Beyond Danger

by Kat Martin

  A red light loomed ahead. Cassidy kept her gun angled toward the driver in the Toyota, but there were too many people around to get a clear shot. The Toyota ran the light, but a moving van rolling into the intersection forced Beau to slam on the brakes and squeal to a stop.

  “Come on . . . come on.”

  The van finally cleared the lane and Beau punched the gas. But as he roared down the street, there was no sign of the Toyota.

  “I don’t see him! Which way did he go?”

  “Left!” Cassidy shouted. “He went left!”

  Beau jerked the wheel and jammed on the gas, running another red light, but he didn’t see the Toyota. The streets were crowded, people pouring back into the city after the weekend. He ducked in and out of traffic, but the Toyota never reappeared.

  “I don’t see him,” he said, muscles tight across his shoulders.

  “I don’t either.”

  Beau swore foully. He turned left and cruised around the block, tried another block, but there was no sign of the car or the man in the ball cap.

  “He’s gone,” Cassidy said glumly, slumping back against the seat.

  Beau slammed a hand down on the steering wheel. “I can’t believe I let him get away.”

  “He caught us off guard. We overreacted last time. I guess we didn’t want to do it again.”

  “It shouldn’t have happened. He was driving a fucking Toyota!” He glanced at Cassidy, saw the corners of her mouth twitch in amusement, and released a slow breath. “So I guess we’re both okay.”

  “I’ll be better when we get home.”

  “Yeah, me, too. We need to call Briscoe, tell him what happened. Did you get a plate number?”

  “BC4 X589. I doubt it’s legit.”

  “The guy was using a silencer,” Beau said, still trying to comprehend what had just occurred.

  “I noticed. Means he’s a professional. I don’t think he was just after me this time. I think he planned to take both of us out.”

  Beau’s insides tightened. The guy was a professional. Which meant there was no way in hell he could back away from Cassidy now, no matter the personal cost. It was a pipe dream, anyway. He never could have gone through with it. He wouldn’t have been willing to risk putting her safety into the hands of someone else, not as long as she was in such grave danger.

  Beau ignored a vague feeling of relief that she would be staying with him, and turned the car toward home.

  * * *

  As soon as he got to the house, Beau spoke to Will Egan, bringing him up to speed on the shooting and authorizing him to hire more men. Next he phoned Tom Briscoe. Using the landline in the kitchen, he put the phone on speaker so Cassidy could join the conversation.

  “It’s Beau Reese, Tom. I was hoping you’d be in. Looks like we’ve got more trouble.”

  “What’s going on, Beau?”

  After a brief summary of the shooting, which included how close the assassin had come to killing both of them, Briscoe started asking questions.

  “So we’re looking for a late-model, white, four-door Toyota,” he said, recapping what they knew. “You get a plate number?”

  “BC4 X589,” Cassidy replied.

  “You sure the guy was using a silencer?”

  “Dead sure,” Beau said and he and Cassidy shared a glance at the pun.

  “Description of the assailant?”

  “Average height. Never got a look at his face. Wore a dark blue ball cap tugged down over his forehead. Dark brown hair, I think.”

  “Cassidy, you got anything to add?”

  “Two shots fired close together. One for each of us, I’d say. Near misses. Miracle Beau caught on in time for us to duck, throw off his aim.”

  Which, Beau thought, he probably wouldn’t have done if it hadn’t been for their false alarm run-in with the black SUV.

  “You think the hit was on both of you, not just Cassidy?” Briscoe asked. “Keep in mind, whoever it was has already made two failed attempts.”

  “I’m guessing this was a different guy,” Cassidy said. “The shooter was a pro. I think if he’d been the one to run me off the road, he would have come back and finished me.”

  Beau’s stomach knotted. He didn’t want to think there might actually be two people trying to kill them instead of just one.

  “If you’re right,” Briscoe said, “odds are he’ll make another attempt.”

  “I know,” Cassidy said.

  Beau clenched his jaw. “He can try. He won’t succeed.”

