He tapped the corner of his phone against a front tooth as he thought. No point in hanging around and risking discovery. Keep monitoring police communications and let me know if you find out anything else.

Will do. What about Molly Sullivan?

I’m handling Molly, he responded.

The silence between Anson’s texts stretched out. While Josiah waited, he listened to the shower running and imagined Molly’s slow, pain-filled movements as she worked to get clean.

Then his screen lit up. Is she becoming a distraction?

His internal reaction was immediate and profound, but this time he was the one who hesitated before he answered. I’m protecting our only witness should we decide to pursue a legal case through official channels.

I didn’t consider that as an option, Anson sent back. That would be provocative, and risky for you.

There may be value in drawing fire while the rest of the coven remains free to act. We need to keep all our options open. He lifted his head as the shower stopped. Gotta run. Touch base in the a.m.

Roger that. Be careful, Josiah.

You too.

After that, his phone remained silent. While he waited for Molly, he flipped back over the exchange.

I’m protecting our only witness, he had written. But that hadn’t been his first response to Anson’s question.

And he had intentionally avoided telling Anson he had brought Molly to the safe house, because in all the decades his coven had worked together, never once had anyone brought an outsider to one of their safe houses. Doing so heightened the risk of discovery for everyone.

The bathroom door opened, and she stood shivering and clinging to the knob. She had managed to wiggle into his T-shirt, but her long legs remained bare, and her wet hair hung in ropes down her back.

He shoved his phone in his pocket and sprang forward to catch her by the elbows. As she swayed against him, the scent of his soap reached his nostrils.

“Let’s sit you on the bed and I’ll get the hair dryer,” he said, putting an arm around her shoulders and leading her into the other room.

“You don’t have to do that. I don’t care if I go to bed with a wet head.” She sounded utterly spent.

“I’ve done that before. It’s cold down here in the basement, and my hair is much shorter than yours. We can at least get you a little drier. Right now you’re dripping.”

“Okay, if you don’t mind.”

He tightened his arm. “I don’t mind.”

Is Molly Sullivan becoming a distraction? Anson had asked.

And his first, most honest response had been, hell yes. Yes, she was. It was unplanned, unwanted, but it was also more powerful than he knew how to resist.

*     *     *

Showering was rough.