by Kat Martin
“I might as well cut to the chase,” Brisco said, taking a small, lined spiral notebook out of his coat pocket. He was wearing an inexpensive dark brown suit and wing-tip shoes that needed polish.
He looked down at his notes. “No DNA found at the crime scene. No one else’s blood.” He glanced up. “No evidence of a struggle, so we expected that.”
“What about fingerprints?” Beau asked.
“Just yours and your father’s on the letter opener.”
“So the killer wore gloves,” Beau said. “Or wiped the handle clean.”
“Maybe. There was no forced entry, Beau. That means the killer had to have been someone your father knew. He must have invited the man into the study.”
Beau’s stomach began to churn.
“Not necessarily,” Cassidy said, flicking him a glance. “I took a look at the locks on these doors. A simple set of picks would open them in about five seconds.” Which Beau figured Cassidy knew firsthand, since she had let herself in the night of the murder to search for the hidden files.
Tom flashed her a look of respect. “It’s possible. There’s still the alarm.”
“He didn’t turn it on during the day.”
Briscoe looked down at his notes. “The housekeeper was off that day. Good chance the killer knew that.”
“The murder weapon indicates the murder wasn’t planned,” Cassidy said, “just something that happened on the spur of the moment. So maybe the housekeeper not being here was just coincidental.”
“I’m not big on coincidence,” Briscoe said.
Neither was Beau.
“What about the senator’s phone?” Cassidy asked. “Did you find anything on it?”
“We’re still looking for the phone. So far we haven’t found it.” Tom turned in Beau’s direction. “When we talked at the station, you didn’t tell me the reason you came to Pleasant Hill.”
“I told you I came to get some papers signed. That’s why I was here.”
“I’d like to take a look at them, Beau.”
The adoption papers. “It was personal business between my dad and me. I’d rather it stayed that way.”
“I’m sure you would, but in a town the size of Pleasant Hill, word gets around pretty fast. Currently, the hot topic is you, Beau, you and Missy Kessler. And of course that includes Missy’s baby. Gossip has it that baby is yours. People think maybe you and your dad were fighting about it. You lost your temper and killed him.”
The knot in Beau’s stomach went tighter. When he made no reply, Cassidy spoke up. “The baby isn’t Beau’s, Detective. Senator Reese is the father.”
He should have been angry; the information was private. But all he felt was relief. He didn’t want to betray Missy, but he didn’t want to go to jail, either.
Briscoe settled back and drilled Beau with a glare. “That’s what Missy told me. Might have been better if you’d told me, Beau. Might not look like you had a reason for wanting to keep the information secret.”
“He was trying to protect her,” Cassidy said.
“It’s all right, Cassidy,” Beau said softly. “I should have told Tom the truth from the start.” He spoke to Briscoe. “Missy was afraid of what people would think if they knew she’d had an affair with a man so much older than she is. I figured she’d suffered enough. Since her pregnancy had nothing to do with the murder, I was hoping no one would need to know.”
“When did you find out?” Tom asked.
“Josie called me a couple of days ago. She asked me to meet her at the café, which I did the day before the murder. She gave me a copy of the DNA test that proved the father of Missy’s baby was my dad.”
“How did that make you feel?”
Beau could see it coming, feel the trap closing in on him. “I was angry. I couldn’t believe my father would take advantage of a girl that young. I drove out to the house to talk to him. We argued. He agreed to give Missy full custody. I went back to Dallas and had the paperwork drawn up, then came back to get it signed the next day. When I walked into the house, I found my father lying on the study floor.” He clenched his jaw against the painful image that hadn’t left him since that morning.
“You realize, Beau, you’re the only suspect we have. The only person who had access to the house, to the weapon that killed him—the only person who had a motive to want him dead.”
Beau came up off the sofa. “I didn’t want him dead! We didn’t get along. I didn’t approve of his relationship with Missy. That doesn’t mean I killed him.”
Briscoe slowly rose from his chair. “Then there’s the fact Ms. Jones saw you leaning over the body with the letter opener in your hand.”
