by Kat Martin
“I know that. Cain’s offered us the use of his ranch. We can bring in security. Deke Logan’s a friend of his, former special ops. He’s one of the best security guys around and he’s got a great team. Plus Josh is there. Former Marine sniper. We wouldn’t have to worry.”
“Listen to me, Beau. I realize you’re trying to protect me, but we can’t hide forever. As soon as we come back to Dallas, I’ll be a target again. A guy like Vaughn has plenty of patience. He’ll just wait us out. We need to stay here and deal with this.”
“Are we sure it’s Vaughn?”
“Everything we’ve come up with so far points to him.”
“All right, so I’ll hire another detective to handle the case. Cain worked with a guy named Ross Townsend when Carly was having trouble. Townsend’s good.”
“So am I. And I’m not about to trust my life to someone else. We need to stay on this, keep working the case ourselves.”
Beau leaned back in his chair, released a slow breath. “I had a feeling that’s what you were going to say. I’ve thought about it, tried to look at this from different angles. Are you sure you don’t want to take some time, try to get a handle on this thing before we go at it again full speed?”
She moved around to his side of the desk, stood close enough to get a whiff of his sexy cologne. “I’m dead sure. I don’t want to be looking over my shoulder for the next five years. I want these guys dealt with. Which reminds me—did you talk to Detective Briscoe?”
Beau looked up at her. “I called him. He said he’d get in touch with the Kaufman police and the Dallas PD. But unless there’s proof the hit-and-run and the crash are related—”
“Which there isn’t. The only way the police are getting involved is if we find the proof they need. You asked me once if I wanted out. Now I’m asking you. We both know the risks. If you want out—”
“No way!” Temper sparked in his eyes. “I brought you into this. I’m not letting you deal with it alone.” Beau reached across his desk, picked up the semiautomatic pistol she hadn’t noticed lying there. “This belongs to me. Glock seventeen, nine mil. I’m a damn good shot and I’m permitted to carry. You want to stay in Dallas, we’ll stay. But from now on, we’ll be prepared.”
* * *
Beau stood in front of the whiteboard Cassidy had created. He wasn’t a professional investigator, but he’d read enough true crime novels and watched enough cop shows to be able to contribute to her efforts.
“All right, we’ve got the victims—Milford and Senator Reese.” She stood at the board, one hand on her hip, the other clenching a yellow pencil, her gaze fixed on the pair of photos spaced apart at the top. “In one way or another, we think Vaughn is connected to both men.”
On the Internet she’d found a photo of Malcolm Vaughn at a charity benefit, printed it, and tacked it up between Milford and his father.
“Under Vaughn we have Clifford Jennings,” Beau said. “Vaughn’s right-hand man.” Cassidy had found a police mug shot from ten years back. Jennings had been twenty-four years old at the time. The photo showed a man of average height and weight, with tight blond curls pushed up by a headband. He’d been arrested for forging checks and promoting prostitution, meaning he’d been a pimp. Jennings had served two years in the Federal Detention Center in Houston. No arrests since his release.
Beau held up a line drawing he’d sketched because they didn’t have a photo. “This represents the guy who tried to kill you.” He pinned the drawing up on the board. “Assuming it was the same man both times.”
“It was him,” she said. “Two old cars, both of them barely running. He’s getting them somewhere. A used-car lot or a junkyard someplace.”
“Lot of used-car lots in Dallas,” Beau said. “Not as many junkyards, but still . . .”
“It’s a place to look. Maybe someone will remember the pickup.”
“It was stolen, so even if they do, likely they won’t admit it.”
Frustration turned her mouth down at the corners. Beau wanted to see those pretty lips curve into a soft, warm smile.
“For the moment, why don’t we concentrate on Vaughn?” he said. “He’s the guy running the show.”
Cassidy perked up. “All right. If we’re starting with Vaughn, we need to know more about him. We’ve found the basics—divorced, never remarried, no kids. He lives in a million-plus condo in Turtle Creek. Started Equity Advance five years ago. But we need more than that.”
