“She told me she’d pegged the senator as secretive and private, not the kind of guy to leave his personal info lying around.”
“You don’t think she was involved with him in some way?”
“Nothing points in that direction. She was right aboutmy dad and about the files, and if she’s lying about their relationship, sooner or later, I’ll find out.”
Linc eyed him with speculation. “What’s she look like? Your father was a notorious womanizer.”
Beau felt the pull of a smile. “I’ll admit she’s hot, but she’s a little too bright for my father’s taste. So far, everything about her checks out.”
“Be good to have a professional working with you on the case, and you know what they say—”
“Yeah, keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”
Linc nodded. “Anything I can do?”
“You’re doing plenty keeping things running here. I’ll let you know when the funeral is scheduled.”
Linc gave a curt nod, his features grim.
Beau headed for his office, the only other private space on the top floor. He paused just outside to speak to Marty Chen, a fine-boned Chinese-American in his midtwenties who had recently become his personal assistant after his longtime female assistant retired.
The kid shot up from his desk. “I heard about your father, Beau. You have my deepest condolences.”
“Thanks, Marty.” He was always a little too formal, but it was kind of a nice change, and the kid was great at his job. “I’m going to need you to step up your game for a while. I’ll be staying in Pleasant Hill while the police conduct their investigation. You’ll be able to reach me, but I’d appreciate if you’d clear my calendar as much as you can. If it’s something important, I can always chopper back to the city, but I’d rather not do it unless I have to.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Beau left him and went into his office. It was different from Linc’s, the desk, tables, and bookcases made of gleaming black lacquer, the sofa and chairs a cream raw silk with pale blue accent pillows. It was sleek and modern and somehow soothing.
Anxious to get back to Pleasant Hill, Beau made his first call to the tech department. He pulled the flash drives out of his pocket and set them on the desk. He had tried to open them when he got back to the motel last night, but couldn’t make it happen. He figured Rob Michaels, his techno whiz kid, was the guy for the job.
Michaels sauntered into the office. Red-haired and freckled, he wore wire-rimmed glasses and would have looked like a typical geek if he hadn’t been pretty-boy handsome.
“Sorry about your dad, sir.”
“Thanks.” Beau handed over the flash drives. “I need you to understand that the information on these is highly personal. No one’s to know what’s in them but me.”
“Goes without saying,” Rob agreed. “I’ll get back to you on this as quickly as I can.”
“I’ll be staying at my father’s house in Pleasant Hill till I get things settled.” He wrote his cell number down on a piece of paper and handed it over. “Call me direct when you have something. Make it a priority.”
“Yes, sir.” Rob walked out of the office with the flash drives in his hand.
Beau went back to work. Returning calls that couldn’t be postponed, he spoke to friends who wanted to convey their sympathies, spoke to some of the employees, had a brief staff meeting, then went over his revised schedule with Marty.
As soon as he finished, he left the office, heading for his home in the Bluffview area north of Dallas, a white, flat-roofed, single-story contemporary on four heavily treed and landscaped acres bisected by a meandering stream.
Built around a free-form swimming pool, the house had twelve-foot ceilings, light hardwood floors, and black granite fireplaces and countertops. Pastel blue, green, and turquoise lent soft accents, and bright-colored modern art hung on the walls.
Parking the Ferrari in the four-car attached garage, he went inside to pack enough clothes for at least a week. Twenty minutes later, he was ready to leave, sliding into a low-slung, slate-gray Lamborghini that fit his restless mood. With its 740-horse V-12 mid-engine, the car was one screaming machine.
Unfortunately, since he was already on the radar as a possible murder suspect, he didn’t dare go faster than a few miles over the speed limit.
Still, the roar of the powerful engine and the vibration of the wheel beneath his hands eased some of the tension humming through him. He found himself wondering what Cassidy would think of the incredible car, wondered if she’d be interested in going for a ride.
Which brought to mind their encounter in the hallway and another sort of ride he’d like to give her.
Not the right time, he reminded himself, not when his father’s body lay on a cold slab in the morgue. Beau felt a shot of guilt for even thinking about a woman when he should be thinking about finding a killer.
