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“Mon amour, listen to me. I’m done keeping things from you. If I can’t have faith in you—if I have to exist in fear of losing you—I will be lost whether you stay or go.” He carefully placed his hand on hers, giving her an opportunity to pull away. She didn’t, and the hum of their mental bond deepened into the caress of souls.

You are enough for me, Cassie amour. For as long as you will have me. No matter what.

14

Emotionally Charged

When Cassidy arrived at the Conch House, Jackson was already seated in a booth against the far wall, well away from the other patrons, who, on this glorious Saturday after Thanksgiving, preferred the outside deck overlooking the ocean.

“Thanks for seeing me on such short notice,” she said, slipping into the seat across from him.

“I always have time for you, Cass.”

She twisted her lips in irony. “If I didn’t know what you were really after, I might even be flattered.”

“Hope you don’t mind. I ordered your drink for you.” He gestured at the tall glass of dark soda, the straw sticking in it still capped with paper. She nudged it aside.

“I don’t drink that anymore.”

“Since when?”

“Since I know what all is in it.” She did her best to sound like she spoke only of the standard soda contents and not whatever she half-suspected he had added. “Is that fresh-brewed?”

His mouth pulling into a thin line, he pushed his iced tea toward her. He had already drunk two inches off the top. “Thanks.”

A waitress came to take their order. A fried calamari appetizer was all Cassidy asked for. She didn’t intend to eat much of it. Jackson could round out his gourmet burger with it after she left.

“So. How was your Thanksgiving?” he prompted after the server departed and she remained quiet.

“We lost Eddie.” The words were out before she could stop them.

“What do you mean ‘lost?’ Did he run off?”

She shook her head.

“He died?”

Nod.

“How?”

“Long story. Just thought you’d like to know. You seemed to like him.” She busied her hands with her napkin.

His gaze narrowed. “I see.”

“What?”

“Someone made a snack out of him.”

She opened her mouth to deny it, but couldn’t. Lying was Jackson’s talent, not hers. His lips grew paper thin and just as white.

“Not anyone you know,” she finally said.

“There’s another one living with you now?”

“God, no.”

He leaned forward and spoke in a low snarl. “When are you and Sam going to realize what’s going on here? Does one of you have to die before the other decides that having homicidal maniacs for roommates is a bad idea? For someone who claims she isn’t compelled you’re sure acting like you are.”