Beyond Danger

by Kat Martin

  Chase closed the door. “Have a seat.” Both of them sat down in comfortable brown leather chairs in front of his desk. Chase sat down on the opposite side. “I hear you two have been having some problems.”

  The muscles in Beau’s shoulders tightened beneath his shirt. “You heard that?” He didn’t like people knowing his business. He flicked Cassidy a glance, but she just shook her head. “What exactly did you happen to hear?”

  Cassidy didn’t tell him Chase had a way of knowing everything that went on in Dallas.

  “For starters, I heard there’s a contract out on the two of you. Someone with big money wants you dead. I was just getting ready to call Cassidy when you walked through the door.”

  Her pulse shot up. She’d known someone was hunting them, but a professional hit sounded even more frightening. “Any idea who took out the contract?” she asked.

  “No, but I’ve got feelers out. The minute I hear I’ll let you know. In the meantime, you need to get somewhere safe until this blows over.”

  “It isn’t going to blow over,” Beau said. “Not until we figure out what the hell is going on. Holing up somewhere isn’t going to solve the problem.”

  Chase’s dark gaze rolled over him, surveying the protective gleam in Beau’s eyes, taking in more than Cassidy wanted him to know. “Okay, I get that. Maybe there’s something I can do to help. Tell me what you’ve got so far.”

  Cassidy glanced at Beau and read his reluctance. He didn’t know Chase Garrett from the man in the moon. He didn’t know if he could trust him. No way did he want to spill the information they’d been collecting.

  Cassidy set a hand on his arm. “I’ve worked with Chase for years, Beau. He’s one of the best investigators in the business. I’d trust him with my life. On a couple of occasions where guns came into play, I actually have.”

  Beau released a pent-up breath. “All right. That’s good enough for me.” For the next half hour, they filled Chase in, bringing him up to speed on the murders, including the possibility that Senator Watson’s death had not been an accident. They also relayed their suspicions that Mal Vaughn was involved up to his money-lending neck.

  Neither of them told Chase they were tracking the man. The PIs in the office were independent contractors. Not knowing some of the gray areas they worked in gave Chase credible deniability. She didn’t want him losing his license—or worse—over something she’d done.

  “If you’re right,” Chase said, “whatever’s going on—it’s big. Cassidy’s had two previous attempts on her life. Now a pro has come out of the woodwork hunting both of you. If Mal Vaughn is involved, he’s not the big fish. Someone with way more to lose is calling the shots.”

  “Any idea who?” Beau asked, leaning forward in his chair.

  “I don’t know, but maybe I can find out.” Chase rose from behind his desk, his attention fixed on Beau. “The people who work for me, they’re family. You can believe I’ll stay on this. I know Jase is digging around. Rome and Lissa know about the contract. They’ve got their ears open for anything that might be useful. I’ve warned them to keep it low-key. With luck, something will turn up.”

  For the first time, Beau seemed to relax. He stood up and extended a hand, which Chase shook. “Thanks.”

  “Stay safe. Both of you. I’ll be in touch.”

  As they walked out of the building, Frank Marino waited beside the front door. He was a lean man, fit and watchful. Cassidy didn’t miss the swell of a pistol in the shoulder holster beneath his jacket. The man took his job seriously and she was damned glad he did. She and Beau were also armed.

  “No sign of trouble?” Beau asked.

  Marino’s gaze went to the upper stories of the buildings lining both sides of the street, scanning for a shooter who might have a sniper’s nest in a location above. “None so far.”

  Beau followed his gaze, then looked down at Cassidy and gently touched her cheek. “I don’t think going to lunch is a good idea.”

  She sighed. “Not when we know for sure there’s a hit out on us.”

  “Let’s go back to the house, take another look at Vaughn’s movements. We’ll send Frank out for something to eat. He always seems to be hungry.”

  She nodded, checked her phone. No audio alert. “Vaughn isn’t talking.”

  Beau’s features hardened, tightening the scar along his jaw. His eyes were a fierce shade of blue. “Maybe not, but nobody’s perfect. Sooner or later, Vaughn’s going to screw up. When he does, we’ll be ready.”

