by Kat Martin
Beau headed out to his car, a million questions circling around in his head. For an instant he considered hiring the lady detective. She knew how to go about finding answers. Digging was what she did for a living. Then he thought of her pretty face, heavy dark curls, and sexy curves, and knew he couldn’t afford the distraction.
Better he figure things out on his own.
* * *
Darkness hung over the flat East Texas landscape by the time Cassidy returned to the guest house that evening. Dampness seeped through her clothes and a chill wind sent gooseflesh over her skin. Clouds crept past, obscuring the stars. The front door of the main house was still blocked off with yellow crime-scene tape but when she went around to the guest house, the police officer was gone and no tape blocked the door.
A few things had been moved around inside, drawers had been opened and closed, but she had only been there a few days and she hadn’t brought much with her from Dallas.
The police would have been looking for anything out of the ordinary, anything that might indicate she was connected in some way to the murder. She was a licensed PI, hired by the victim, a minor suspect with no apparent motive. But she had been at the crime scene and the police would be looking at every possibility.
She walked over and turned on the TV, found a news channel. The murder of a former Texas state senator dominated the news broadcasts. A reporter relayed the story, adding that Stewart Reese’s son had found his dying father; no suspects were yet in custody. There was a number to call at the bottom of the screen if anyone had information.
In the final portion of the broadcast, Beau walked out of the police station, head down, jaw set as he strode across the parking lot. Several reporters shoved microphones into his face, but he just kept walking, sliding gracefully into his low-slung sports car, leaving the media in his dust as they ran after him down the road.
She wondered if the police had insisted he stay in Pleasant Hill or if he would be returning to Dallas. He was head of marketing for Texas American Enterprises. Beau was a very busy man.
But the police would have more questions. Cassidy certainly did. She wanted to know exactly what he and his father had been fighting about the day before, wanted to know if the argument could have continued, could have led to a violent murder.
Wishing she could get into the main house, see if she could find the files she had a strong feeling were there, she sat down at her computer, which fortunately the police hadn’t taken, and went to work.
The senator had given her three names to look into. George Larson was his partner in Green Gables Realty, a chain of real estate offices that stretched east from Dallas to Texarkana and south as far as Tyler. Three months ago, the senator had insisted on selling the company, and apparently Larson wasn’t happy about it.
The second name on the list, Jess Milford, was the recently terminated foreman of Alamo, Stewart Reese’s construction and real estate development company, a man who had worked there for nearly twenty years. He might be carrying a grudge, the senator had said.
Last, Reese’s ex-wife, Charlotte Mercer Reese. According to the senator, Charlotte had never recovered from their divorce. She was fixated on Stewart and wanted them to get back together.
Cassidy had mentioned the senator’s suspicions to Beau but hadn’t given him her name or the others’. He’d been overwhelmed by his father’s death, but sooner or later he’d want to know. She hoped he hadn’t said anything to Briscoe. She wanted to do some preliminary research first, which would be a whole lot harder once the police got involved.
Then again, maybe the cops would get lucky and find the killer right away. The police force in a town of fifteen thousand was small, but Police Chief Eric Warren had a good reputation and Briscoe seemed capable.
A little before midnight, she pushed away from the computer. Her neck hurt and her eyes felt gritty, but she had the basics on all three people. She’d need more to figure out if any of them could be suspects.
Tomorrow she would head into town, have lunch somewhere the locals ate, and do a little shopping. In a small town, shopkeepers and restaurant owners knew pretty much everything about everyone. As long as it looked like you were going to spend money, they were happy to talk. You never knew what sort of useful information might surface.
She would see what she could find out about the murder, about the senator, and the three people on her suspect list. Well, four if she counted Beau Reese.
Thinking of him, Cassidy walked over to the window and looked out at the main house. A feeling of unease filtered through her. Beau and his father didn’t get along, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a chance Beau knew where his father kept his personal records. If he did, he might go after them. There could even be something in those records he wouldn’t want the police to know.
No lights burned in the big house. The crime scene hadn’t been officially released, but the last two patrol cars had driven off several hours ago.
Knowing she shouldn’t, unable to convince herself, she turned and walked into the bedroom. After a quick change out of her yellow sweater into a long-sleeved black T-shirt, she dragged her hair into a ponytail and stuck it through the hole in a black, Maximum Security baseball cap. Her gear bag held a set of lock picks. She took the box out and stuck it into the pocket of her jeans, took out a small Maglite flashlight, and headed for the door.
It was dark out, just a sliver of moon. Dim rays threw shadowy light over the flat landscape populated with thick stands of oaks and dense leafy foliage along the creek beds. Dressed as she was, she wouldn’t be easy to spot.
Making her way from the guest house across the manicured yard, across the terrace to the back door, she used the lock picks, heard the click of the lock falling into place, turned the knob, and slipped into the laundry room.
