Kat Martin

  He turned on the headlights as the car rolled along the highway. It got dark early this time of year. The temperature was in the sixties, the skies clear. It was a little after six when they followed a guy on a Harley into the parking lot next to a sign that read BARBIE’S.

  The lot was already half full with customers stopping on a Friday night on their way home from work. Sex was always a draw, no matter what time of day it was. Add to that, another sign boasted the cover charge was only a buck until 7 P.M. Afterward, it went up to five dollars.

  “You ready for this?” Beau asked, surveying a group of bikers who pulled in behind them.

  Cassidy raked her hands through her hair, fluffing the heavy dark curls into a big-hair, slightly trashy look. On the drive over, she had added more makeup. She adjusted the snug, waist-length black leather jacket she’d put on after they’d left the office. “I’m ready.”

  Cassidy glanced at Beau. He was wearing jeans and a navy-blue Henley, a casual look that showed off his hard-muscled chest. She wouldn’t have imagined him in a pair of black cowboy boots, never guessed how good he would look in them.

  They’d both fit in just fine, she figured. “Come on, cowboy, let’s go.”

  Beau didn’t smile. He was busy watching the bikers, who were parking and dismounting their bikes. Cassidy got out of the car, and she and Beau walked toward the front door. The biker who had arrived in front of them, big and burly with inky, slicked back hair, leaned against the railing around the front porch.

  “Hey, sweet cheeks, why don’t you ditch the pretty boy and let a real man show you a good time?” He grabbed his crotch and made a lewd gesture.

  Cassidy sneered. “I only see one real man here and you aren’t it.”

  Beau turned, exposing the scar along his jaw, which should have been a warning. Instead, the guy took a threatening step toward her. Beau lifted his boot a fraction, the biker tripped and went down hard, landing with a foul-mouthed curse. Cassidy felt Beau’s hand at her waist as they walked inside the club.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” she said.

  His mouth edged up. “Probably not.”

  Just inside the door, a big, dark-skinned bouncer stood with his arms crossed over his massive chest, surveying the interior for any sign of trouble. Beau walked up to the counter, where a buxom blonde accepted two crisp dollar bills for the cover charge.

  Music blared inside. A long counter lined with men in jeans and work boots or wearing black leather sat next to women with too much makeup, short skirts or tight jeans. The stage spread across the opposite end of the room and there were smaller stages on each side, though only the main stage had entertainment this early in the evening.

  The décor was flashy and modern, bright lights in neon orange, blue, and red. There was an empty dance floor in front of the stage where a woman in a leopard-skin thong and sequined pasties danced to Katy Perry’s “Roar.”

  The waitresses, exemplifying the club’s name, were all dressed like dolls, in barely there, white ruffled skirts and bibs held up by red suspenders.

  The women’s nipples were covered but not much more, and when one of them bent over to set drinks on a small round table nearby, nothing but a tiny thong covered the twin globes under her skirt.

  Beau urged Cassidy up to the bar. A twenty appeared in his hand, which he shoved across the counter at the approach of the bartender, a tall, skinny guy with a thin goatee.

  “We’re looking for Dooley Tate. He in tonight?”

  The bartender took the twenty. “He’s here. Who wants to see him?”

  “Beau Reese.”

  “I’ll let him know.” The guy disappeared, then returned a few minutes later. “Dooley’s upstairs. You can go on up.”

  Beau pushed another twenty across the bar. “Thanks.”

  Cassidy walked in front of him toward the staircase she had spotted when they walked in. The bouncer gave them the eye but made no move to stop them.

  When they reached the top of the stairs, Beau opened the door and Dooley Tate, short and stocky with thinning light brown hair, rose from the opposite side of his desk.

  “Beaumont Reese,” Tate said. “Used to watch you on TV. Never thought to see your pretty face in a place like this.”

  Beau closed the door. “You never really know what the wind’s going to blow your way, do you? I gather you were a friend of my father’s.”

  “On occasion.” As Dooley sat back down, he gestured to a pair of battered oak captain’s chairs in front of his wooden desk. “Have a seat.”

  They sat down across from him.

