Malcolm Vaughn leaned back in the chair behind the desk in his office as the door opened and the visitor he’d been expecting walked in.
Clifford Jennings smiled, lifting the edges of a closely trimmed blond mustache that did nothing for his pale complexion. “The letter opener was a stroke of genius. According to my information, the cops have nothing—no prints, no DNA, nothing. And their only suspect is Beaumont Reese.”
Mal steepled his fingers, not bothering to get up from his chair or offer to shake hands. “That’s why you hire a professional. It might be expensive but you get what you pay for.”
“I couldn’t agree more. We may have a problem, though.”
One of Mal’s brown eyebrows went up. “You’re talking about Reese?”
“Reese has the money, but it’s the woman I’m worried about. Cassidy Jones is a private investigator and word is she’s way better than good. You remember that serial killer down in Houston—the Night Watchman? The credit for his arrest went to a bounty hunter in her office named JasonMaddox, but Jones was the tracer. She’s the one who actually tracked the guy down.”
Mal just shrugged. “Even a blind pig finds an acorn once in a while.”
“Yeah? You remember Oliver Graves, the guy who ran that hedge-fund pyramid scheme in Dallas? One of his investors got wind of what was going on and hired Jones to prove it. She compiled enough evidence to get the feds involved. Graves is currently serving fifteen to twenty in a Texas state prison.”
Malcolm straightened in his chair, not liking the news but sure he could handle any problems that might come up. “We’ll keep an eye on both of them. If it looks like the woman’s getting too close, we’ll do something about it. An accident of some sort wouldn’t be hard to arrange.”
“What about Reese?”
He shrugged. “Reese is a businessman and a world-class playboy. He and his old man weren’t even close. Eventually, he’ll get tired of the drama and move on. And there’s always a chance the DA will decide to prosecute. We can nudge things in that direction if we have to. Defending himself against a murder charge ought to keep Reese busy and out of our hair.”
Jennings nodded. “All right. If anything comes up, I’ll let you know.” Turning, he walked out of the office.
As soon as the door closed, Mal took out the disposable phone he kept in the bottom desk drawer and punched in a number.
“There’s no need for concern,” he said. “Everything has been taken care of exactly as you wished.”
On the other end of the phone, the connection ended and the line went dead. Just like Senator Reese.
* **
Later that same day, Beau moved into one of the guest rooms in the main house. His boyhood bedroom had long ago been painted and redecorated. His parents had never been the sentimental type. Avoiding the study, he set up his laptop on the desk in the room, surprised to find it more difficult to be in the house than he had imagined.
He hadn’t expected to feel the weight of depression settle over him, hadn’t expected the dark memories of his childhood to hover in the silence inside the house. The past seemed to hang like dust in the air, making it hard to breathe.
As a boy, he had escaped the house every chance he’d gotten, had left for good as soon as he’d turned eighteen. His parents had been glad to be rid of him, one less obstacle in their drive for success, both socially and politically, as well as financially.
Beau hated to admit he had inherited a lot of that same drive. He loved his work and he loved his successes. But he also valued his friends and the people who worked for him, and he tried to give back to the community for the satisfying life he lived.
Once he had wanted a wife and family, but that time was past. He’d been deeply in love with his college sweetheart, Sarah Mills. In some ways he had never completely recovered from Sarah’s death or the torturous year they had spent together while she fought a losing battle with cancer. Even now, thirteen years later, the thought of a wife and children with anyone else seemed incomprehensible.
Which didn’t mean he couldn’t have an enjoyable relationship with a woman. He’d had several over the years and still considered the women friends.
For an instant, Cassidy’s beautiful face and sexy curves flashed in his mind. He intended to take her to bed and soon. That brief kiss and her admission of the attraction shefelt for him said more than any denial. He wanted her and he was a man who got what he wanted.
His cell rang as he finished the last of his unpacking. Pulling the phone out of his pocket, he pressed it against his ear.
“It’s Rob,” the caller said. “Sorry, sir, but those files you wanted me to open are encrypted.”
“Encrypted? You sure? Forget it, stupid question, of course you’re sure.” But they were talking about his father, not some high-tech genius.
“It’ll take me a little time,” Rob said, “but I’ve got some . . . umm . . . software I can use to get into them if that’s what you want.”
Software.Rob could do just about anything. Beau had never asked for details. “Do it,” he said, and hung up the phone.
It was late by the time he went to bed. He should have been sleepy after such a stressful day, but instead his mind refused to quiet. When he finally fell asleep, he dreamed of Cassidy, of a deep, hot, wet kiss that seemed to have no end.
He woke up with a throbbing hard-on, feeling nearly as tired as he’d been the night before. He rolled out of bed, showered and dressed in jeans and a blue button-down shirt. Rolling the sleeves up to his elbows, he sat down at his computer and began running through emails.