“A lot more,” Beau said.
“We need to know who he talks to, who he associates with. If we could put a bug on his car, we’d know where he goes. Maybe we could even get an audio device inside—”
“You’re kidding, right? That’s highly illegal.”
She tossed him a look. “So’s murder.”
“Good point.”
“So how do we get access to his vehicle?” She tapped the yellow pencil against her cheek. “The parking garage at his office has cameras all over, and way too many security people to get in and out without being seen. I know that development in Turtle Creek. It’s gated, patrolled. Be like getting in and out of Fort Knox. We need some other way.”
Beau ran the notion around in his head. “Linc mentioned Vaughn’s a philanthropist. You found his photo at a charity event. Linc says Vaughn uses his high-society contacts to promote his loan business. Might be able to use the charity angle somehow.”
Cassidy concentrated, worrying her bottom lip. Since her release from the hospital, she’d been spending her nights in the bedroom next to his. He hadn’t touched her. She was recovering, healing. Even thinking about having sex was a betrayal.
She moved, shifting her thick mane of curls, and he went hard. Damn. He’d vowed to keep his distance, get his emotions back in check, but staying away from her was killing him.
“It’s February,” she said. “There’s a couple of big events going on this month. The Heart Association Benefit and the Children’s Home Valentine’s Masquerade Ball. I saw them mentioned in the paper. Both are happening tonight. If he’s planning to attend one of them, we might be able to get to his vehicle while it’s parked in the lot.”
“How do we find out if he’s on either guest list?”
She smiled. “I’ll find out.”
“What, you’re going to hack into their online system?”
“Of course not. I’m going to call and ask.”
* * *
Cassidy found the website for tickets to the black-tie Heart Association Benefit and called the number. A volunteer answered the phone. “How may I help you?”
“My name is Maryann Jones. I was supposed to buy tickets to the benefit tonight for a friend, but I think he might have already purchased them. Can you check for me?”
“Of course. How do you spell your friend’s name?”
“V-A-U-G-H-N.”
The line went silent as the woman checked. “I don’t see the name anywhere on the list. Shall I get you the tickets?”
“I think I’d better wait, make sure I got the information right. Thanks so much for your help.” Cassidy ended the call and went to the page for the Children’s Home Valentine’s Masquerade Ball.
She used the same routine, but this time the woman refused to give her the information. “This isn’t an open event,” the woman said. “There’s a very exclusive guest list.”
“The person I’m calling for is a friend of Beau Reese. I’m sure Mr. Reese is on your list.” She had no idea if Beau was on the guest list. He was a celebrity with plenty of money. She was just hoping his name would be enough to get the information.
“Beau Reese? The famous race-car driver?”
“That’s him.”
“Well, of course Mr. Reese would be welcome to attend. I’m happy to check, see if his friend has tickets. What’s the name?”
“Malcolm Vaughn.”
“Hang on a minute.” She went off-line, then came back on a few minutes later. “Yes, it looks like Mr. Vaughn has already purchased t
wo tickets for the event.”
Cassidy shot a fist into the air. “Then I’ll need two tickets for Mr. Reese.”
“I’m afraid we only have VIP tickets still available.” Figuring Beau could afford the extravagant price the woman rattled off, and the money was going to a good cause, she reserved two tickets. But she had to call back with a credit card within the hour to hold the reservation.
“Mr. Reese would prefer his attendance be kept anonymous,” she finished.
“Of course,” the woman said.
Cassidy ended the call. The good news was it was a masquerade ball. They’d be wearing costumes and masks, which would cover up the bruises on her face and allow them to move around freely. It couldn’t be more perfect. Vaughn would never even know they were there.
The bad news was, since it was a Valentine’s ball, not a Halloween party, the theme was romantic couples. Beau would not be thrilled. Cassidy took a deep breath, determined to convince him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Beau was in the kitchen making sandwiches for lunch when he looked up to see Cassidy walk excitedly into the room.