  “So who’s the lady?” Dooley asked.

  “My name’s Cassidy Jones. I’m a private investigator.”

  “I’ve heard of you. You helped that bounty hunter, Maddox, track down a serial killer . . . What’d they call him?”

  “The Night Watchman.”

  “Yeah, that was it. So what do you two want?”

  “I want to know if you loaned my father money,” Beau said. “If you did, I want to know if he paid it back.”

  Dooley chuckled. “Been some time since your old man was hurting bad enough to come crawling to me for favors. Even if he was, the last few years, the kind of money he needed was too big for me to handle.”

  Cassidy caught the tension that crept into Beau’s shoulders. “If he wasn’t getting money from you, who made him the loans?” he asked.

  “I don’t know for sure. Years ago, a guy named Sanford Cummings could play in the big leagues, but he had an untimely run-in with an eighteen-wheeler a couple of years back. There’s a guy name of Malcolm Vaughn. Looks down his nose at a small-potatoes operator like me. Thinks his shit don’t stink because he’s got connections, people who can handle the big money loans he brings in. Your old man might have gone to him.”

  “You think he did?”

  Dooley shrugged. “Could be. You’d have to ask him.”

  Beau sent Cassidy a glance and they rose from their chairs. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.”

  “Your dad was a good customer. Always paid his debts—one way or another.”

  “What do you mean?” Beau asked.

  “Sometimes a favor is just as good as cash.” Dooley rounded his desk, walked over and opened the door. “A word of advice, Beau. Vaughn’s not a guy you want to piss off. Do yourself a favor. Let sleeping dogs lie, if you know what I mean.”

  Beau stood back as Cassidy walked out of the room. He walked out behind her and closed the door. She could almost hear the wheels spinning in his head.

  “We need to talk to Vaughn,” he said.

  “We have to find him first. Once we do, we’ll have to be very careful. Like Tate said, if he’s got those kinds of connections, he could be a very dangerous man.”

  The bouncer was absent when they reached the bottom of the stairs. They made their way out to the parking lot and headed for the car. Unfortunately, the bikers who had pulled in behind them formed a human wall across the rear of Beau’s BMW; one of them Cassidy recognized as the guy Beau had tripped on the porch.

  “Here we go,” Beau said softly, and she couldn’t mistake the gleam in his eyes. Cassidy opened her mouth to tell him to chill, try to talk the situation down, but it was too late.

  “I’d appreciate it if you gentlemen stepped away from my vehicle,” Beau said pleasantly, but there wasn’t a hint of friendliness in eyes that now looked cold as ice.

  The biggest of the three, barrel-chested with a long, pointed beard, just grinned. “Yeah, well, I’d appreciate it if you’d hand over the keys. Me and my buddies want to go for a little test drive. You’ll get your car back when we’re finished.”

  The smile Beau gave them looked utterly feral. “I don’t think so. The only ride you’re going to get is on the end of my boot.” Cassidy gasped as Beau’s foot shot up, catching the biker full force in the groin. He dropped like a stone, hugging his privates and moaning, which galvanized his friends.

  With the click of
a switchblade, a knife glinted in the overhead lights of the parking lot. “You shouldn’t have done that,” the guy from the porch said. “Now your pretty face is gonna get carved up even more than it already is.”

  Beau’s features hardened. He whirled, his foot shot out, and the knife went flying. The guy from the porch rushed forward and threw a punch. Beau ducked and elbow-jabbed him beneath the chin, then threw a hard punch that landed in his midsection, doubling him over.

  The third guy rushed forward. Beau’s knee jerked up, landing in the man’s solar plexus, then a hard right sent him flying backward.

  Beau clicked the locks on the car and started the engine remotely. “Get in!” he shouted, which Cassidy would gladly have done if the fourth man hadn’t quietly slipped behind her, locked an arm around her neck, and dragged her back against his chest.

  “Let me go!”

  “I’ll let you go, sweetheart, after we’ve all had a little fun.” He cupped her jaw. “Such a pretty mouth. I can think of all sorts of things to do with a mouth like that.”

