“One thing’s for sure,” he said as they rode the elevatorup to the top floor and walked out onto the roof. “No one can say you’re boring.”
She turned, propped her hands on her hips. “You’re the one who started the fight. If you hadn’t tripped that guy, it wouldn’t have happened.”
“Yeah? It was your sweet little ass in those tight jeans that sent the poor guy over the edge.”
Cassidy couldn’t stop a smile.
Twenty minutes later, the helicopter landed on the golf course, returning them to Pleasant Hill. Beau walked her toward the guest house.
“We need to look at those flash drives,” she said, “see if we can find out where the money went. Maybe it’ll tell us if there’s a connection to Vaughn.”
His light mood shifted, darkened. “I’d rather take you to bed, but I guess that isn’t going to happen.”
“Not tonight.”
He glanced away. “No. Not tonight. Tomorrow’s my father’s funeral. I need to deal with that.” He stopped at the front door and his eyes fixed on her face. “Saying ‘not tonight’ isn’t exactly ano.I’ll settle for that for now.”
Her stomach lifted. “Beau . . .” But his determined look said he wasn’t giving up on his seduction. Cassidy wished she weren’t glad.
“It’s been a long day,” he said. “We need to get some sleep.”
She nodded. Now that they were home and safe, exhaustion settled over her. Before she could turn away, he bent and brushed a kiss on her cheek. “Good night, Cassidy Jones.” Turning, he headed back to the house.
Cassidy watched him walk away, wanting to call him back, act on the feelings for him that continued to grow. A jumble of emotions ran through her. She wasn’t ready to deal with them. Not yet.
She closed the front door and headed for the compactkitchen, suddenly hungry. Searching the fridge, she found a frozen orange-chicken Lean Cuisine, popped it into the microwave, and ate it in front of the TV.
As soon as she finished, she sat down at her computer. The name she typed in was Malcolm Vaughn.
* * *
Mal leaned back in the chair behind the desk in his study. Outside the windows, it was dark, just a sliver of moon winding between the clouds. Seated across from him, Clifford Jennings dug a finger into his short, kinky blond hair to scratch an itch.
“What’s going on?” Mal asked.
Cliff crossed a leg over his knee. “I got a phone call a little earlier from one of our sources, guy who works for Dooley Tate.”
Tate being a competitor of sorts, Mal kept tabs on him and a couple of others in the business. The cost of information was usually worth the price and there was always someone who had something to sell.
“Apparently Reese and that female detective were out at Barbie’s snooping around,” Cliff said. “Reese wanted to know if Tate had loaned his father money. I guess he thought Dooley might have offed the old man for not repaying the loan.”
Mal scoffed. “The senator’s needs were way out of Dooley Tate’s league.”
“What if they keep digging, Mal? Sooner or later they’ll come up with your name. They’ll be coming here to talk to you.”
“Let them come. I helped the senator get a loan and he repaid it. Where’s the problem?”
“I don’t like it,” Jennings said.
Malcolm steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair. “Neither do I. I don’t want them getting too close.Maybe we can give Reese a little more trouble, something else to worry about.”
Cliff’s blond mustache curled up at the corners of his mouth. “Good idea. Maybe we can kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. I know exactly what to do.”
Chapter Twelve
The day was overcast and grim, matching the dismal mood of the mourners standing around the magnificent rosewood coffin on top of the open grave. The air was damp in the churchyard, the wind biting through the layers of Cassidy’s clothes, the black wool skirt and plum cable-knit turtleneck beneath her peacoat.
Beau wore a black Italian designer suit with handstitched lapels he’d had his assistant bring out to the house. A diamond tie tack kept his black-and-blue striped tie in place against the breeze. Without an overcoat, he had to be freezing, but he didn’t move, just stood with his back straight and his shoulders squared, staring at the casket draped with white roses.