  “We’ll need statements from both of you. And DPD will want a look at the car. I’ll call them, have them send someone out. And I’ll ask them to keep your neighborhood on their radar.”

  “Thanks, Tom. I’d appreciate it if you kept this out of the media. They’ll be climbing all over me again.”

  “I’ll do my best. Listen, Beau, there’s something else. I hate to be the bearer of more bad news, and it’s not official. I’m probably not supposed to say, but rumor has it they’re thinking about convening a grand jury. The DA is up for reelection. Your dad was a senator; you’re his wealthy, celebrity son. The DA doesn’t want any hint of impropriety or favoritism.”

  “Surely with Milford’s murder and all the stuff that’s been going on, they can see this is bigger than just an argument between me and my father that escalated into me killing him.”

  “So far we haven’t got any kind of connection between your father’s murder and anything else. If you have evidence, we need to see it. Do you?”

  Did they? Hell no. They had nothing but a bunch of theories that so far led nowhere. The hit-and-run and the crash could have been nothing more than coincidence.

  “What about the guy who just tried to take us out?” he asked. “That ought to prove something.”

  “No proof it’s related. At least not yet. We’ll keep working the case here in Pleasant Hill, and the Dallas PD will be working the shooting. Until we come up with something that ties all this together, that’s all we can do.”

  Tom was right. They had no real proof the shooting was in any way connected to anything else. “We’ll keep after it, Tom, find the evidence you need.” Somehow.

  “I should tell you to back off, leave the investigation to the police, but I’m not going to. You need to find something, Beau, and you better find it soon or the DA will move forward with his plan.”

  Beau felt sick. It seemed things were getting blacker and blacker. Cassidy’s hand settled gently on his shoulder. Beau looked at her and took a steadying breath.

  “I appreciate your telling me, Tom.”

  “I’ll run that plate number, see what turns up, but I wouldn’t get too excited. Not if the guy is the pro you think he is.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Watch your back. Both of you.” Briscoe hung up the phone.

  Beau walked over to the kitchen table, sank down in one of the chairs. Cassidy sat down in the chair next to his.

  “I know this is overwhelming,” she said, “but we’re getting close, Beau. That’s why they’re coming after us so hard. Once we figure out what’s going on, it’ll be clear you weren’t the one who killed your father.”

  Beau raked both hands through his hair. “At the moment, I’m not as worried about the people who killed my father as the people who are trying to kill us.”

  “We’re building a case, digging up evidence. We’re going to figure this out. Once we do, there’ll be no point in killing us.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Cassidy rose from the chair. “I’m going to take a look at the GPS on Vaughn’s car. I’ll check my phone, see if the audio’s picking anything up.” He watched her walk away, following the movement of her sexy ass in the skinny jeans she was wearing, wished he could just take her to bed and forget everything else.

  He sighed as he leaned back in his chair. First thing tomorrow morning, he’d make some calls, try to get the names of the contractor Scott Watson had personally recommended.

 
; If the cops were done with the Ferrari, he’d call Marty, have the car picked up and the shattered windows and the bullet-torn headrest repaired. Maybe the cops would be able to dig a slug out somewhere, get a lead on the weapon, but if the guy was the professional he seemed, it wouldn’t matter much.

  He shoved up from his chair. He was mentally exhausted, weary to the bone. He headed down the hall to Cassidy, knowing she had to be feeling the same. And there was still a police report to be made before they were done for the day. Until this was over, they needed each other. He hated to admit it, but in some ways he needed her even more than she needed him.

  Beau paused for a moment in the doorway. Cassidy was sitting at her laptop, tapping away, her soft dark curls falling around her face. She was one of the most feminine women he had ever met. At the same time, there was a toughness about her, an ability to handle whatever life threw at her.

  Some men might be intimated by that toughness, but Beau admired it. With everything that had been happening, he was grateful she was no delicate flower.

  * * *

  It was blustery outside the next day, temperatures in the high fifties, overcast with no chance of rain. Egan had patrols set up and men stationed all over the property.