  “Last chance,” Cassidy warned.

  The guy just laughed. Cassidy didn’t hesitate a second time, just pulled the little .380 nestled in her jacket pocket, aimed the gun at the big foot she could see on the ground between her legs, and fired.

  The man howled and started dancing, and Cassidy broke free. Running for the car, she jumped into the passenger seat just as Beau slid into the driver’s side. He jammed the car into gear and the vehicle shot backward. She heard the roar of a motorcycle firing up, then another.

  “Hang on!” Beau cranked the wheel, and the next instant they were tearing out of the parking lot, tires spinning, careening around a corner and shooting off into the darkened streets. A single headlight appeared behind them, followed by two more.

  “They’re coming after us!” Cassidy’s heart thumped wildly. Gripping the seat belt, she dragged it across her chest and clicked it into place.

  Beau downshifted, the car slowed to round a corner, then he hit the gas and the BMW shot forward with the speed of a gazelle. The BMW roared full-throttle down the road. Beau turned into an alley, turned again as they shot out the other end. He rounded two more corners, hit the gas, and just kept going.

  “I don’t see them,” Cassidy said, still peering through the rear window. Beau didn’t slow. In minutes he was heading up an on-ramp, pulling onto the freeway, merging into the traffic. Keeping his speed even with the rest of the cars on the road, he wove in and out, staying on the freeway for a couple of miles, then taking an off-ramp. He wound his way through the streets, following a circuitous route back to the office, where the helicopter was waiting.

  “I think we lost them,” Cassidy said, relaxing back into her seat, finally able to breathe.

  “Kid’s play,” Beau said, slanting her a sideways grin. “I could have lost those guys when I was fifteen.” His grin widened. “I can’t believe you shot that guy.”

  Cassidy huffed out a breath. “I aimed for his foot. He’s lucky I didn’t aim for his family jewels.”

  Beau laughed. “I thought you didn’t carry a gun.”

  “Jase suggested it. I’m licensed. Since I wasn’t sure what we might run into, I thought it wasn’t a bad idea.”

  Beau chuckled and just kept driving, finally pulling into the underground garage.

  “We should probably report the incident to the police,” Cassidy said.

  “Or not. Guys like that don’t want trouble with the cops any more than we do.”

  Cassidy didn’t argue. Beau was right. And even though she was the one who had fired the weapon, it could still mean trouble for Beau.

  “One thing’s for sure,” he said as they rode the elevator up to the top floor and walked out onto the roof. “No one can say you’re boring.”

  She turned, propped her hands on her hips. “You’re the one who started the fight. If you hadn’t tripped that guy, it wouldn’t have happened.”

  “Yeah? It was your sweet little ass in those tight jeans that sent the poor guy over the edge.”

  Cassidy couldn’t stop a smile.

  Twenty minutes later, the helicopter landed on the golf course, returning them to Pleasant Hill. Beau walked her toward the guest house.

  “We need to look at those flash drives,” she said, “see if we can find out where the money went. Maybe it’ll tell us if there’s a connection to Vaughn.”

  His light mood shifted, darkened. “I’d rather take you to bed, but I guess that isn’t going to happen.”

  “Not tonight.”

  He glanced away. “No. Not tonight. Tomorrow’s my father’s funeral. I need to deal with that.” He stopped at the front door and his eyes fixed on her face. “Saying ‘not tonight’ isn’t exactly a no. I’ll settle for that for now.”

  Her stomach lifted. “Beau . . .” But his determined look said he wasn’t giving up on his seduction. Cassidy wished she weren’t glad.

  “It’s been a long day,” he said. “We need to get some sleep.”

  She nodded. Now that they were home and safe, exhaustion settled over her. Before she could turn away, he bent and brushed a kiss on her cheek. “Good night, Cassidy Jones.” Turning, he headed back to the house.

  Cassidy watched him walk away, wanting to call him back, act on the feelings for him that continued to grow. A jumble of emotions ran through her. She wasn’t ready to deal with them. Not yet.

  She closed the front door and headed for the compact kitchen, suddenly hungry. Searching the fridge, she found a frozen orange-chicken Lean Cuisine, popped it into the microwave, and ate it in front of the TV.

