Beyond Danger

by Kat Martin

  “Apparently you have endless patience in certain matters.” She rose from her chair. “I need to get to work. As soon as I have something, I’ll let you know.”

  Beau stood up, too. After a night in jail, he could really use a shower and fresh clothes. “While you’re at it, I’ll take another look at the information on those flash drives.”

  He watched her walk out the back door, heading for her computer in the guest house. He wished he could go with her, take up where they had left off last night. It wasn’t going to happen, at least not right now.

  Exhaustion rolled over him. He’d slept less than an hour last night. It didn’t matter. The clock was ticking. There were things he needed to do.

  * * *

  The media arrived. Cassidy was surprised it had taken them this long. Vans filled with reporters from the local news channels as well as Dallas, Austin, and Houston lined up in front of the house, waiting for a glimpse of Beau Reese, former champion race-car driver, multimillionaire, murder suspect in two homicides, and the hottest news story in Texas.

  He was pacing back and forth in the living room of the guest house, where he had managed to escape. The curtains were drawn. Cassidy tried to ignore him and finish her work on the computer.

  “I feel like a caged cat,” he growled, as if he really were one. “Don’t they have something better to do than stand outside and gawk at someone’s home?”

  “They’re just doing their job, Beau. You should be used to it by now.”

  He snarled something she was glad she couldn’t hear. Walking over to the window, he peered through the crack in the curtains. “We can’t stay here. Not with those jackals swarming all over the property. My place in Dallas is a lot more secure. There’s a first-class alarm system and security cameras. I could arrange for guards to keep the media away, but I’m not supposed to leave town.”

  “Call Temple. See if he can get them to let you go back to your own home. You work in Dallas and the city’s only an hour and a half away. It’s not an unreasonable request.”

  “Good idea. If they agree, we can talk to Charlotte.”

  “And Malcolm Vaughn. I found him. We can follow that lead, too.”

  Since Beau’s phone was still at the police station, Cassidy had entered Nate’s number in her cell. She handed Beau the phone, watched as he punched the contact button and waited for Temple to answer.

  Cassidy kept typing, working to dig up information on Alamo as Beau explained the situation to his attorney. He listened to Nate’s reply and hung up the phone.

  “He’s going to call me back.”

  Cassidy got up from the computer and walked over to where he stood by the window. She could feel the tension humming through him, sense his frustration. She wished she could touch him, soothe his worries in some way.

  When he turned to look at her, the darkness in those cobalt eyes changed to glittering heat. The answering rush of warmth she felt warned her to keep her distance.

  “Did you . . . umm . . . turn up anything new in those flash drives?”

  “I only got through the one containing personal information. You were right. Most of it was stuff about people my father worked with in Congress, names of their wives and children, their interests and hobbies, sports their kids were involved it. Stuff that made for good conversation.”

  “And the rest?”

  “He kept that flash drive hidden for a reason. Some of it was similar to the information on George Larson—personal, intimate, and extremely incriminating. If he used it to get what he wanted, it was blackmail. As soon as this is over, I’ll destroy it.”

  Beau hadn’t exaggerated his father’s lack of ethics. As they dug deeper, Cassidy wondered how much worse it was going to get.

  “If he was blackmailing someone,” she said, “they would definitely have a motive for wanting him dead.”

  “There were notes typed under the names. I didn’t see anything posted recently. George Larson was the last file he opened and the last entry he made, and that was a couple of months back.”

  Her cell rang. Beau checked the caller ID, then pressed the phone to his ear. He started talking and some of the tension eased from between his shoulders. “Okay, that’s good. We’ll chopper in so they can’t follow us.”

  He hung up the phone. “Chief Warren agreed to let us go back to Dallas.”

  “That’s great, Beau.”

  Since his pilot’s number was in his cell, he called Marty Chen and told him to have the chopper return to Pleasant Hill.