  * * *

  Vaughn’s mistake came at nine P.M. that night. It started when the GPS signal pulsing from beneath the bumper of his car began to travel from his office along the streets of the map on the computer screen.

  Standing behind Cassidy, Beau watched the moving red dot as Vaughn’s Mercedes headed for home the way he usually did this time of night. But halfway there, Cassidy’s iPhone alerted to sounds inside the car.

  She flashed Beau a look, picked up her cell and dialed the audio bug, which made a silent connection to the device hidden under the dash. She set the phone on speaker.

  Beau heard a ringing inside the car, not Vaughn’s usual cell phone ringtone, but something different. “It’s another phone,” he said as Vaughn answered.

  “I’m listening,” Mal said to the caller. Silence while the person on the other end of the phone was speaking. “I told you I’d take care of it,” Vaughn said. More conversation, then, “All right, if you think it’s necessary. But it’ll take me half an hour to get there.”

  The line went dead. The pulsing image on the computer screen slowed, then turned around and began to move in the opposite direction.

  “He’s meeting the guy on the phone,” Beau said, his pulse beginning to thrum.

  “It could be anyone,” Cassidy reminded him, looking at him over her shoulder from her chair in front of the screen. “We shouldn’t get our hopes too high.”

  “Vaughn took that call on a different cell phone. If he’s up to no good, probably a disposable. I can’t wait to see where he’s headed.”

  It took thirty minutes for the Mercedes to arrive at its destination, and Beau’s nerves were on edge the whole time. The car slowed, then stopped, the device still pulsing, but no longer moving.

  “He’s out in Westlake,” Beau said, studying the map, locating the small town northwest of Fort Worth. “That’s some of the most expensive real estate around. What’s the address?”

  “It’s 1555 Ottinger.” Cassidy went to Google Maps, pulled up a satellite image of the house, and Beau whistled.

  “Got to be twenty or thirty acres,” he said. “Property’s gated. House looks to be seven- or eight-thousand square feet. In today’s market, place like that has to be eight or nine million.”

  “Hang on a minute, let me see who owns it.”

  Beau waited impatiently as Cassidy went into county records and cross-referenced the street address with the ownership parcels.

  “The owner’s name is Luca Aaron Reichlin. Sole and separate property. No other name on the tax rolls.” She looked up. “Ever heard of him?”

  Beau shook his head. “He’s got to have some very big bucks to live out there, but no, I’ve never heard of him.”

  “We need to know who this guy is.” Cassidy turned back to the computer and Googled his name. Nothing. No newspaper articles, nothing on PeopleFinder, nothing on Whitepages.com.

  She kept looking, tapping away on the keyboard, finally glanced up at Beau. “No Facebook page, no Twitter account, no LinkedIn, no other social media.”

  She went to birth records for the state of Texas, found nothing. Went to a national birth record search that required payment, a site she had used before. Nothing.

  She found him on a pay-for-use site that searched passport records. “Here he is. Luca Aaron Reichlin was born in Switzerland. Forty-five years old, American mother, German father, dual citizenship.” She did a little more searching but nothing else popped up. All the while, the red d
ot in front of Reichlin’s house didn’t move.

  “There’s bound to be something more,” Cassidy said. “But it’s going to take me a while to find it.” She looked up. “This guy keeps an unusually low profile. I wonder why?”

  “I’d sure like to know what he and Vaughn are talking about.”

  “I know someone who might have info on him.” Cassidy picked up her cell and punched a number in her contacts. “I’m calling Chase. Reichlin seems to move in the shadows, but he lives in Westlake, so clearly he travels in the higher echelons. Chase might know who he is.”

  “Maybe he’s one of Vaughn’s investors,” Beau suggested.

  “Could be.” She put the phone on speaker and set it down on the desk. “Chase, it’s Cassidy. I’m with Beau. Sorry to bother you so late, but have you ever heard of a guy named Luca Reichlin, middle name Aaron?”