  Cassidy holed up in Beau’s study and by midmorning had the names of all the companies awarded contracts by the oversight committee. The work, which had started January first, was already well underway.

  Unfortunately, the list included everything from plaster and lathing, to electrical contractors. There were plumbing companies, painting contractors, flooring companies, lighting suppliers—six hundred million could buy a helluva lot of construction work.

  She glanced up as Beau walked into the study, looking yummy in a pair of creased blue jeans and a light blue long-sleeved T-shirt. For a moment, her mind went back to the delicious wake-up sex they’d had earlier that day.

  “’Morning.” He leaned down and brushed a quick kiss on her lips.

  “Good morning.” She smiled at the recollection that she’d thought he needed a haircut when she’d met him. His glossy black hair was even longer now, curling softly at the nape of his neck. She wanted to run her fingers through it, pull his mouth down to hers for a far less platonic kiss.

  “I may have found something,” he said.

  She brightened. “Good thing, because I’ve found way too much. There must be dozens of contractors working on those repairs.”

  “Maybe so, but only one of them was recommended by Senator Scott Watson.”

  Her eyebrows went up. “You got it? Beau, that’s great! Which company is it?”

  “Hardrock Trenching. They’re based in Houston.”

  She looked back at her list, saw the name. “It’s listed in public records. I printed the list so you could see.” She circled the name. “That’s good work, Beau.”

  “Maybe. The thing is, they’re not a very big company. In order to participate in projects over a million dollars, they had to qualify under the Texas Facilities Commission Small Contractor Participation Assistance Program. Which apparently they did.”

  “So how big a contract did they get?”

  He picked up the printed paper, looked down at the name she had circled. “That’s the weird part. The job was only worth two hundred thousand dollars. The company won’t actually net anywhere near that.”

  Cassidy frowned. “I don’t get it. If Vaughn wanted a favor, why would he pick something with so little value?”

  Beau’s head tilted back and he stared up at the ceiling. Then his gaze, dark with frustration, zeroed in on her. “Don’t you get it? We screwed up. There’s no way this is the favor Vaughn wanted. Hell, maybe Senator Watson’s death really was an accident. We’ve got to go back, start completely over.”

  Rounding the partners’ desk, he sat down heavily in his chair, a mixture of disappointment, regret, and worry all etched into his face.

  “You think we’re on the wrong track,” she said, not willing to give up yet.

  He sighed. “We must be. Killing two people—possibly three—over a low six-figure trenching contract doesn’t make any sense.”

  Cassidy’s shoulders slumped. He was right, dammit. If there was a favor involved, it had to be something worth way more money than that.

  “Okay. We’ll leave it for now. We still have an audio bug in Vaughn’s car and a GPS tracker on his bumper. We’ll stay on top of them, monitor them twenty-four hours a day if that’s what it takes. We aren’t giving up until we find out if Malcolm Vaughn is the man behind the murders.”

  Beau propped his elbows on the desk and leaned forward, his expression a little less tense. “You’re right. If Vaughn’s our man, we’ll catch him.”

  Cassidy turned back to her computer, clicked up the screen showing the GPS locator. The address for the current location appeared on the screen.

  “This is Vaughn’s office,” she said as Beau got up and padded around the desk behind her. “His Mercedes is parked in the parking lot. We’ll check it every half hour until he leaves. Then we follow his route, see where he goes.”

  She pulled out her cell phone, but the audio signal wasn’t alerting. “We’ll keep a closer eye on this, too. If he calls anyone, we’ll know it. We’ll phone the device and listen in on the conversation. One way or another, if Vaughn is guilty, sooner or later, we’ll catch him. If he’s guilty, Malcolm Vaughn is going down.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Three days passed and nothing. The house was overrun with security people. Along with the extra team Will Egan had brought in, Beau had hired a bodyguard named Frank Marino, a redheaded former police sergeant who had worked for Linc. When Marino wasn’t prowling the grounds, he was staying in the studio apartment at the other end of the house.