  “I need my car,” Cassidy said. “I’ve got some things I need to do back in Dallas. I can meet you there.”

  “We’ve got work to do. I need you to come with me. I’ll send people down to pick up both our cars and bring them back to the city.”

  She was ambivalent. She needed to go into her office, do some follow-up with some of her clients. She needed to stop by her apartment and pick up fresh clothes. But she didn’t want to clash with those reporters any more than he did. And there was the problem of Beau, himself. If she stayed with him, she’d end up back in his bed. As she’d said, he was smart and he was determined, and she was wildly attracted to him. She was a woman and in no way immune to that magnetic Beau Reese charm.

  Figuring she could make up her mind once her car arrived in the city, she went to pack her things. Beau had managed to escape the main house with his computer and the flash drives. Cassidy packed up her laptop, along with the manila files they had found, which she still hadn’t had time to go through completely.

  When she went back and looked out the window, she was surprised to catch a glimpse of two police cars rolling down the block toward the house. A few minutes later, she heard a knock on the guest house door.

  Beau had seen the cars, too, and worry tightened his shoulders. He strode over to answer the knock and found four uniformed patrolmen on the porch.

  “Afternoon, Officers. What can I do for you?” The reporters had followed the police, trespassing across the backyard and swarming into position around the guest house front door. A dozen cameras waited to catch a glimpse of Beau.

  “Chief Warren sent us,” one of the patrolmen said. “We’re here to help with crowd control.”

  Beau relaxed. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

  It was getting noisy outside. It seemed even the cloudy weather and threat of rain couldn’t deter the news hounds.

  “Hey, Beau! How about a story for old times’ sake?” An attractive blond reporter smiled and waved. Cassidy wondered how well he knew her.

  A chorus of others started shouting. “Beau, tell us what happened! Did you kill your father? What about Jess Milford? Give us the scoop, Beau!”

  The dull roar of an aircraft engine and a depression of air signaled the arrival of the chopper, circling, then descending, the noise covering the boisterous shouts of the crowd.

  Beau turned to Cassidy. “You ready?”

  “More than.” One of the officers grabbed the handle of her carry-on. Cassidy slung the strap of her computer over her shoulder and grabbed her purse.

  Beau grabbed his computer and the manila files. “Let’s go.”

  One of the patrolmen stepped outside, into the throng of pushing, shoving reporters. Beau followed, keeping her close beside him while the other three officers blazed a trail through the unruly mob toward the edge of the golf course, where the helicopter had landed and sat with its blades slowly spinning.

  They were still yelling Beau’s name as he and Cassidy climbed inside, strapped themselves into their seats, and the chopper lifted away. Cassidy’s stomach swooped up as the ground dropped away beneath them and the helicopter rose into the air.

  “You okay?” Beau asked through the headphones. He seemed more himself now that they had formulated a plan, far more in command of the situation. Beau was a man who liked being in control, another thing she had learned about him last night, a thought that made her face heat up again.

  “I’m fine,” she said, though o
f course she really wasn’t. She was just as worried as he was, maybe more so. Men were dying. No one knew why. Until the killer or killers were caught, Beau could be in danger.

  It didn’t take long before the chopper landed on the roof of the Tex/Am building. Beau hurried her into the elevator and they went straight down to the parking garage.

  “My house is only seven miles away,” he said as the valet brought up his black BMW. “We’ll be there in less than twenty minutes.”

  We. Clearly, he wasn’t giving her a choice. She could argue, make him take her to her apartment, but she was still working the case and it would be easier with his input.

  He drove through the Bluffview district, an area of big, beautiful, very expensive homes. No one was around when he turned into the long, curving driveway toward the sprawling, white, flat-roofed contemporary house up ahead.

  “Looks like we’re safe for the moment,” Beau said.

