by Kat Martin
Charlotte Reese stood on his other side, looking regal in a black skirt suit, blond hair swept up beneath a pillbox hat, a fine veil of black netting over her face.
At the edge of the crowd, Josie Kessler stood next to her daughter. Beau had spoken to her and Missy when they had arrived at the chapel, had invited them to sit with him, but they had declined.
Cassidy had taken a moment to speak to the girl, to apologize for her misunderstanding at the café and explain that she was a private investigator working on the case.
“I’m a friend of Beau’s,” she finished. “I’d like to be your friend, too.”
Missy managed a shy smile. “I’d like that.”
As the minister continued his sermon, every once in a while she noticed Beau’s worried gaze going over the heads of the mourners to the pregnant girl and Josie. Missy was more enormous than ever. She looked ready to pop, her face puffy and still a little too pale.
Whatever happened, Cassidy was certain Beau would take care of her and her baby.
The minister’s voice pierced her thoughts as the brief, graveside portion of the funeral came to a close.
“And so we deliver into God’s hands, this man, Stewart Beaumont Reese, who dedicated his life to the service of the people he represented. Shall we pray?”
Cassidy bowed her head, let the minister’s words wash over her. He had only begun to pray when a sharp cry sliced through the quiet. Cassidy’s head jerked up in time to see Beau’s tall figure leap into action, long legs moving him through the crowd, which parted like sheaves of wheat in a storm as he strode toward Missy.
Cassidy hurried behind him, racing to keep up, spotting the girl’s prone figure writhing on the ground.
“Call 9-1-1!” someone shouted. Cassidy dug out her cell, but at least three people were already on their phones. Beau was kneeling, scooping the girl up in his arms, striding across the churchyard toward the black stretch limo that had carried him and Cassidy to the service that morning.
The driver opened the door and Beau ducked his head and disappeared into the back seat, Missy still in his arms. Josie jumped in and so did Cassidy.
“Drive!” Beau commanded. “She’s having a baby. You need to get to the hospital as fast as you can!”
The driver—Andy was his name—didn’t hesitate. As soon as the door slammed shut, he hit the gas. When the limo had arrived that morning, Andy had recognized Beau as the celebrated race-car driver.
Now, as the limo careened down the road, bounced out of the churchyard, and speeded toward the hospital, Andy seemed determined not to let his racing hero down.
Beau cradled Missy in his lap. “You’re gonna be all right, sweetheart. The doctors are going to take care of you.”
Cassidy made sure of that by calling ahead and letting them know they were bringing in a woman in labor and that they would be there any minute.
Missy whimpered. “Oh, God, it hurts.”
Her mother gripped her hand. “Do your breathing, honey. Remember how they taught you in class? Take deep, focused breaths, then pant through the contraction. In and out through your nose.” Josie started breathing, panting, then breathing. Missy closed her eyes and joined her mother.
By the time they got to the hospital, all of them were panting and breathing, including Beau. Cassidy could read the fear in his eyes, the worry lining his forehead.
“It’s going to be okay,” he kept saying to Missy. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
Cassidy felt a pinch in her chest at the concern in his voice. Clearly he was going to be a great older brother to Missy’s baby girl.
The doctors were waiting when the limo pulled up in front of the emergency entrance. The car doors flew open. Beau helped Missy out, then helped the nurses lift her up on the gurney. Her water had broken and his slacks were damp and wrinkled but he didn’t seem to care. Reaching down, he wrapped his fingers around Missy’s hand and walked beside the gurney till the nurses shooed him away and the gurney disappeared down the hall.
“Are you the father?” a tall, black-haired nurse asked.
Beau just shook his head. “I’m the baby’s brother.”
It took a moment for the nurse to figure that one out, then she smiled. “Women have babies every day. Missy’s going to be fine. Her mother’s going into the delivery room with her.”
“Good,” Beau said, nodding. “That’s good.”
“The baby’s coming a little early,” the nurse said. “I understand Missy was attending a funeral. If she was upset, it might have brought on the contractions.”