  The only good news was the purchase of Missy’s house in Pleasant Hill had closed, and Missy, Josie, and the baby had already moved in. Josie was looking for someone to help with the baby part-time but hadn’t found the right person yet.

  There was lots going on in the world outside the house, but inside, Cassidy was becoming claustrophobic.

  “I can’t take this anymore,” she said glumly, sitting with Beau at the breakfast table Thursday morning. “I’m going to go bat-hat crazy if I have to stay in this house one more day.”

  He chuckled. “I’m happy to take you back to bed, honey, keep your mind off your troubles for a while.”

  A little sliver of heat washed into her belly. She’d love nothing more than to spend the day in bed with Beau, but with a killer hunting them, they had work to do. She was hoping there was a safe way to get out of the house.

  She managed a grudging half smile. “You did more than your share this morning, and I have to admit it worked—for a while. But it’s not fresh air. Why don’t I take your guy Marino with me down to the office? I called earlier. Jase is back in town and Rome might be there. Maybe one of them has heard something that’ll help us.”

  “You don’t think they would have called? And who’s this guy Rome? The former gangbanger who gave you the car door opener, right?”

  “Yes, and Rome might need it.” She seized the excuse like the last breath of oxygen in a roomful of poison air. “I really should take it back to him. What do you say?”

  The corner of Beau’s mouth edged up. “I say we hang on to it a little longer, just in case. But if you want to get out, we’ve got good people around us. We’ll take Marino along and I’ll go with you.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  He didn’t say a word, just cocked a black eyebrow, reminding her that someone was trying to kill them.

  “Okay, fine. We’ll both go. The Ferrari’s back, all patched up and ready to hit the road.”

  “Be smarter to take the BMW. Blends into traffic better. The Jeep would be best—too bad it’s red.”

  He was right, dammit. Not the Ferrari, and a red Jeep was out of the question. She bit back a smile. Beau and his flashy cars.

  “Fine, we can
take the Beamer. Maybe we could, you know, go to lunch or something. We can’t hide in the house forever.”

  He scowled. “I was hoping Vaughn would make some kind of move by now. So far he hasn’t gone anywhere interesting and his conversations have been way beyond boring.”

  They had stayed on top of the audio and GPS, but so far, Vaughn had spent very little time on his cell while he was driving, just calls to his office—including some steamy phone sex with his secretary. Nothing they could use, and he hadn’t had anyone else in the car to talk to.

  They had followed his route on the computer screen, but mostly he just went to the office, then home. The man was definitely a workaholic.

  They headed down to the agency, with Frank Marino following the Beamer in a black SUV. He parked behind them in a space in front of the building and stayed with the vehicles, keeping an eye out for trouble.

  Connie was working at the front desk when they walked in. She glanced up, spotted Beau, and both black eyebrows shot up.

  “My, my, girlfriend, now I see why you haven’t been coming to work.”

  Cassidy just smiled. “Connie, this is Beau Reese. Beau, Connie Thurston. She runs the place and somehow manages to keep all of us in line.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Connie. And I congratulate you. I know from personal experience, keeping this lady in line is a monumental job.”

  Connie laughed. “Oh, he’s got your number, girl. I can tell you that.”

  There was no one else on the floor. Cassidy looked over as Chase Garret walked out of his office. He was tall and very good-looking, in his midthirties, with dark blond hair and a lean, hard body. Like Jase, he was most comfortable in jeans and cowboy boots, though he kept his boots polished to a mirror shine.

  He walked straight up to Beau. “Chase Garrett.” He extended a hand.

  “Beau Reese.” The men shook.

  Chase tipped his head toward the door he had just walked out of. “Why don’t you two come into my office, where we can talk?”

  Beau glanced at Cassidy, but she had no idea what her boss wanted. They followed him into the room, a smaller version of the main office, with a big oak desk, chairs, and bookshelves. Pictures of Chase’s family ranch out in the Hill Country hung on the walls.