  Safe? Cassidy thought of last night, caught the hot gleam in those fierce blue eyes, and knew she wasn’t safe at all.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Your home is lovely,” Cassidy said, ambling through the modern interior. Twelve-foot ceilings, lots of white with accents of cool tones: blue, green, turquoise. Beautiful modern paintings to brighten the walls. The windows at the back of the house looked out on the aqua waters of a free-form swimming pool.

  “If it was warmer, we could go for a swim,” Beau said as he walked up behind her, bent and nuzzled her neck. Little slivers of heat shot through her.

  “It’s nice and private,” he said. “We wouldn’t even need swimsuits.” Another nibble, followed by the warm press of his lips against the sensitive spot below her ear. “Or we could get in the whirlpool down at the end. Nice and hot in there.”

  Hot. She was already on the verge of bursting into flames. She closed her eyes, imagining what it would be like to make love with Beau in the warm water of the hot pool.

  She turned, rested her palms on his chest as she looked up at him. “We need to be working the case. Besides, it’s starting to rain.”

  She hoped her refusal didn’t sound as half-hearted as she was afraid it did. They didn’t have time for sex. Every moment was crucial. “By the way, I found something. It might be important.”

  Beau bent his head for a soft, lingering kiss, then drew away. “I hope you’re giving me points for self-control here, because working is the last thing I want to be doing right now.”

  “You haven’t had much sleep. Maybe we could take a nap later.”

  His eyes gleamed. “Now there’s an idea I like.” He grabbed the files he had set on the table, grabbed the handle of her carry-on and rolled it down the hall. “Let’s get you settled, then we can talk about what you found.”

  She should tell him she couldn’t stay. She didn’t need to get involved even more deeply with Beau. Instead, she followed him, ignoring a pang of disappointment when he walked past the master suite and tugged her carry-on into the bedroom next door.

  “You’ve got your own bathroom. Do you need to unpack first, or should we set up your computer?”

  She glanced around the room, which continued the modern theme of the house. The platform bed was low, the bedspread chocolate brown with bright orange and red throw pillows. “I don’t see a desk. Maybe the kitchen table or someplace else would work.”

  “There’s a partners’ desk in my study. It’s handy if you have someone working with you on a project. Linc used to come over at least once a week. He’s home most nights now that he’s married.”

  Beau led her back down the hall, opened a ten-foot door that matched the others in the house, and walked her into the study.

  “So how come you never got married?” she asked.

  Beau turned. His smile had faded, his features closed up. Any hint of heat in his eyes was gone.

  “I was engaged once. It was a long time ago.”

  Clearly it was a sensitive subject. His hard look warned her not to press for more, but she was a detective. Discovering secrets was part of her DNA.

  “What happened?”

  His mouth tightened. “She died,” he said flatly. Definitely end of topic.

  Grabbing the computer out of her hand, he walked to the opposite side of his freestanding desk. Built of the same blond wood as the hardwood floors, the desk was lovely, all smooth lines and perfect angles. On top sat a masterwork of modern computer technology that had to cost thousands of dollars.

  She walked over to study the equipment. Two Mac Pro six-core computers with matching 33-inch monitors perched next to a pair of Sennheiser HD 800 wireless headphones. Cassidy silently swooned at the 78-inch curved Samsung television with Bose SoundTouch audio. It was good to be king.

  Her gaze moved away from the expensive technology to the modern fireplace, the sleek brown sofa and chair in front of it, then to the built-in blond credenza and bookshelves behind the desk. She moved toward them like a zombie, compelled to know what Beau read.

  Winning: The Racing Life of Paul Newman rubbed bindings with a book of racing photos by Louis Klemantaski. On another shelf, sat a row of how-to books on marketing and sales. He was, after all, the head of marketing for a billion-dollar corporation. She recognized Zig Ziglar’s Selling 101. Next to it was Social Media Marketing for Business.

  There were a number of contemporary art books: Picasso, Miro, Jackson Pollack. Current artists like Cattelan, Cindy Sherman, and Jeff Wall were included.