“We got lucky. Vaughn’s going to the Children’s Home Masquerade Ball tonight. Unfortunately, the only tickets available are VIP, which cost a fortune, but I think it would be worth it. Plus it’s a donation—tax deductible.”
He set the mayonnaise jar down on the kitchen counter. “Tax deductible, huh? So how much of a deduction am I going to get?”
She bit her lip, which made him want to kiss her. “Seven thousand dollars.”
He shrugged. “Not too bad, considering it’s for charity.”
“Apiece.”
He laughed. “I bet no one’s ever called you a cheap date.”
Cassidy practically danced. Fortunately for his libido, her pretty feet were now in a pair of sneakers. “So are you okay with this?”
“Where do you plan to get the surveillance equipment?”
“My office. I’ve got some stuff there, plus the guys always have a stash of interesting paraphernalia. Chase pretends not to know about it. I should be able to find something. We can stop on the way to the costume shop.”
The costume shop. Beau inwardly groaned. Dressing up in some garb that made him look like an idiot was the last thing he wanted. But bringing down Vaughn countered any hesitation he had.
“Fine, get the tickets, but I’m not wearing a pair of those ridiculous tights. I’m not dressing up as a court jester or Henry the Eighth, or any guy who went out in public with his privates on full display. We need to get that straight right now.”
Cassidy laughed. “Okay, no tights.” She glanced down at the fly of his jeans. “Though you do have a very nice package.”
Beau’s gaze followed hers and he actually felt himself blush.
“No tights,” Cassidy said, still grinning. “I need to pay for the tickets; then we have to get going. Finding the right costume might take a little time.”
Beau pulled out his wallet, slid out his American Express card and held it out to her. He caught her wrist when she reached for it. “Are you sure you’re up to this? It’s only been a few days since you were lying in a hospital bed.”
“True enough. But since I don’t care for a repeat performance, I don’t have much choice. Besides, I’m not going alone, and we won’t have to stay very long. As soon as we get the bugs on his car, we’re out of there.”
“How do we find out what he’s driving?”
“Already got it. Found it in the DMV records before I made the calls.”
“Hacking again?”
“I didn’t have to hack. Digging up information is what I do. It’s all out there. You just need to know where to look.”
“So what’s Vaughn driving?”
“White 2016 Mercedes S550 coupe.”
“Nice car.”
“Not cheap, that’s for sure.” She looked away. “Not nearly as much as a Lamborghini.”
“Hey, take it easy. I called the insurance company. You can help me pick out a new one after this is over.” The minute the words were out of his mouth, Beau regretted them. When this was over, it would be time to end things between them. It was the way it had to be.
To take his mind off the inevitable, he grabbed the lunch plates off the counter, each with a roast beef sandwich, a handful of potato chips, and a dill pickle. He set them down on the kitchen table along with glasses of sweet iced tea.
Cassidy sat across from him and they both dug into their meals. When they finished, she picked up the plates. “So . . . what about Sir Lancelot?” she asked with a mischievous gleam in her eyes.
Beau fought a smile and just shook his head. This was one argument Cassidy Jones wasn’t going to win.
* * *
They were climbing into the BMW for their trip into the city when Beau’s cell phone started to ring. He flipped it open but didn’t recognize the number, held the phone to his ear. “Reese.”
“Hello, Beau.” A woman’s voice floated over the line. “This is Emily Watson, Senator Watson’s wife. You probably don’t remember me, but—”
“Actually, I do. My father introduced us a few years back at a chamber of commerce ribbon-cutting ceremony he and I both happened to be attending.”
“That’s right. I got your number from Charlotte. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. What can I do for you, Mrs. Watson?”
“This is a difficult time for me, I’m afraid. Were you aware my husband died almost a month ago?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. You have my sympathies.”
