by Kat Martin
“Cassidy . . .” He walked toward her, took hold of her hand, and brought it to his lips. “You’re going to be okay, honey. You’ve got a concussion, some bruised ribs, cuts and scratches, but they’ve moved you out of intensive care into a private room. The doctor says you’re going to be all right.”
Her eyes burned. Tears welled that she couldn’t stop. “I ruined your beautiful car. I wrecked the Lamborghini. I’m so sorry, Beau.”
His jaw went iron hard, stretching the narrow scar down the side of his face. “You think I care about the car? I don’t give a fuck about the goddamn car! I can buy ten more Lamborghinis if I want them. All I care about is you, baby. I was so worried.” He swallowed, glanced away. “I’m just so glad you’re going to be okay.” He bent and softly kissed her lips. “You just get well, okay? Don’t you worry for a second about the frigging car.”
She tried to smile, but her lips barely curved. “He was trying to kill me, Beau.”
He nodded, looked grim. “Yeah, I figured that out.”
The pounding in her head worsened. Her eyes felt gritty, the lids heavy. “The first time . . . the hit-and-run? I thought it was an accident. But it . . . wasn’t. We need to tell the . . . police.”
“I’ll talk to Briscoe, bring him up to speed. We’ll figure this out.”
She moistened her lips, which felt dry as cotton. Her mind was just as fuzzy. “I’m not . . . not sure telling them is going to change anything.”
He squeezed her hand. “We can talk about it later.” His worried gaze remained on hers. “The police found your phone. Do you want me to call your dad and your brothers?”
“No . . . please don’t. If I’m going to be okay . . . there’s no need for them to . . . worry.”
“You sure?”
She moved her head in a nod. The pounding increased and she bit back a groan.
He bent and kissed her cheek. “You need to get some sleep. I’ll be right here if you need me.”
She relaxed. Beau was there. She didn’t have to worry. She let her eyelids drift closed. Tomorrow she would feel better, be able to think more clearly. Find a way to keep from getting killed.
As she started to edge into sleep, a final thought occurred. If someone wanted her dead, maybe they wanted Beau dead, too. She had to warn him, tell him before it was too late. But even as the idea took root, it drifted away, her mind sliding into the sweet, pain-free darkness that she had been in before.
* * *
Beau looked up to see Linc and Carly standing in the doorway of Cassidy’s hospital room. He walked over to join them.
“You spending the night?” Linc asked, though it wasn’t really a question.
“I want to be here if she wakes up. The doctor says her memory might be fuzzy for a day or two.”
“She got lucky,” Linc said. “A concussion, a few bruised ribs, some lacerations. Could have been a whole lot worse.”
“I’m glad she was in the Lamborghini. It’s built around a carbon fiber monocoque. You know, like a Formula One race car. The driver’s in a cage so the weaker parts of the car break first. It allows the energy from the crash to disperse.”
“So the rest of the car fails before the cage breaks up.”
“Yeah,” Beau said, his gaze going to the pale form lying in the bed. “The doctor says they want to make sure the concussion isn’t worse than it appears. No swelling on the brain, nothing like that. She might need to stay another day or two, but if she seems okay in the morning, there’s a chance they’ll release her.”
Linc nodded. He clamped a big hand on Beau’s shoulder. “Listen, we need to talk. Carly’s going to stay here while we grab a cup of coffee.”
Beau flicked a last glance at Cassidy, then forced himself to move toward the door. They walked out into the hall and made their way down the corridor to the cafeteria, passing doctors in white coats and nurses in scrubs, hearing the rattle of carts going in and out of hospital rooms. The acrid smell of ammonia burned his nostrils.
As they walked into the cafeteria, weary visitors and family members, some trying to keep their kids under control, wandered among the staff, heading for the food lines or just there for coffee and a break from their worries.
Beau and Linc each grabbed a coffee and made their way over to a table.
“Looks like you’ve got a problem,” Linc said, taking a seat across from him.
“Yeah.” His friend was no dummy. Two accidents, both nearly fatal, weren’t accidents at all. Beau took a sip of his coffee, set the paper cup down on the table. “If this wasn’t an accident, the hit-and-run wasn’t either.”