The senator had given her the security code. She hurried to turn off the alarm. Odds were there was a wall safe hidden somewhere in the study, a problem since she wasn’t a safe cracker, but the combination might be hidden in his desk. Or maybe there would be a hidey-hole inside a piece of furniture. Finding it was a long shot, but she worked with a pro, the owner of the agency, Chase Garrett, so she knew where to look.
She wasn’t about to interfere in an ongoing police investigation by accidentally destroying evidence that might help solve the case. But there was a chance the senator kept his files somewhere else. The master bedroom would be her second choice.
Cassidy turned on her flashlight and followed the glowing yellow circle down the hall.
Chapter Five
Crime-scene tape fluttered in the breeze, but it was almost midnight and the police cars were gone from in front of the house. Beau parked his Ferrari in a spot half a block away, a place in the trees he used to sneak off to when he was in high school, a place his friends could park and wait for him to join them without being seen.
He’d been wild back then, always pushing the limits, trying to prove himself. He and Linc and a kid named Kyle Howler, the sheriff’s son, were constantly in trouble. Then one night, Kyle had goaded them into robbing a convenience store.
Beau, who drove a suped-up red Mustang his dad had bought him, agreed to act as the wheelman. Linc and Kyle wore ski masks and carried revolvers when they went into the store around midnight. But they were kids, not killers. When old man Lafferty brought a shotgun out from under the counter, they put down their weapons and all three of them were arrested.
Linc, who had just turned eighteen, spent two years in prison. A few months younger, still seventeen, Kyle and Beau had had their juvenile records sealed.
What happened that night had changed all of their lives.
The memories slid away as Beau climbed out of the car. No dome light went on, a trick he’d learned as a kid. Grabbing a flashlight out of the Ferrari, he stayed in the shadows as he walked toward the house.
After he’d left the police station, he had checked into the Holiday Inn, but he hadn’t been able to sleep. Even after dr
inking a couple of beers he had picked up at the store and brought to the room, he couldn’t calm his mind enough to block images of his father lying on the study floor covered in blood.
He had planned to postpone his search until he moved into the house tomorrow, but he was sure the cops wouldn’t find whatever was in his father’s secret place, and the information could be extremely important.
And what if the murderer also knew about the hiding place? What if he went back to the house and took whatever his father kept there before Beau had a chance to look at it?
Giving in to temptation, he’d left the motel, climbed into his car, and driven to the house that had been his childhood home.
He kept walking, crossed to the other side of the road, and made his way around back. No lights on in the guest house. He figured Cassidy had probably returned to Dallas, wondered if he’d ever see her again and felt a surprising flicker of disappointment.
He hadn’t met an interesting woman in weeks, longer really, and especially not one who appealed to him physically as much as Cassidy Jones.
He was crossing the yard toward the back door when he spotted a dim light moving around behind the curtains in the master bedroom. Adrenaline shot through him. Clicking off the flashlight, he ducked out of sight behind the thick trunk of an oak tree.
Someone was in the house, and the way the light was circling, that someone was searching for something.
Moving quietly through the darkness, he reached the terrace and crossed to the back door, found it unlocked, turned the knob, and slipped into the laundry room. Beau headed down the hall toward the master bedroom, pausing just outside the door to listen for movement inside. The sound of footsteps crossing the deep cream carpet in the bedroom signaled the intruder was heading in his direction.
Beau flattened himself against the wall behind the door, muscles tense as he waited. The knob turned and the door swung open. Beau stepped out and grabbed the intruder around the waist, heard a gasp as he slammed the man against the wall.
The guy was small but he didn’t go down easy. Beau blocked an elbow jab, jerked his knee up to stop a kick to the balls that would have done serious damage to his masculinity, did a quick turn, and used the side of his foot to sweep the guy’s feet out from under him.
They both went down on the floor of the hall, Beau landing on top, pinning the guy in a wrestling move that took less than three seconds, with the intruder’s legs splayed and his arms immobilized above his head. It was the lush, pillow-soft breasts pressing into his chest that said the intruder was a woman.
The height and feminine curves said it was Cassidy Jones.
“Cassidy, what the hell?”
“Beau.” Recognizing his voice, she stopped fighting and relaxed a little, shoved hard at his chest. “Get off me. I can’t breathe.”
Nestled in the soft vee between her spread thighs, his body felt perfectly fine where it was. Seeing it as payback for the trouble she’d caused, he dipped his head to catch a whiff of her soft perfume, shifted a little just because she felt so good, then lifted himself away before he started getting hard.
As he came to his feet, gripped her hand and pulled her up beside him, his irritation returned. It was followed by a shot of suspicion.
“In case you’ve forgotten, this is a crime scene,” he said. Since neither of them were supposed to be there, he tugged her down the hall into the powder room, where he could safely turn on the light. “What the hell are you doing here?”
She hesitated just long enough for him to know she was going to lie.
“The truth, or I’m calling the cops.” Not that it wouldn’t cause him as much trouble as her.
Resigned, Cassidy sighed. “I was looking for your father’s private papers.”
“The police took his laptop and all his files. You must know that. What makes you think there’s something more?”