“Thank you. I’d like to talk to you, Beau . . . if you could find the time. Charlotte told me you were investigating your father’s death. I don’t know for certain, but there’s a chance I have information that might be important.”
His brain went on alert. Emily Watson’s husband had been a sitting Texas state senator, a colleague of his dad’s. Maybe she knew something that could lead them to the answers they needed.
“I’d be more than happy to meet with you, Mrs. Watson.” The sooner the better. “Would tomorrow work?”
“It’s just Emily, and tomorrow would work very well. I take the children to church in the morning, but we’ll be home by eleven.”
“Eleven o’clock then. What’s your address?”
She rattled off a house number on Binkley Avenue in University Park. “You know how to get there?”
“I’ll find you,” Beau said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” The call ended and he turned to Cassidy.
“We might have just caught a break. We’ve got a meeting with Emily Watson, Senator Watson’s wife, tomorrow at eleven A.M. She says she might have something on my father’s murder.”
“Wow. That could be good.”
“Emily says her husband died about a month ago. It would have been in the papers, but I don’t remember reading about it.”
Cassidy frowned. “I think I remember seeing something on the news.”
“His wife didn’t say how he died. Maybe he’d been sick.”
“Maybe. Then again, seems like the body count keeps rising.”
Beau felt a chill at the back of his neck. “I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.”
One thing he’d learned—a helluva lot could happen between today and tomorrow.
* * *
They had a jillion things to do to get ready for the masquerade ball. While Beau stayed in the car to keep watch for anything that might be suspicious, Cassidy went into her office to get the surveillance equipment they needed.
Although it was Saturday, the office was humming. Connie, who took Sundays and Mondays off, came out from behind her oak desk and pulled Cassidy into a hug.
“Oh, you poor child. We’ve all been worried sick.”
“I’m okay.” Cassidy hugged her back. “Just remember the ribs.”
“Oh, damn, I forgot. How you doin’, girl?”
She shrugged. “I’m stiff and sore, but I’ll be fine in a
couple more days.” Jase was still in Arizona. Ford was out, but Rome and Lissa were there. Her fellow investigators had called her at the hospital, called every day since to see how she was doing.
They knew she was staying with Beau. She had a hunch they were dying to meet him, but chances were good he was only passing through her life on his way somewhere else, so the introductions could wait.
She ignored a little pang in her heart as she walked over to Rome, who stood next to Lissa. Romeo Romero was a six-foot-tall, black-haired, dark-eyed, überhandsome Latino. Lissa was a tall, slender blonde. For months, the pair seemed to be fighting a mutual attraction neither would admit. Cassidy wondered how much longer the denial would last.
“Hey, lady,” Rome said, bending to brush a kiss on her cheek. “Glad to see you’re back on your feet.”
Lissa very gently hugged her. “I’m so glad you’re okay. We were all really worried.”
“It could have been worse, that’s for sure.”
“They haven’t found the other driver?” Lissa asked.
“Not yet.” They didn’t know the full story and she didn’t have time to go into it now. “Listen, guys. I need some help. Rome, I know how good you are at this kind of thing. I need to get into a locked vehicle without setting off any alarms. Think you could help me with that?”
He flashed her a bad-boy grin. “Oh, yeah. I have exactly what you need—but you can’t tell anyone where you got it.”
Which meant it was something illegal. Rome had been a gang member before he went straight. Luckily he’d gotten out before he’d been arrested.
He dug into his bottom drawer, came out with a flat black box about five inches square. He explained how the device worked and Cassidy started grinning.
“Definite jail time if you get caught using this little beauty,” she said.
“You can say that again. In the wrong hands, it’s bad news for honest citizens like us.”
“I’m not using it on an honest citizen, and I won’t get caught. Thanks, Rome.” She left him with Lissa, hoping the sparks between them wouldn’t set the room on fire, tried not to think about Beau and how much it was going to hurt when he was gone.