“Someone tried to kill her. You got any idea who it is?”
“We’ve been digging around, turning up a lot of dirt on a lot of people. One of them’s a guy named Malcolm Vaughn. Ever heard of him?”
“I’ve met him. Owns a company called Equity Advance. Makes high-risk, big-money loans.”
“That’s him,” Beau said.
“I don’t know much about him, other than he donates heavily to charity. Gives him a chance to rub elbows with the Dallas elite, drum up business. He was at the Dallas Art Gala last year.”
“You and I were both there, but I didn’t know who he was back then.”
Linc took a sip of his coffee. “So what’s your plan?”
Beau leaned back in his chair, blew out a tired breath. “Take Cassidy off the case. Get her out of town, somewhere she’ll be safe.”
“You could take her out to the ranch. Carly and I are picking out stuff for the new house, so we’re staying in the apartment. We’ll be in the city for the next two weeks, which leaves the ranch house empty. And Josh is close by if you need him.”
Beau remembered the way he’d felt when he’d found out Cassidy had been in a car accident. Terrified she might die. Sick with dread, his stomach knotted, his emotions in turmoil. He was in too deep. The last thing he needed was to spend more time with Cassidy. He needed to distance himself. Protect himself.
But he couldn’t let Cassidy down. If she was killed because of him . . .
He closed his eyes for a moment to clear the unwanted thoughts. “Whoever went after her tried to make it look like an accident. I don’t think they’ll come straight at her. Maybe I could talk to Vaughn, see if I can convince him to back off, leave Cassidy alone.”
His phone rang just then. He dug it out, saw the blocked caller ID, pressed the phone against his ear. “Reese.”
“What the hell’s going on? I just got a call from the office. Chase said he heard about the wreck on the news. Tell me Cassidy’s okay.”
“Maddox. Good of you to call.” There was a faint edge in his voice. He wondered how Maddox had gotten this number, but it didn’t seem to be much of a secret anymore. “Cassidy’s banged up, got a concussion, but she’s going to be all right.”
“She was with me at the office just a few hours earlier, met me there looking for intel on Malcolm Vaughn.”
“Did she find any?”
“Vaughn’s smooth. He’s a businessman on the surface, but ruthless underneath. He’s a bad dude to have for an enemy. That’s what I told her. What happened wasn’t an accident—you get that, right?”
“I get it. Trying to figure out what to do about it.”
“Get her out of town, take her somewhere safe—or I will.”
Beau straightened. “I’ll take care of Cassidy.”
“You better. I just got into Phoenix, but I’ll come back if you need my help.”
“Good to know,” Beau said darkly, not happy to find out Cassidy had gone to see Maddox without telling him about it. He tamped down a fresh surge of jealousy that was completely unlike him. “You find out anything that could help us?”
“I told her about Vaughn’s man, Clifford Jennings. He takes care of things for Vaughn. If Vaughn wanted Cassidy dead, Jennings is the guy who’d make the arrangements. That’s all I know. If I hear anything more I’ll call you.”
“Appreciate it.”
“She’s a good lady, Beau. Keep her safe.”
The words hit him hard. “I will,” he said gruffly, and no matter the emotional toll he’d have to pay, he meant it. He wasn’t letting anyone hurt Cassidy again.
He hung up the phone and turned back to Linc. “That was Jason Maddox. He’s a PI and bail enforcement. Works with Cassidy at Maximum Security. He’s afraid they’ll come after her again.”
“You realize it might not just be Cassidy they’re after.”
“I’ve considered it.” He was no dummy, either. “I think they figure if my PI is out of the way, I’ll give up the search.”
“Will you?”
“My father is dead. Nothing is going to bring him back. I won’t risk getting Cassidy killed, too.”
“Now you’re being smart. The trouble is, it might be too late.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I’ve considered that, too.”
“I realize you’ve been off the streets for a while—we both left that life behind years ago. But knowing how to handle yourself isn’t something you forget. You still got that old Browning forty-five you used to shoot out at the dump when we were kids?”