“I got the impression the senator wasn’t the type to leave his personal information lying around. He liked his privacy. He didn’t even have security cameras outside the house. My guess is he kept his important papers somewhere safe.” She cocked a dark eyebrow. “If there’s nothing to find, what, exactly, are you doing here?”
Instead of answering, Beau studied her face, trying to come to a decision. He had looked her up while he’d been sitting in that motel room. Twenty-nine years old, graduated at the top of her class from the criminology program at the University of Texas in Dallas, worked for the past five years for a firm called Maximum Security.
She’d been born and raised in Houston, came from a family of decorated cops and soldiers, just like she’d said. Reputation as an extremely competent private investigator. More importantly, no connection to the senator or any of his cronies.
“If you’d found the files,” he asked, “what were you going to do with them?”
“Depends on what was in them. Stewart Reese hired me. That means my loyalty belongs to him. I wouldn’t divulge anything personal I found in the files unless it was relevant to catching his killer.”
“So you’re planning to investigate his death on your own?”
“That’s right. I was on the job when he was killed. That makes it personal. As far as I’m concerned, I’m still on the job and will be until the man who murdered him is in custody.”
“What about money? How do you plan to get paid? Because if you think you can use whatever you find out in exchange for some kind of payoff—”
She stiffened. “This isn’t about money—not for me—not anymore. It’s about justice. I’ll do what needs to be done.”
He was good at reading people. It was one of the reasons his company had become so successful. She felt responsible in some way for the senator’s death and she was determined to make it right.
Of course, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d been wrong about a woman. He had good instincts, but hell, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d been wrong about a man.
The powder room was beginning to feel confining. Or maybe it was Cassidy’s soft perfume. Or that if he leaned just a little closer, he could brush against those magnificent breasts. He forced himself to concentrate.
“So let’s say I know where those papers you’re after might be—if they exist at all. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You’re a private investigator—I’ll hire you to help me find my dad’s killer.”
“Are you serious?”
“You take the job, I’ll pay you double your usual fee, but we work together, and you don’t hand anything over to the police without my say-so. And my decision is final.”
Interest sparked in those big green eyes. She was watching him as closely as he’d been watching her. “I won’t do anything illegal.”
“You ever heard of breaking and entering? You broke into someone else’s house. You’re here without permission.”
She glanced down, toyed with her heavy Maglite. “Point taken, but I still won’t—”
“Fine. Nothing illegal.” But she had better be prepared for what his father might have done. Odds were his dad was involved up to his silver-threaded eyebrows in God-only-knew what. Beau figured he’d handle the problem if or when it arose.
“Where’s the stuff hidden?” Cassidy asked.
“Unfortunately, it’s in the study.”
She rolled those big green eyes. “I was afraid of that.”
* * *
“You agreed we wouldn’t do anything illegal,” Cassidy hissed as they headed down the hall to the study. “Interfering with a police investigation is a criminal offense.”
“So is burglary, but you didn’t seem to have a problem with that.”
She was only planning to look at the documents, not steal them, maybe take some photos with her cell, but she didn’t say that. Not when she had just been hired to do exactly what she was going to do without being paid.
Plus, she’d have Beau’s cooperation—at least to a point.
Following his long, lanky strides down the passage, she couldn’t help r
emembering the leashed power of his body as he’d taken her down with an ease that was frightening. She couldn’t help remembering the hard, sinewy muscles that had pinned her to the carpet in some kind of wrestling move, her legs splayed, Beau nestled intimately between them.
She had heard of women who harbored rape fantasies. Cassidy definitely wasn’t one of them. Still, there was a split second when she had realized it was Beau, realized she was completely at his mercy, that she had really been turned on.
On the other hand, there were probably a dozen women who would want to have wild monkey sex with Beau Reese.
He paused at the study door, reached down and turned the knob, carefully eased the door open. Fingerprints wouldn’t be a problem. Both of them had been in the study. Their prints would be all over the room.
Beau’s black, high-top sneakers squeaked as he crossed the gleaming hardwood floor, stopping next to a small oak four-drawer stand against the wall. Pulling the stand a few feet away, he knelt in front of the spot where the furniture had been sitting.
Long tanned fingers slid over the surface of the wood floor, feeling for a break in the boards. Finding it, he took out his pocketknife and opened the blade, used it to pry out a square of wood so perfectly fitted it had been completely invisible.
A two-foot-by-two-foot opening about eighteen inches deep appeared in the floor. When Beau shined his flashlight inside, Cassidy could see a stack of manila files, along with what appeared to be a small box containing a pair of USB flash drives.
Her pulse quickened. She’d been right about the senator. Whatever was in that hole could very well lead them to his killer.
Beau scooped up the files and handed them over, grabbed the flash drives and stuffed them into the pocket of his jeans, then replaced the panel in the floor. He slid the furniture back into place, motioned for her to retreat, and both of them stepped out into the hall.
A few minutes later, they were standing in the living room of the guest house, the curtains closed, the files spread open on a table in front of the granite counter along a wall of appliances that served as a compact kitchen.