Chapter 17

Cassandra sank into the passenger seat of Thomas’s Porsche Panamera without a word, and he slid behind the wheel just as silently. The evening air hummed through the climate vents, but neither of them spoke as they wound their way out of the restaurant parking lot. Earlier she had driven her own car to dinner—her friend Felix had promised to drop it off at Bachelor’s Village once her husband’s restaurant closed for the night—yet now she found herself riding home in Thomas’s sleek black machine, tension crackling between them like static on a speaker.

Cassandra braced herself. In her mind, she replayed every moment of the evening with clinical precision, fully expecting Thomas to explode at any second, demanding an explanation for what had happened with David Martin. But the only sound in the cabin was the soft whisper of tires on pavement. He’d simply thanked Mr. and Mrs. Martin and, without a harsh word, let his uninjured hand—warm and steady—find hers, guiding her gently out