Beau smiled faintly at the memory of their high school days. The smile faded as his mind shifted to the attempted robbery, the two years Linc had spent in prison, while Beau’s dad had been able to wipe his underage record clean.
“I traded the Browning a few years back for a Glock seventeen. Haven’t been on the shooting range for a while.”
“Good weapon. As I recall, you used to be a crack shot.”
Beau didn’t deny it. When he took on a challenge, he didn’t stop till he’d mastered it. Same with martial arts. Same with racing cars. “You think I should start carrying?”
“You’ve got a concealed permit, right? Wouldn’t hurt to be prepared. Figure out what’s going on. Arm yourself and take care of your woman.”
A muscle jerked in Beau’s cheek. “She isn’t my woman.”
“Isn’t she? I saw you in that hospital room. I’ve known you too long, bro. Don’t kid yourself.”
Beau made no reply. He’d brought Cassidy into this mess. Until it was finished, she was his responsibility. There was no changing that. But when it was over, it was over. There was no changing that, either.
He pushed up from his chair. “I need to get back.”
Linc stood up, too. “Think about what I said, and if you need anything, just ask.”
Whatever happened, Beau knew Linc would be there for him. If the situation were reversed, he’d be there for Linc. It had been that way since high school, and that hadn’t changed.
As they walked back down the hall, worry dogged him. He needed to get Cassidy somewhere safe.
Beau had a bad feeling it wasn’t going to be that easy.
* * *
Clifford Jennings stood on the opposite side of the desk from his boss. Mal Vaughn wasn’t happy at the moment.
He looked down at the society page of the Thursday Dallas Morning News spread open in front of him. Vaughn picked it up and started reading.
“‘A Lamborghini owned by former Texas race-car driver Beaumont Reese, valued in the hundreds of thousands of dollars, was involved in an unsolved two-car collision on Wednesday evening outside Kaufman.’”
Vaughn flicked Cliff a dark look over the top of the paper, started reading again. “‘The female driver of the borrowed vehicle, identified as Cassidy Maryann Jones, was taken to a nearby hospital for treatment and released the following day. Police are searching for the driver of a white Chevy pickup found a few miles away. According to authorities, the man, who fled the scene, is wanted for questioning in the accident. Both Reese and Ms. Jones, a Dallas private investigator, refused to comment on the incident.’”
Vaughn flicked the paper, carefully closed it, folded it, and set it down on top of his desk. “You said you could handle this. It doesn’t look handled to me.”
“The guy I hired is reliable. I don’t know what went wrong. Whatever happened, he’ll take care of it.”
“You think Reese and Jones will believe the attempt was an accident?”
Not after the first time, which his boss didn’t know about. Cliff knew better than to lie. “No. Franco botched his first effort, too. I’ll talk to him, see if he can come up with something that’ll work.”
Vaughn’s mouth thinned. “Don’t bother. He’s out. I don’t have time for second-raters. Call The Spear. He’s a professional. He’ll get it done.”
“The Spear doesn’t take multiple jobs this close together in the same area—it’s too high risk. He’s already made an exception. He won’t do it again.”
“Make it worth his while. Offer him double his normal fee, more if you have to. Pay him enough, and he’ll take care of it. Or should I say them. This has gotten out of hand. I can’t risk Reese and Jones finding something that could lead back to the client.”
Cliff didn’t argue. Client meant investor. He had no idea who Vaughn’s investors were and he didn’t want to know.
Turning, he walked out of the office. He’d make the call, phone the number of the throwaway used by the professional hit man who called himself The Spear. Cliff had never set eyes on the man, had only heard his voice, distorted by a digital synthesizer. There was no guarantee the man would pick up, but Cliff fervently prayed he would.
If he took the job, the hit would get done, but not without plenty of preparation. It was the way the man worked, the reason he was so successful. The reason he charged a small fortune.
Cliff wondered about Vaughn’s motives. Jess Milford had gotten what he deserved, coming to Cliff about the arson, threatening to tell the police what he’d found out if he didn’t get paid. But the senator had been one of Vaughn’s customers, a borrower who always repaid his debts, in one form or another.
