Free Mind of the Phoenix by Jamie McLachlan Page A

would like to keep it that way,” he says, watching me stir my coffee. “So, I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention the details of the case in front of her.”
    “Why haven’t you told her?”
    “Because it would cause an uproar if people found out that there was some empath out there persuading people to commit suicide and murder,” he says as if it were obvious, and I suppose I should have guessed.
    The citizens of Braxton would cry out in fear, and the Elite’s authority would be questioned. There would be chaos, and every empath would be carefully monitored. Even the three different houses that contain the enslaved empaths would probably shut down as a precaution, which would only further enrage the clients. And even though the Phoenix is undoubtedly an empath, I wonder if even my kind is safe, since the Phoenix had persuaded an empath to kill a constable. I suddenly realize that if everyone believes Mr. Darwitt and Madame Del Mar committed suicide, then everyone must believe that the empath intentionally killed Constable Evans.
    “What about the empath who killed Constable Evans?”
    He looks at me as if I should know the answer to that as well. “Rachel has been charged with the murder of a constable and is awaiting her execution date.” Those green eyes continue to stare at me as he adds, “Much as you had been.”
    “When’s her execution date?”
    “March twentieth.”
    “That’s eight days from now!” I exclaim angrily.
    “Yes,” he says slowly. “And we see her tomorrow.”
    “I don’t understand why the–” I pause, and lower my voice when I continue. “Why the Phoenix would allow one of his kind to be executed.”
    “Perhaps we’ll find out tomorrow, Del Mar. But I suggest we discuss this another time when we are alone .”
    Our server arrives with our breakfast, and we eat in silence for several minutes. The patrons are still glancing at us with a mixture of criticism and curiosity, whispering amongst one another, and I grin at a lady who is at that moment openly examining me. The detective continues to eat in silence, which means he’s either oblivious to the other patrons or he simply doesn’t care. I wonder if it’s because he’s not at all embarrassed to be in my company or because he’s extremely confident that other people’s assumptions don’t matter.
    I lean in conspiratorially and whisper, “Do you suppose they think that you are my master?”
    He immediately looks up at me sharply, and then glances at the other women and men in the café. “I don’t know, Del Mar,” he says, his eyes focusing back on my face. “Would you like them to think so?”
    “Would you?”
    “If I had purchased a Del Mar I wouldn’t be sitting in a café eating breakfast with her.” His gaze never wavers from mine as he says this, and I don’t know whether to take that as an insult or an attempt at flirtation.
    “Then, what would you be doing with her?”
    He continues to stare at me as he dreamily raps his index finger lightly on the table. “I suppose that would be between me and her, would it not?” he finally says, and I can’t believe he just said that with that stern expression of his.
    “More coffee, sir?” asks the server, who I hadn’t notice approach us. Keenan gives a slight nod, and the server pours the steaming dark liquid and then turns to me. “Miss?”
    I sit up straight in my chair and accept another cup. I had been leaning closer toward the detective with every word exchanged between us and hadn’t even realized it until the server’s interruption. At first, I’d been more inclined to believe that his statement was intended to be an insult, considering his current behaviour toward me so far. But, even though his expression had been serious, there had been a hint of playfulness in his eyes that I usually find in men who are flirting with a woman. When the server leaves, I give the detective a sly smile.
    “Why are you smiling, Del Mar?”
    “Oh,