Cassidy stood up. “I’ve had time to think about that, Detective. Yes, I saw Beau with the letter opener, but his hand wasn’t wrapped around the handle in a manner that would have been used to strike down a victim. He was pulling the instrument out in an effort to save his father’s life.”
Beau could feel his heart beating a loud, rapid cadence inside his chest. She was changing her story to protect him. Taking a terrible risk.
Briscoe stared at her, his gaze unwavering. “Are you sure you want to go down that road, Ms. Jones? Giving a false statement to the police is a criminal offense. So is aiding and abetting.”
Cassidy’s chin inched up. “I’m a private investigator, Detective. I’m trained to look for those sorts of clues. I saw Beau Reese removing the letter opener from his father’s chest in an effort to save his life. I was upset when I gave my initial statement. I hadn’t had time to process what I’d witnessed, go through the sequence of events. What I just told you is exactly what I saw, and should it come down to it, exactly what I’ll tell a jury.”
Clearly unhappy, Briscoe closed his notepad and tucked it back into his coat pocket. “I’d suggest you get a lawyer, Beau. Unless something new develops, you could be in serious trouble.” He turned to Cassidy. “As for you, Ms. Jones, since you’re so convinced Beau is innocent, I suggest you use your investigative skills to find the person who killed Senator Reese.”
Briscoe turned and walked out of the house. The door slammed shut behind him.
Beau turned to Cassidy. Neither of them had moved. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
She just shrugged. “We needed some time. I bought us some time. You’re innocent, so I don’t have to worry. We just need to find the person who killed your father.”
She looked so damn determined. Beautiful, smart, incredibly sexy, and fiercely determined. Wanting hit him, deep and primal, stronger than ever.
“I’d really like to kiss you,” he said. Though he wanted to do far more than that.
Cassidy just shook her head. “I’m not going there with you, Beau. I’m not sleeping with you now or anytime in the future. I’ll help you clear your name, but that’s it.”
“You said you were attracted to me. You admitted it. Why shouldn’t we act on our mutual attraction?”
“I’ll tell you why. Because you’re Beaumont Reese, Texas heartthrob. You’re famous for your love-’em-and-leave-’em affairs, and I’m not interested in becoming one of your statistics.”
He grinned. “Heartthrob. I’ve been called a lot of things but never that.”
“I’m not kidding, Beau.”
He ran a finger down her cheek. “I want you, Cassidy Jones. You have no idea how much. If you did, it might scare you.”
Her chin firmed the way it had when she had faced Briscoe. “I’m not scared of you, Beau.”
“Good, because I’m the kind of man who goes after what he wants. I don’t stop until I get it. It’s only a matter of time, Ms. Jones.”
A flush crawled up Cassidy’s throat and spread over the cleavage above the bodice of her soft knit sweater. He could see a tiny pulse beating wildly on the side of her neck.
“We have to find Dooley Tate,” she said. “And I want to know as much as possible before we talk to him.”
Her reminder of the murder hit him like
a pail of cold water, sweeping away his need and putting his head back on straight. “You’re right. For the moment I have more to worry about than taking you to bed.”
A tiny sound escaped Cassidy’s throat before she turned and walked toward the sliding glass doors leading out of the family room on her way back to the guest house.
Beau just smiled and fell in behind her.
Chapter Nine
Cassidy could sense Beau’s tall, broad-shouldered frame close behind her as she stepped up on the porch and opened the door to the guest house. Her heart was beating too fast. Her palms felt damp. She couldn’t stop thinking about what he had said, that it was only a matter of time until she wound up in his bed.
Just hearing him say it turned her on, the conviction in his voice, the way his mouth edged into a faint, sexy smile when he spoke. Beau was right. She wanted him. It was impossible to deny. She fought the urge to just stop and turn around, grab the front of his shirt and drag his mouth down to hers for a scorching-hot kiss.