Beau looked up, color washing out of his face. “So the baby is premature? Is she going to be okay?”
“The doctor is in with them now. It’s only a week or so early. I’ll let you know how things are going. There’s a waiting room just down the hall.” The nurse smiled. “I have to warn you, this may take a while. First babies tend to take longer.”
“How long is longer?” he asked.
“I think the average is something like eight hours. As I said, I’ll keep you posted.” The nurse left them standing in the hallway.
Cassidy squeezed Beau’s hand, which felt icy cold. “Why don’t I have Andy drive me back to the house so I can get you some fresh clothes?”
He looked down, seemed to finally notice how completely disheveled he was. “All right. I keep a go-bag packed. It’s got jeans and T-shirts, toiletries, everything I need. It’s in the closet in the guest room.”
“I’ll find it. I won’t be long.”
He looked down at her. “I keep having to say thank you.”
She smiled. “It’s all right. I’ll find a way for you to repay me.”
For the first time that day, Beau looked at her and his eyes gleamed. His mouth edged into a sexy smile. “I think I know exactly the way.”
* * *
Seven hours and forty minutes later, Beau had the sibling he’d always wanted. A baby sister, Evelyn, named after Missy’s grandmother. Evie, they planned to call her. Six pounds thirteen ounces, ten miniature fingers, ten miniature toes, perfect in every way.
After a long, exhausting day, the first time Beau saw the infant, nestled against her mother’s breast, a feeling moved over him unlike anything he had ever known. So tiny, so sweet, so completely dependent on the people who cared for her. A fierce surge of protectiveness rushed through him. He would protect this child with everything he had.
His thoughts must have shown on his face, for when he looked over at Cassidy, she smiled at him softly and wiped a tear from her cheek.
Though the birth had gone well, the doctors decided to keep Missy and Evie overnight for observation. He and Cassidy said their good-byes, left the hospital, and drove back to the house in Cassidy’s Honda, which she’d driven to the hospital when she’d brought him clean clothes.
He was tired clear to the bone. His emotions had run the gamut from deep sadness to wild elation. Now he felt utterly drained.
Go-bag in hand, he walked Cassidy to the door of the guest house before heading for his own bed in his father’s big, empty residence across the lawn. She paused on the porch, turned and looked up at him.
“Rough day,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“Are you okay?” Concern shone in her face, and when she looked up at him with worry in those big green eyes, suddenly he wasn’t okay. He wasn’t okay at all.
“No.” He glanced away, shook his head. “I don’t know . . . I just . . . I feel like everything is so screwed up.” His gaze returned to her pretty face and desire hit him like a fist. The go-bag slipped from his fingers. He slid a hand into her thick dark curls and drew her toward him. “I need you, Cassidy. So much.”
She leaned into him. “Beau . . .” Going up on her toes, she kissed him. “I need you, too.”
Everything tore loose inside him. Hunger, pain, joy, need, all mixed together. Beau caught her face between his hands and kissed her, a deep, yearning, taking kiss he felt in every cell in
his body. Cassidy kissed him back, opening, giving him access, holding nothing in. He ravished her mouth, plundered her greedily, endlessly.
He barely remembered walking her backward into the living room, kicking the door closed, pulling her turtleneck over her head, unfastening her black lace bra, letting it fall to the floor.
He paused to look at her breasts, full and beautiful, tipped slightly upward. He cupped them, ran his hands over her dark rose nipples. She moaned as he bent his head and took the fullness into his mouth, suckled greedily, bit the end. Cassidy shoved off the lightweight jacket she had brought to him at the hospital, grabbed the hem of his T-shirt, and pulled it off over his head.
Her fingers traveled over his chest, dipped into the ridges and valleys, over the ladder of muscles down his stomach, moved restlessly back up to his shoulders. He took a moment to look at her, the flush in her cheeks, the tousled dark hair. Pale, lovely breasts rose and fell with every ragged breath. A small waist flared to womanly hips.