  She turned to him with a smile, found him no longer scowling. “You can tell a lot about a person by what they read.”

  His mouth edged up. “That so? What do you like to read?”

  She shrugged. “I’m into fiction. I like to escape the problems of the world. I read everything from literary fiction to mysteries, thrillers, and romance.”

  He started smiling. “Romance, huh?” The gleam was back in his eyes.

  “Yeah . . .” She looked at him and hoped he didn’t hear the little hitch in her voice. The men in romance novels were sexy as hell, but Beau Reese had them beat by a mile.

  He tipped her face up and very softly kissed her. “We’d better get our work done, so we can take that nap.”

  Heat washed through her. She had never met a man who affected her the way he did.

  “One last question,” she said, and he stiffened, definitely not wanting to talk more about the past. “How did you get that very sexy scar on the side of your face?”

  Beau relaxed. “Fistfight in high school. Guy was wearing his senior class ring.”

  “Who won?”

  “I did.” He rubbed the side of his face. “Not sure it was worth it.”

  “I think you owe him. Otherwise you might have been too pretty.”

  Beau smiled and just shook his head. As Cassidy went to work setting up her computer, then plugging her cell phone in to charge, Beau brought over another desk chair. She sat down and adjusted the seat, opened her laptop, and brought up the file she’d been working on.

  “Here’s what I’ve got so far,” she said. “As you know, Alamo was jointly owned by Stewart and Charlotte Reese. That didn’t change even after the divorce. But the company is no longer in business. Alamo closed its doors after a fire destroyed a three-hundred-unit apartment project they were building in Iron Springs.”

  Beau frowned. “The company went broke? There must have had been insurance money.”

  “There was. The building was still under construction when the fire occurred. The insurance company paid the claim, but Alamo decided to cancel the project. They said the rental market had changed. Demand was low. The project was no longer viable, so they took the money and closed the doors.”

  “When did it happen?”

  She looked down at the monitor. “November twenty-first of last year.”

  “So about two months ago.”

  “That’s right. The thing is, Beau, the blaze was deemed arson by vandals. There was writing on the unfinished walls, piles of workplace debris
were set on fire. But the police never caught the vandals.”

  Beau kept watching her. “There’s something else. What is it?”

  There was definitely something else. She wasn’t sure she liked the way he was beginning to read her. “From what I can tell, the senator was right about the market. If they had completed the project, they never would have been able to fill that number of rental units. Alamo would have lost millions of dollars. Instead, Stewart and Charlotte took the insurance money, paid off any debts against the property, sold the land to a guy who wanted it for part of a subdivision project, and came out with a very nice profit.”

  His gaze remained on her face. “So you’re saying my dad was behind the fire.”

  She shrugged, though that was exactly what she thought. “Maybe he just got lucky.”

  “My dad had a way of getting lucky that always seemed to cost other people money.” He walked over to the window that looked onto a stretch of manicured lawn. A narrow creek carved its way through the land.

  Beau paced back. “What about Milford?”

  “For the last five years, Jess Milford was foreman of the company.”

  “So Milford would have been working on the apartment project. I’m wondering if my dad got rid of him so he’d be out of the way when the fire was set. It would certainly be easier without the foreman around. You know the date he was fired?”

  “No, but I can probably find out.”

  “How?”

  “Unemployment benefits. Maybe your friend Rob could go into the records, see if Jess Milford signed up for unemployment. That would give us roughly the date he was let go. Or I guess we could just ask Charlotte.”

  His mouth edged up. “Better idea. Way better than hacking into government records.”

  Cassidy just smiled. “If Alamo fired Milford before the arson, he probably wasn’t involved. So why would they kill him? And if they did, why did they wait so long?”

  “Milford had to be pissed when he was let go,” Beau said, frowning. “He was a longtime employee. He would have heard about the fire after it happened—it would have been in all the papers and on TV.”