Beau was determined to get her in bed and the more she was around him, the more she wanted exactly the same. She couldn’t remember feeling such a powerful attraction to a man. Ever. The sparks between them could set off a dynamite charge. Maybe she should just give in. So what if she slept with him? There would be emotional consequences, yes, but maybe it would be worth it.
What would sex be like with a gorgeous, incredibly hot male like Beau? Experiencing the kind of white-hot lust she read in those amazing blue eyes could be an exciting new adventure.
Or maybe not. Maybe sex with Beau wouldn’t turn out to be any more thrilling than sex with Rick or the other few men she’d had brief, unfulfilling affairs with over the years.
A slow, deep kiss might give her a clue. Maybe she should try it. Just once. If it wasn’t pure melting heat—
“How will you find him?” Beau asked, jerking her back to reality and sending a second flush into her cheeks. “I wouldn’t think a lowlife loan shark like Tate would be listed in the yellow pages.”
“You’re right. But he’s fairly well-known in Dallas. It shouldn’t be that tough to come up with his location. First, let’s try it the easy way. I need to make a phone call.”
Pulling out her cell, she hit the contact button for Jason Maddox, the bounty hunter she worked with in her office. Jase knew every underworld figure in the city. His contacts were one of the ways he located the scumball bail skips he brought to justice.
Cassidy’s tracing skill was another source he used. She had helped him bring in the Night Watchman, a notorious serial killer. The reward was big-time. Cassidy had received a fat percentage for tracing the killer to the half brother in Phoenix no one had known existed.
She pressed the phone against her ear. “Jase, it’s Cassidy.”
“Hey, darlin’. What’s up?”
“Jase, I need a favor. I’m looking for a loan shark named Dooley Tate. I figured you might know where I can find him.”
“Ruthless, conscienceless, five-foot-eight piece of shit Dooley Tate? That the guy?”
A smile tugged at her lips. Jase wasn’t known for his tact. “That would be him. Any idea where he is?”
“Works out of a strip club called Barbie’s out on Northwest Highway. Got an office upstairs. Best time to find him is early evening, not too crowded then. But he’s bad news, darlin’. You don’t want to go there by yourself. I’m in Albuquerque following a trail, but maybe you can get one of the other guys in the office to go with you.”
She glanced over at Beau, six-foot-three-inches of lean, solid muscle, a man trained in mixed martial arts. From what she had read, he had even done some cage fighting when he was in college. She wondered if that was how he got the scar along his jaw.
“I’ve got someone with me. I’ll be okay.”
“Think about taking that little gun of yours just in case. I know you don’t like to carry, but—”
“I’ll give it some thought.”
“All right,” Jase said. “Just be careful.”
“I will.” Cassidy hung up the phone.
“Who was that?” Beau asked, the lines of his face intense.
“Jason Maddox. He’s a bounty hunter who works out of my office. I do tracing for him sometimes. We’re friends.”
The scar tightened along his jaw. She noticed it happened when he was irritated or upset. “Friends? You mean like friends with benefits?”
She smiled, enjoying the edge of jealousy in his voice. “I’ll admit Jase is a good-looking guy, but no, not that kind of friends. I was living with someone when we met, and even after I moved out, we just never clicked in that way.”
“You moved out. So you aren’t involved with anyone at the moment?”
She shook her head, unable to bring herself to lie, though it might make things a lot easier. “No, not for quite some time.”
The tension eased in those wide shoulders. “Good,” was all he said.
“I need to work up a profile on Tate. I’m not sure what I’ll find, but I’ll do my best.” As she sat down in front of the computer, Beau’s cell phone rang.
He checked the caller ID. “It’s Charlotte. She’s making the funeral arrangements.” He walked a few feet away. “Yeah, I can do that. No problem. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
Beau hung up and walked back. “She’s got things lined up at the funeral home. She wants to get my input and approval.”
His face looked so strained, Cassidy rose from the chair. “You want me to go with you?”
He shook his head. “You have things to do. You don’t need to do that.”