“God, I want you.” He kissed her again, couldn’t seem to get enough. Cassidy leaned into him, her arms going around his neck, her fingers sliding into his hair. Her tongue tangled with his as he backed her up against the living room wall and shoved up her black wool skirt, smoothed a hand over her hip, down to the thin strip of lace between her legs.
She was wet. So hot and wet. He wanted to be inside her more than he wanted to see another sunrise.
He let go of her long enough to retrieve the condom in his wallet, kissed her as he freed himself and rolled it on.
“I need you, baby. Now. Here. I don’t want to wait.” His fingers caught hold of the lace between her legs; he gave a sharp tug and the delicate fabric tore free.
Cassidy moaned as he lifted her, wrapped her legs around his waist. He heard her shoes hit the carpet, then he was filling her, sliding deep inside.
For a moment he paused, letting her tight, wet heat envelope him. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as he started to move, began to take what he wanted, what he so desperately needed.
Propping her back against the wall, he took her deep, rode her hard, the little whimpers in her throat driving him on, making him hotter, more needy.
“Cassie, baby,” he said. “Sweet God, I want you. I don’t know how long I can last.”
She made a soft sound in her throat and rode him, didn’t back away from the hunger burning through him. Her head fell back as he surged deeper, and her body tightened around him, sucked him even deeper. Her climax hit hard, gloving him so sweetly it drove him over the edge. Pleasure rolled through him, deep and saturating, washing away the pain, the darkness.
For seconds he just held her, his face buried in her silky dark curls, inhaling the faint scent of gardenias.
Neither of them moved for the longest time. When he finally set her back on her feet, Cassidy leaned against him and Beau smoothed back her hair. “You okay?”
She just nodded. He moved away long enough to deal with the condom, returned to find her standing exactly where he’d left her.
“I hope I didn’t hurt you.” With her skirt around her waist and her perfect breasts tilting wickedly up at him, she looked beautiful and completely wanton, and he started getting hard again.
“You didn’t hurt me. That . . . that was amazing.”
He couldn’t stop a smile. “I thought so. I’m really glad you did, too.”
She looked down at herself and warm color rose in her cheeks. “I’d better get dressed.”
Beau shook his head. “No way, baby.” Hauling her back in his arms, he very thoroughly kissed her. “Wait right here.” Crossing to the door, he walked out on the porch and retrieved his go-bag.
He held up the bag and walked back into the living room. “Now I’m bedding you good and proper—like I should have done in the first place.”
When she just stared at him as if he had lost his mind, he bent, scooped her over one shoulder, walked into the bedroom and settled her on the bed. Unzipping the go-bag, he grabbed a handful of condoms and tossed them on the nightstand.
Cassidy didn’t move.
“Probably be a good idea if we finished getting undressed,” he said.
“Yes . . . of course. I’m . . . uh . . . not very good at this.”
His head came up as she eased to the side of the bed. “You don’t think so?”
“I don’t know. Tonight was the best sex I’ve ever had, so maybe I’m getting better.”
Beau laughed. “If you get any better, honey, you’re liable to kill me.”
She smiled at that, seemed to relax. “I could umm . . . really use a shower.”
He closed his eyes to block the image. “Good idea. It’s been a helluva day.” Beau waited till he heard the shower go on, heard Cassidy open and close the glass door, then followed her into the bathroom.
If that was the best sex Cassidy Jones had ever had, Beau figured she was in for some really nice surprises.
Chapter Thirteen
Beau stirred at a sound in the darkness and awoke from the depths of the most restful sleep he’d had since his father had been murdered. The familiar ring of his cell phone dragged him fully awake and he reached toward the nightstand to quiet it before Cassidy awoke.
The digital clock on the nightstand read 1:00 A.M. He checked the caller ID but didn’t recognize the number. Slipping out of bed, he padded naked into the living room. “Reese.”
“You want to know who killed your father?”
His hand tightened around the phone. “Who is this? How did you get this number?”