  As soon as she finished, she sat down at her computer. The name she typed in was Malcolm Vaughn.

  * * *

  Mal leaned back in the chair behind the desk in his study. Outside the windows, it was dark, just a sliver of moon winding between the clouds. Seated across from him, Clifford Jennings dug a finger into his short, kinky blond hair to scratch an itch.

  “What’s going on?” Mal asked.

  Cliff crossed a leg over his knee. “I got a phone call a little earlier from one of our sources, guy who works for Dooley Tate.”

  Tate being a competitor of sorts, Mal kept tabs on him and a couple of others in the business. The cost of information was usually worth the price and there was always someone who had something to sell.

  “Apparently Reese and that female detective were out at Barbie’s snooping around,” Cliff said. “Reese wanted to know if Tate had loaned his father money. I guess he thought Dooley might have offed the old man for not repaying the loan.”

  Mal scoffed. “The senator’s needs were way out of Dooley Tate’s league.”

  “What if they keep digging, Mal? Sooner or later they’ll come up with your name. They’ll be coming here to talk to you.”

  “Let them come. I helped the senator get a loan and he repaid it. Where’s the problem?”

  “I don’t like it,” Jennings said.

  Malcolm steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair. “Neither do I. I don’t want them getting too close. Maybe we can give Reese a little more trouble, something else to worry about.”

  Cliff’s blond mustache curled up at the corners of his mouth. “Good idea. Maybe we can kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. I know exactly what to do.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The day was overcast and grim, matching the dismal mood of the mourners standing around the magnificent rosewood coffin on top of the open grave. The air was damp in the churchyard, the wind biting through the layers of Cassidy’s clothes, the black wool skirt and plum cable-knit turtleneck beneath her peacoat.

  Beau wore a black Italian designer suit with handstitched lapels he’d had his assistant bring out to the house. A diamond tie tack kept his black-and-blue striped tie in place against the breeze. Without an overcoat, he had to be freezing, but he didn’t move, just stood with his back straight and his shoulders squared, staring at the casket draped with whi
te roses.

  The first part of the service, held in the chapel, had been packed wall to wall, filled with both locals and members of the Texas political community, people the senator had worked with at the capitol in Austin. There would have been more if Stewart Reese hadn’t been a murder victim, the motive for his death not yet clear, the culprit not yet apprehended.

  As they had left the chapel for the graveyard portion of the service, a handsome, powerfully built, broad-shouldered man at least six-five and his attractive blond wife walked up to Beau. Cassidy had seen photos of Beau’s partner, Lincoln Cain, on the Internet. The woman had to be his new wife, Carly.

  “I wish there was something I could do,” Cain said, gripping Beau’s hand, leaning in for a brief man hug.

  “I’m so sorry, Beau.” Carly rose to kiss his cheek.

  A third man walked up, with dark brown hair, about the same height as Beau but younger and a little more muscular through the chest and shoulders.

  “If there’s anything you need,” the man said, shaking Beau’s hand, “I’m not that far away. All you have to do is ask.”

  “Thanks, Josh.” Beau turned. “I’d like you all to meet Cassidy Jones. She’s the lady I told you about.”

  Cassidy smiled at the group of friends, who seemed to be sizing her up. “Nice to meet you.”

  “We’re glad Beau has you helping him,” Carly said.

  Beau turned to the younger man. “Cassidy, this is Josh Cain, Linc’s younger brother.”

  “Pleasure, ma’am,” Josh said, shaking her hand. She had a hunch he was a soldier. Or had been. She had a brother in the army. There was something different about servicemen. The way they stood, the way they moved, the way they spoke. Something.

  She could see reminders of Linc in the hard line of his jaw, the slight cleft in his chin. Unlike his older brother, whose eyes were brown, Josh Cain’s eyes were a dark shade of blue.

  The small group spoke in low tones as they crossed the grass toward the green canvas tent erected in front of the coffin. Cassidy stood next to Beau, and though they weren’t touching, she hoped he could feel her presence, silently lending him support.