  “Reichlin? Yeah, I know who he is. You think Reichlin’s involved in this?”

  “No idea. Vaughn just drove out to his house for a meeting. That’s all we know.”

  “He’s bad news, Cassidy.” Worry roughened Chase’s deep voice. “The guy is for sale to the highest bidder, completely conscienceless. Money is his god and nothing else matters. His name surfaces once in a while in some dark corner, but basically he keeps a very low profile. If I’m remembering right, for the past few years, he’s been employed by some billionaire in Houston, but I don’t know his name.”

  “You think there’s a chance Reichlin could be connected to all of this?”

  Chase fell silent. She could almost feel his mind spinning, going over the information they had, putting it all together.

  “Reichlin’s a facilitator but only at the highest levels. He deals with one client at a time. Whoever it is has to be mega-rich to afford him. Reichlin carries out orders, makes sure his client gets whatever he wants—legal or not. My guess, if all of this is connected, whatever’s going down is big.”

  “Big enough for Reichlin to put a hit out on anyone who stands in the way of getting it done?” Beau asked.

  “That big, yes. If he’s protecting his client.”

  “How do we find out who Reichlin works for?”

  “It won’t be easy. If you’re right and Mal Vaughn’s involved, maybe he knows. More likely, Vaughn’s only contact with the big-money man is through Reichlin. He may not even know the guy’s name.”

  “We need to find out what these people are after,” Cassidy said.

  “Yes, you do. It’s the only way you’re going to end this.”

  “Thanks, Chase,” Cassidy said. “At least we know more than we did.”

  “Keep me up-to-date and I’ll do the same. You both be careful.” Chase hung up the phone.

  Beau looked down at the red dot pulsing on the computer screen. “We need to find out the name of Reichlin’s client.”

  “I’ll go to work on it right now,” Cassidy said. “Maybe if I dig deep enough, I’ll find something.” She reached up and touched his cheek, ran her hand over the late-evening shadow along his jaw. “Why don’t you get some sleep? No use both of us staying up half the night.”

  He should. He needed to be at the top of his game if they were going to figure all of this out. Unfortunately, he found himself reluctant to face his empty bed without her.

  He faked a smile. “You aren’t the only one who knows their way around a computer. I’ve got a few tricks of my own up my sleeve.” Moving to his side of the desk, he sat down and went to work.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Beau groaned at the sound determined to intrude on the slow, deep kiss he was enjoying. It was late, around midnight. Lying beneath him, Cassidy slid her arms around his neck and opened her warm body in invitation as he pressed her down in the mattress. His heavy erection nestled between her legs, the anticipation nearly as good as being inside her.

  He was breathing raggedly and so was she, both of them fast-tracking toward the pleasure just out of reach and the sleep afterward they both so desperately needed.

  She laced her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, and a fresh rush of heat slid through him. Her skin felt smooth and warm as his mouth traveled over her shoulder to feast on a delectable breast.

  When the ringing intruded again, Beau swore and lifted himself away, sat up in bed and grabbed his cell phone off the nightstand. No way could he ignore it, not with the trouble swirling around them. Leaning down, he pressed a last kiss on Cassidy’s warm lips.

  “We aren’t finished,” he said softly, though for the moment, clearly they were. He looked down at the caller ID, recognized the number, and every muscle in his body went tense. “Missy, what’s going on? What’s wrong?”

  Missy started crying. “There’s a man here, Beau. He’s . . . he’s got this ski mask over his head and he’s got a gun. He says you . . . you owe him money.”

  Someone jerked the phone out of Missy’s hand. “That’s right, Reese. Your girlfriend was supposed to be dead in the middle of the street by now. She cost me fifteen thousand dollars and a world of trouble. I know who you are. I know you’re filthy rich. Fifteen thousand’s nothing to you, so now I want a million, and you’re gonna bring it to me personally.”

  Anger and fear had him shaking. Beau’s hand tightened around his cell. “You listen to me and you better listen good. Anything happens to Missy or the baby, you’re a dead man. You hear me?”

