“I trust you,” he says. “It’s the rest of the world I don’t trust.” There are TVs above the bar and stationed around the pub. Most of them are playing sports games. One of them catches my eye. It’s a news segment and there is a photo of Joe Causey in his old police uniform, smiling, several years younger. My blood freezes. Beau catches my reaction and turns to look. His expression grows grim. “I have to tell you something. He’s doing an interview.”

“A what?”

“A live interview. Tomorrow night. We’re not going to watch it. He’s just going to talk bullshit.” Panic clenches every muscle in my body. This is much more serious than a group of unruly frat boys. Much more dangerous.

“How is that possible? He’s in jail.”

“He’s doing the interview from there. It’s probably just for the money or to try to get public opinion on his side, but it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is that he broke the law and he’s going to jail.”

It’s not cold in the pub. It’s warm. But I find myself shivering. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” he says.

I know he believes that. There is good evidence against Joe Causey. And Beau’s been supplementing the meager budget of the attorney’s office to pay for all the lab tests to go through in a timely manner so they’ll be well-armed against the smarmy defense attorney that Causey hired, but anything is possible.

Causey was a dirty cop, which means there can be dirty judges.

It means he can bribe the jury.

“Anything can happen,” I tell Beau. “I won’t feel safe until the verdict is in.”

His voice drops low enough that I can barely hear him. But the meaning comes through loud and clear. “If Joe is acquitted, he won’t come near you again.”

It’s not even a promise of protection, those words. Not even an assurance that he’ll follow me around campus, the way he’s trying to protect me from the paparazzi.

No, he’s promising something much more serious, much more permanent. He’s promising murder.

If the law doesn’t take care of Joe Causey, he will.

In a way, I couldn’t even blame him. After all, the man killed Beau’s brother. He has a right to take revenge, at least along some lines of thinking, but I can’t stand the thought of him doing that.

“Don’t,” I say.

“Don’t what? Don’t make the paparazzi leave you alone? Don’t tell the frat boys to fuck off? Don’t protect you? You can’t ask that of me, Jane. You are mine to hold, to fuck, and to protect.”

I shiver again, but for a different reason. The intense possession in his voice should scare me.