Tom was right. They had no real proof the shooting was in any way connected to anything else. “We’ll keep after it, Tom, find the evidence you need.”Somehow.
“I should tell you to back off, leave the investigation to the police, but I’m not going to. You need to find something, Beau, and you better find it soon or the DA will move forward with his plan.”
Beau felt sick. It seemed things were getting blacker and blacker. Cassidy’s hand settled gently on his shoulder. Beau looked at her and took a steadying breath.
“I appreciate your telling me, Tom.”
“I’ll run that plate number, see what turns up, but I wouldn’t get too excited. Not if the guy is the pro you think he is.”
“Yeah.”
“Watch your back. Both of you.” Briscoe hung up the phone.
Beau walked over to the kitchen table, sank down in one of the chairs. Cassidy sat down in the chair next to his.
“I know this is overwhelming,” she said, “but we’re getting close, Beau. That’s why they’re coming after us so hard. Once we figure out what’s going on, it’ll be clear you weren’t the one who killed your father.”
Beau raked both hands through his hair. “At the moment, I’m not as worried about the people who killed my father as the people who are trying to killus.”
“We’re building a case, digging up evidence. We’regoing to figure this out. Once we do, there’ll be no point in killing us.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Cassidy rose from the chair. “I’m going to take a look at the GPS on Vaughn’s car. I’ll check my phone, see if the audio’s picking anything up.” He watched her walk away, following the movement of her sexy ass in the skinny jeans she was wearing, wished he could just take her to bed and forget everything else.
He sighed as he leaned back in his chair. First thing tomorrow morning, he’d make some calls, try to get the names of the contractor Scott Watson had personally recommended.
If the cops were done with the Ferrari, he’d call Marty, have the car picked up and the shattered windows and the bullet-torn headrest repaired. Maybe the cops would be able to dig a slug out somewhere, get a lead on the weapon, but if the guy was the professional he seemed, it wouldn’t matter much.
He shoved up from his chair. He was mentally exhausted, weary to the bone. He headed down the hall to Cassidy, knowing she had to be feeling the same. And there was still a police report to be made before they were done for the day. Until this was over, they needed each other. He hated to admit it, but in some ways he needed her even more than she needed him.
Beau paused for a moment in the doorway. Cassidy was sitting at her laptop, tapping away, her soft dark curls falling around her face. She was one of the most feminine women he had ever met. At the same time, there was a toughness about her, an ability to handle whatever life threw at her.
Some men might be intimated by that toughness, but Beau admired it. With everything that had been happening, he was grateful she was no delicate flower.
* **
It was blustery outside the next day, temperatures in the high fifties, overcast with no chance of rain. Egan had patrols set up and men stationed all over the property.
Cassidy holed up in Beau’s study and by midmorning had the names of all the companies awarded contracts by the oversight committee. The work, which had started January first, was already well underway.
Unfortunately, the list included everything from plaster and lathing, to electrical contractors. There were plumbing companies, painting contractors, flooring companies, lighting suppliers—six hundred million could buy a helluva lot of construction work.
She glanced up as Beau walked into the study, looking yummy in a pair of creased blue jeans and a light blue long-sleeved T-shirt. For a moment, her mind went back to the delicious wake-up sex they’d had earlier that day.
“’Morning.” He leaned down and brushed a quick kiss on her lips.
“Good morning.” She smiled at the recollection that she’d thought he needed a haircut when she’d met him. His glossy black hair was even longer now, curling softly at the nape of his neck. She wanted to run her fingers through it, pull his mouth down to hers for a far less platonic kiss.
“I may have found something,” he said.
She brightened. “Good thing, because I’ve found way too much. There must be dozens of contractors working on those repairs.”
“Maybe so, but only one of them was recommended by Senator Scott Watson.”
Her eyebrows went up. “You got it? Beau, that’s great! Which company is it?”
“Hardrock Trenching. They’re based in Houston.”