  “You’re the one who should be listening. I need a ride out of the country. I’m on my way to ol’ Mehico and you’re gonna bring me the money to get there in that fancy helicopter of yours. If you don’t, the girl and the kid are dead. Now keep your mouth shut and do what I say. And no police—you got that?”

  Beau forced himself under control. “Yeah, I’ve got it.” He needed to stay calm, think of Missy and Evie. He wondered where Josie was. It was just after midnight. He figured she could still be working, prayed she wouldn’t go home and make things worse.

  He pulled a deep breath into his lungs. “It’ll take me a couple of hours to get the money together, get the chopper, and get there.”

  “You got ninety minutes.” The phone went dead and Beau cursed.

  He felt Cassidy’s hand on his shoulder. “Beau, what is it? What’s going on?”

  The breath he’d been holding shuddered out. “The guy who tried to kill you? He’s got Missy and Evie. He wants a million bucks and a chopper.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “I’ve got to go.” He rolled off the bed, strode over and grabbed his jeans, dragged them on and snagged a clean long-sleeved T-shirt. Behind him, he heard Cassidy run out the bedroom door and down the hall. By the time he’d finished dressing and started making calls, the first to his banker, Cassidy was rushing back into the room in jeans and a red plaid flannel shirt.

  “I’m going with you.”

  “Not a good idea. You’ll be safer here.”

  “I’m going. Missy and Evie might need me, Beau. Or Josie. Is Josie in the house, too?”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t mention her.” He started striding down the hall toward the garage and Cassidy fell in beside him.

  “We need to call the café,” she said, which he would have already done if he had been thinking more clearly. “We need to find out if Josie’s still at work. If she is, we can’t let her walk into the middle of this thing.”

  He glanced at Cassidy over his shoulder. “You’re right. Can you call and find out?”

  “Of course. You need me, Beau. Let me help you.”

  He swallowed. He always seemed to need her. He didn’t like putting her in the middle of a bad situation, but at the moment, he had no choice. “All right, let’s go.”

  * * *

  Cassidy sat tensely in the Ferrari next to Beau. Tires squealing, he shot out of the garage, driving like a madman down the pavement toward the street, pausing only for a moment to speak to one of the guards, then taking Will Egan’s frantic phone call when he learned Beau was leaving without Frank Marino.

&
nbsp; “Don’t worry, Marino’s meeting us at the chopper,” he informed Will over the speaker. They could make better time in the Ferrari and there wasn’t room for Frank in the sports car. He explained the situation and ended with, “We’ll figure things out as we go.”

  “You sure you won’t need backup when you get there?”

  “I don’t want to set this guy off,” Beau said. “As soon as he releases the hostages, I’ll call the police.”

  “He could force them to go with him, Beau. He could shoot your helo pilot. Anything could happen.”

  Cassidy had run through the various scenarios with Beau as they had prepared to leave, including the ones Will mentioned.

  “The guy isn’t getting on the chopper,” Beau said. “I won’t let that happen. I just need to get him away from the girl and the baby.”

  Then they could deal with the hostage taker, the guy who had tried to kill Cassidy twice before.

  “You realize this might just be a diversion to bring you out in the open,” Will said. “Somewhere an assassin can get at you.”

  “We’ll be ready if that’s the case.”

  Cassidy’s hand went to her waist. The little .380 in the holster clipped to her belt felt comforting. Cassidy was a good shot, and since Beau was good at just about everything, she figured he was more than competent with the Glock he was carrying.

  She thought of what Will had said, that this could be a diversion to get them out in the open, but Cassidy had a feeling that wasn’t what was going on. The guy who had tried to kill her wasn’t a professional hit man. If he had been, she would be dead.

  “Be careful,” Will said.

  “Count on it.” Beau hung up the phone. They needed to get to the roof of the Tex/Am building, get on the chopper, and get to Pleasant Hill. But first they needed to pick up the money.

  On the way, Cassidy phoned the café. It rang four times before the call was answered.

  “Pleasant Hill Café,” Josie’s familiar voice said. “I’m sorry, we’re closed.”