The first part of the service, held in the chapel, had been packed wall to wall, filled with both locals and members of the Texas political community, people the senator had worked with at the capitol in Austin. There would have been more if Stewart Reese hadn’t been a murder victim, the motive for his death not yet clear, the culprit not yet apprehended.
As they had left the chapel for the graveyard portion ofthe service, a handsome, powerfully built, broad-shouldered man at least six-five and his attractive blond wife walked up to Beau. Cassidy had seen photos of Beau’s partner, Lincoln Cain, on the Internet. The woman had to be his new wife, Carly.
“I wish there was something I could do,” Cain said, gripping Beau’s hand, leaning in for a brief man hug.
“I’m so sorry, Beau.” Carly rose to kiss his cheek.
A third man walked up, with dark brown hair, about the same height as Beau but younger and a little more muscular through the chest and shoulders.
“If there’s anything you need,” the man said, shaking Beau’s hand, “I’m not that far away. All you have to do is ask.”
“Thanks, Josh.” Beau turned. “I’d like you all to meet Cassidy Jones. She’s the lady I told you about.”
Cassidy smiled at the group of friends, who seemed to be sizing her up. “Nice to meet you.”
“We’re glad Beau has you helping him,” Carly said.
Beau turned to the younger man. “Cassidy, this is Josh Cain, Linc’s younger brother.”
“Pleasure, ma’am,” Josh said, shaking her hand. She had a hunch he was a soldier. Or had been. She had a brother in the army. There was something different about servicemen. The way they stood, the way they moved, the way they spoke. Something.
She could see reminders of Linc in the hard line of his jaw, the slight cleft in his chin. Unlike his older brother, whose eyes were brown, Josh Cain’s eyes were a dark shade of blue.
The small group spoke in low tones as they crossed the grass toward the green canvas tent erected in front of the coffin. Cassidy stood next to Beau, and though they weren’t touching, she hoped he could feel her presence, silently lending him support.
Charlotte Reese stood on his other side, looking regal in a black skirt suit, blond hair swept up beneath a pillbox hat, a fine veil of black netting over her face.
At the edge of the crowd, Josie Kessler stood next to her daughter. Beau had spoken to her and Missy when they had arrived at the chapel, had invited them to sit with him, but they had declined.
Cassidy had taken a moment to speak to the girl, to apologize for her misunderstanding at the café and explain that she was a private investigator working on the case.
“I’m a friend of Beau’s,” she finished. “I’d like to be your friend, too.”
Missy managed a shy smile. “I’d like that.”
As the minister continued his sermon, every once in a while she noticed Beau’s worried gaze going over the heads of the mourners to the pregnant girl and Josie. Missy was more enormous than ever. She looked ready to pop, her face puffy and still a little too pale.
Whatever happened, Cassidy was certain Beau would take care of her and her baby.
The minister’s voice pierced her thoughts as the brief, graveside portion of the funeral came to a close.
“And so we deliver into God’s hands, this man, Stewart Beaumont Reese, who dedicated his life to the service of the people he represented. Shall we pray?”
Cassidy bowed her head, let the minister’s words wash over her. He had only begun to pray when a sharp cry sliced through the quiet. Cassidy’s head jerked up in time to see Beau’s tall figure leap into action, long legs moving him through the crowd, which parted like sheaves of wheat in a storm as he strode toward Missy.
Cassidy hurried behind him, racing to keep up, spotting the girl’s prone figure writhing on the ground.
“Call 9-1-1!” someone shouted. Cassidy dug out her cell, but at least three people were already on their phones. Beauwas kneeling, scooping the girl up in his arms, striding across the churchyard toward the black stretch limo that had carried him and Cassidy to the service that morning.
The driver opened the door and Beau ducked his head and disappeared into the back seat, Missy still in his arms. Josie jumped in and so did Cassidy.
“Drive!” Beau commanded. “She’s having a baby. You need to get to the hospital as fast as you can!”
The driver—Andy was his name—didn’t hesitate. As soon as the door slammed shut, he hit the gas. When the limo had arrived that morning, Andy had recognized Beau as the celebrated race-car driver.
Now, as the limo careened down the road, bounced out of the churchyard, and speeded toward the hospital, Andy seemed determined not to let his racing hero down.
Beau cradled Missy in his lap. “You’re gonna be all right, sweetheart. The doctors are going to take care of you.”