“Drive to 516 Brookdale Road. Go in through the back door. You’ve got twenty minutes. No police and you’d better be alone.”
“Tell me who this is.”
The line went dead. Beau glanced toward the bedroom. After a third round of incredible sex, Cassidy was deeply asleep. Which was probably good since he had been warned to come alone.
Quietly returning to the bedroom, he grabbed his jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt out of his go-bag, grabbed his sneakers and went back into the living room to put them on.
Cassidy’s car keys sat on the table in the entry. Driving the Lambo didn’t seem like a good idea, so he picked up her keys and slipped outside, quietly closing the door behind him. He headed for the Honda, slid inside and started the engine, then punched the address he had been given into the nav system in the dash, a necessity, he imagined, for a detective.
The map showed the house was on the south side of town. Driving the speed limit, careful to stop at all the lights, he still made his destination in eighteen minutes.
No lights on in the single-story redbrick house. Clouds covered the moon, making it a pitch-dark night. He headed around to the back of the house and walked up on the patio. No movement inside, no lamps went on.
Reaching for the doorknob, he turned it, found the door unlocked, opened it and slipped inside. He owned a gun, kept it in his home for protection, had learned how to handle a weapon in his bad-boy days. If Cassidy’s little pistol had been handy, he would have brought it, wished he had it now.
He tried to see through the darkness, caught the gleam of a stainless dishwasher next to the sink in the kitchen. He’d taken a couple of steps before he noticed something sticky on the floor.
“Anybody home?” he called out.
No answer. There was an odd smell in the air, coppery and dense. His pulse hammered. A trickle of sweat rolled between his shoulder blades. A bad feeling crept over him, warning him to beware. “Anybody here?”
No answer, nothing but the lingering smell and the darkness. He had two choices. Turn on the lights or turn around and leave as quietly as he had come. Leave without the answers he had been promised.
“I’m leaving!” he called out.
Still no answer. He turned, started to retrace his steps when the back door flew open and the kitchen light went on. Two uniformed patrolmen, guns drawn and aimed at his chest, stood in the doorway. “Don’t move!” one of the officers
called out. “Put your hands in the air!”
Cautiously they stepped into the kitchen. Beau’s gaze shot from the policemen to the thick pool of blood spreading over the kitchen floor. His stomach heaved when he spotted the man’s lifeless body. His eyes were open, a neat hole in the side of his head.
“It’s not what you think,” Beau said. “I got a phone call. I was told to come to this address.”
“Move away from the body and get down on your knees,” ordered the cop. “Keep your hands in the air.”
“I didn’t kill him. I don’t even know who he is.” Keeping his hands raised, he got down on his knees at the edge of the pool of blood, which was beginning to congeal. The second officer, younger, fresh faced and pink cheeked, rushed toward him, grabbed one of his wrists and twisted it behind his back. Beau could have stopped him with a single movement. Instead he felt the click of metal around first one wrist then the other.
“You’re Reese, aren’t you?” the first cop said. “Beau Reese?”
“That’s right.” The younger cop was on the radio calling it in, giving the location of what appeared to be a break-in that had ended in murder.
“Look, I walked in just a few minutes before you got here.” Beau’s pulse raced, throbbed in his head. “Someone called my cell and told me to come to this address. They said they had information about the man who killed my father, Senator Reese.”
The cop walked toward him. “So I guess it’s just another coincidence, same as before.” He jerked Beau to his feet and shoved him toward the door. “You just happen to be around when somebody ends up dead.”
Beau closed his eyes. He hated to think what Cassidy was going to say when she found out he was involved in a second murder. He hated for her to think he’d been stupid. Which clearly he had been.
He looked up at the older cop. “I’m not saying any more till I talk to my lawyer.” From the way the guy looked at him, it was the first smart thing he’d said since he’d left the guest house.
* * *
Beau had been sitting in a holding cell for two hours when Tom Briscoe arrived. Tom let him make a phone call. He called Linc, told him what had happened, and asked him to hire an attorney.
