The salad went flying as she exploded off the bed and lunged for her purse. After digging frantically for the container, she opened it and checked three times for evidence of the answer she already knew in her heart.

She always took the pill first thing, except she hadn’t taken it yesterday morning after the attack. What were the chances that it would matter?

She wasn’t on the regular pill. Because of side effects, she took the mini pill—and the mini pill was the one you had to watch out for. But still, the chances had to be low. And she was almost forty, and she’d never been pregnant.

“It’s all going to be okay,” she whispered. “Because we know what this is.”

After a while, she stood and picked up her mug of wine. Even though she knew the science for how unlikely it was she might get pregnant—or even if she did, how safe it was to drink the wine before a fertilized egg implanted—she took it into the bathroom to pour it down the sink.

*     *     *

Josiah’s mood was savage as he drove back into Atlanta. Away from Molly. Away from what they had done together.

It never should have happened, yet he wanted to do it again and again, because apparently whenever he got near her every firm decision he’d ever made about his life flew out the window.

Once he reached the YMCA, he left the Camry down another neighborhood street, walked back to his Audi, and drove to the apartment. Then he flipped through the photos he had taken of Molly, selected a few, and forwarded them to Steven with the message: FedEx the documents to my attention at the office on Wednesday.

You got it, Steven responded.

After that he poured himself a scotch and checked coven email. Henry and Maria were delivering a Subaru Outback by midday on Tuesday. Henry and Steven’s research on the Seychelles file had led them to a Russian bank. Anson continued to monitor the city for flares of magic while he built a file on the governor of Georgia’s background. It would be, Josiah knew, as meticulously researched as every other file Anson had compiled.

Everything was proceeding smoothly. Nothing was on fire except for him.

After years of living with a dormant sex drive, it had come roaring back to life. He strode through the quiet apartment, half erect. The need to take her pounded in his temples. Even at half past two in the morning, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t drive back to the safe house to make love to her again before morning.

She had been so sexy, aroused, and yes, caring when they had made love. Worlds different from any other woman he had ever had. A universe different from his dutiful, treacherous wife.