Cliff wondered what Stewart Reese had done to get himself killed.
Chapter Twenty-Four
For the last three days, since her release from the hospital, Cassidy had been lying in bed in Beau’s guest room. She was slowly going crazy. She glanced toward the door. Her black-haired, blue-eyed prison guard was gone, at least for the moment. He’d be back, she knew, making sure she stayed in bed and got her rest.
Not today. It was nearly noon and she had too darn much to do. Easing off the mattress, ignoring the soreness in her ribs and the swirling in her head, she made her way to the bathroom and turned on the shower. She hissed at a sharp stab of pain as she stripped off her long cotton nightgown and stepped beneath the warm, rejuvenating spray.
She took her time, washed her hair twice just to have an excuse to stay in longer. Soaping herself one last time, beginning to feel like her old self again, she gasped as the shower door flew open, letting in a draft of cold air and shooting out a jet of water. She bit back a grin as Beau mopped the wetness off his face.
“What are you doing?” he asked. “You aren’t supposed to be up for another day.”
“Too bad. I’m up and I’m staying up. Now if you don’t mind . . .”
For the first time, he seemed to realize she was standing in front of him naked, warm water trailing over the tips of her breasts, cascading into her navel, sliding through the dark curls at the apex of her legs.
Beau’s gaze ran the length of her body and a familiar hot gleam came into his eyes. He cleared his throat. “Sorry.” Hurriedly, he closed the shower door.
“I’ll be out in a second,” she said.
“Are you sure you’re okay? You aren’t dizzy or anything?”
“I’m okay, better by the minute.” She considered inviting him to join her but as achy as she still was, that might be pushing her luck.
“Call me if you need me. I’ll be just outside the bathroom door.”
He was worried about her. He’d been endlessly patient and unbelievably gentle. She wouldn’t have guessed he could be so sweet. Cassidy finally gave in and turned off the water, climbed out of the shower and toweled herself dry. She co
mbed the tangles out of her hair, then had mercy on her prison guard/nurse, wrapped the towel around herself, went over and pulled open the door.
“I’m okay, all right? No dizziness, nothing.” She gave him a big, wide smile. “See? I’m fine.”
Beau glanced away. “As soon as you’re dressed, we need to talk. I’ll be in my study.”
She didn’t argue. They had plenty to discuss—like how to keep from getting killed.
Beau had told her he’d brought Will Egan and his team back to the house, had Will beef up security to the max. There were men around the property 24/7, but that couldn’t go on forever.
Cassidy partially dried her hair, leaving it damp enough to dry in soft curls around her shoulders. She took a pair of stretch jeans off a hanger in the closet, then sucked in a breath at a fresh jolt of pain as she pulled them on. She found a yellow cashmere scoop-neck sweater, gritted her teeth, and eased it on over her head.
Breathing a sigh of relief, she glanced down at her feet. The sneakers could wait. There was only so much torture a person could endure at one time.
Padding barefoot down the hall, she found Beau seated at his desk in the study. His head came up as she walked in, and his gaze ran over her once more, came to rest on her feet.
“I can’t believe your bare feet are turning me on.” He glanced up. “You drive me crazy. You know that?”
A little thrill went through her. She thought of his beautiful body, the ladder of muscle across his flat belly, his wide shoulders and hard-muscled chest. Yesterday he’d worked out with his martial arts trainer, then boxed with a sparring partner in his home gym behind the garage.
She wondered if there was a way to make love without hurting her ribs, imagined how good it would feel, and desire rose so hot and sweet her mouth watered.
“We need to talk,” Beau said again, breaking the moment. “You’re out of bed, so I’ll assume you’re feeling up to a change of location. I’m taking you out of town, a place you’ll be safe.”
She should have seen this coming. She was shaking her head even before he finished the sentence. “We need to stay in Dallas, Beau. We’re starting to put things together, figure things out. That’s why they came after me. There’s a good chance they’ll come after you, too.”