“I can work on Tate’s profile when we get back.” She let the offer hang in the air. It was Beau’s decision.
Those beautiful blue eyes searched her face. “You really wouldn’t mind going?”
Her heart pinched at his hopeful expression. “I wouldn’t mind at all. It’ll give me a chance to check out Charlotte. She’s on our list, remember?”
He relaxed. “Yeah, good idea. Let’s go.”
Cassidy grabbed her purse and they headed out the door. Ten minutes later, the Lamborghini pulled up in front of the Fremont Funeral Home. For several seconds Beau just sat there, and Cassidy’s heart went out to him. Whatever the senator had done, he was still Beau’s dad.
With a quiet glide upward, the car doors opened and they got out. Cassidy hadn’t expected to feel a quick flash of pain, a memory of the last time she had been to a place like this, the arrangements she and her two brothers had helped her dad make for her mother. Cancer was a brutal killer, a heartbreaker for everyone.
“Are you okay?” Beau asked when she stopped at the front door.
Cassidy shook off the memories. “My mom died of cancer. It was rough. For an instant, I remembered.”
He glanced off into the distance. “I lost someone that way. You never forget the pain.”
Surprised she hadn’t read about it during her research, she started to ask who it was, but Beau just shook his head. They stepped into an entry lit by a crystal chandelier. Soft music played in the background as a well-dressed, efficient-looking woman with silver hair pulled into a tight chignon walked toward them down the hall.
“Mr. Reese?” she asked.
“That’s right. And this is Ms. Jones.”
She gave them a smile that had seen better days. “I’m Mrs. Dennison. Welcome to the Fremont Funeral Home. If you will, please follow me.”
Beau looked down at Cassidy and there was something in his face. “I’m glad you came with me,” he said softly as the woman reached the office and came to a stop.
For reasons she couldn’t explain, Cassidy reached for his hand. She laced her fingers with his, and Beau’s hand tightened around them.
“The funeral is set for Saturday,” Mrs. Dennison said. “If that is agreeable to you.”
“What about the autopsy?” Beau asked.
“Chief Warren has assured me it will be completed well before then.”
/> Beau swallowed and nodded. Mrs. Dennison opened the office door. “I’ll give you a moment of privacy, then we’ll go over the arrangements.” As they walked inside, she stepped back out of the room and closed the door.
Across the room, Charlotte Mercer Reese rose gracefully from her chair. Her smile slipped a little when she noticed their linked hands. Cassidy released her hold and Beau stepped forward. He bent and brushed a light kiss on his stepmother’s cheek.
“Charlotte, you’re looking lovely as always.” He turned. “Charlotte, this is Cassidy Jones. She’s a private investigator. She’s helping me look into the murder.”
Blond and slender, at forty-nine Charlotte Reese was still a remarkably attractive woman. In a navy pantsuit accented by a pink and blue silk scarf, her feet in a pair of designer mid-heeled pumps, she exemplified the role of a widowed senator’s wife.
One of Charlotte’s blond eyebrows went up. “I thought we discussed this, Beau. We agreed it was better to let the police handle the murder investigation.”
“No, Charlotte. I didn’t agree to anything. I told you I intended to find the man who killed my father and that is exactly what I plan to do.”
“Your father is dead, Beau. Can’t you simply let him rest in peace?”
“You think he wouldn’t want the man who murdered him brought to justice? If you think that, you never really knew him at all.”
“We’re only asking a few questions,” Cassidy soothed. “Just eliminating people who knew him, anyone who might have had some sort of disagreement with him. Perhaps it wasn’t murder. Perhaps things got out of hand and his death was an accident. That’s all we’re trying to find out.”
Charlotte made no reply.
“If you could tell us where you were Tuesday morning, we could take you off the suspect list,” Cassidy pressed.
Charlotte’s mouth thinned. “How dare you imply I had anything to do with Stewart’s murder! Beau, are you going to stand there and let this woman insult me that way?”
“Cassidy’s been hired to do a job, Charlotte. Just answer the question and be done with it.”