She wondered if there was a way to make love without hurting her ribs, imagined how good it would feel, and desire rose so hot and sweet her mouth watered.
“We need to talk,” Beau said again, breaking the moment. “You’re out of bed, so I’ll assume you’re feeling up to a change of location. I’m taking you out of town, a place you’ll be safe.”
She should have seen this coming. She was shaking her head even before he finished the sentence. “We need to stay in Dallas, Beau. We’re starting to put things together, figure things out. That’s why they came after me. There’s a good chance they’ll come after you, too.”
“I know that. Cain’s offered us the use of his ranch. We can bring in security. Deke Logan’s a friend of his, formerspecial ops. He’s one of the best security guys around and he’s got a great team. Plus Josh is there. Former Marine sniper. We wouldn’t have to worry.”
“Listen to me, Beau. I realize you’re trying to protect me, but we can’t hide forever. As soon as we come back to Dallas, I’ll be a target again. A guy like Vaughn has plenty of patience. He’ll just wait us out. We need to stay here and deal with this.”
“Are we sure it’s Vaughn?”
“Everything we’ve come up with so far points to him.”
“All right, so I’ll hire another detective to handle the case. Cain worked with a guy named Ross Townsend when Carly was having trouble. Townsend’s good.”
“So am I. And I’m not about to trust my life to someone else. We need to stay on this, keep working the case ourselves.”
Beau leaned back in his chair, released a slow breath. “I had a feeling that’s what you were going to say. I’ve thought about it, tried to look at this from different angles. Are you sure you don’t want to take some time, try to get a handle on this thing before we go at it again full speed?”
She moved around to his side of the desk, stood close enough to get a whiff of his sexy cologne. “I’m dead sure. I don’t want to be looking over my shoulder for the next five years. I want these guys dealt with. Which reminds me—did you talk to Detective Briscoe?”
Beau looked up at her. “I called him. He said he’d get in touch with the Kaufman police and the Dallas PD. But unless there’s proof the hit-and-run and the crash are related—”
“Which there isn’t. The only way the police are getting involved is if we find the proof they need. You asked me once if I wanted out. Now I’m asking you. We both know the risks. If you want out—”
“No way!” Temper sparked in his eyes. “I brought you into this. I’m not letting you deal with it alone.” Beau reached across his desk, picked up the semiautomatic pistol she hadn’t noticed lying there. “This belongs to me. Glock seventeen, nine mil. I’m a damn good shot and I’m permitted to carry. You want to stay in Dallas, we’ll stay. But from now on, we’ll be prepared.”
* * *
Beau stood in front of the whiteboard Cassidy had created. He wasn’t a professional investigator, but he’d read enough true crime novels and watched enough cop shows to be able to contribute to her efforts.
“All right, we’ve got the victims—Milford and Senator Reese.” She stood at the board, one hand on her hip, the other clenching a yellow pencil, her gaze fixed on the pair of photos spaced apart at the top. “In one way or another, we think Vaughn is connected to both men.”
On the Internet she’d found a photo of Malcolm Vaughn at a charity benefit, printed it, and tacked it up between Milford and his father.
“Under Vaughn we have Clifford Jennings,” Beau said. “Vaughn’s right-hand man.” Cassidy had found a police mug shot from ten years back. Jennings had been twenty-four years old at the time. The photo showed a man of average height and weight, with tight blond curls pushed up by a headband. He’d been arrested for forging checks and promoting prostitution, meaning he’d been a pimp. Jennings had served two years in the Federal Detention Center in Houston. No arrests since his release.
Beau held up a line drawing he’d sketched because they didn’t have a photo. “This represents the guy who tried to kill you.” He pinned the drawing up on the board. “Assuming it was the same man both times.”
“It was him,” she said. “Two old cars, both of them barely running. He’s getting them somewhere. A used-car lot or a junkyard someplace.”
“Lot of used-car lots in Dallas,” Beau said. “Not as many junkyards, but still . . .”
“It’s a place to look. Maybe someone will remember the pickup.”
“It was stolen, so even if they do, likely they won’t admit it.”
Frustration turned her mouth down at the corners. Beau wanted to see those pretty lips curve into a soft, warm smile.
“For the moment, why don’t we concentrate on Vaughn?” he said. “He’s the guy running the show.”
Cassidy perked up. “All right. If we’re starting with Vaughn, we need to know more about him. We’ve found the basics—divorced, never remarried, no kids. He lives in a million-plus condo in Turtle Creek. Started Equity Advance five years ago. But we need more than that.”
“A lot more,” Beau said.
“We need to know who he talks to, who he associates with. If we could put a bug on his car, we’d know where he goes. Maybe we could even get an audio device inside—”
“You’re kidding, right? That’s highly illegal.”
