His coven email had blown up while he’d slept. He skimmed through the various reactions to the news of the compromised safe house. Questions, speculation, arguments. Richard was pissed, and so was Henry. They wanted to know what had happened. Anson had jumped in later to give an update on Saturday night’s deaths.

“Unless you’re going to haul me in and charge me with something, I’ve decided I need to leave Atlanta,” Molly said from behind him, her voice rusty. “I’d been thinking about it anyway, and what happened to Austin and Nina just solidified it. And whatever you’re involved in that necessitates all these precautions… that’s way beyond my coping skills.”

He put his computer in sleep mode and sat back. “You’re right. I was going to suggest it when you got up.”

“You’re so full of bullshit.” She coughed out a laugh. “What happened to ‘Let’s rule the Eastern Seaboard together’?”

Because she had more raw Power than the rest of his coven put together. Instead of telling her that, he raised his eyebrows and spun around to face her. “Once you get ahold of something, you don’t let go, do you?”

“Not usually, which is one of the reasons why I stayed in a dead-end marriage for so long.” She grimaced. “It’s one of my worst personality traits.”

“Or one of your finest.” A small silence fell. Then he shrugged and said, “Anyway, offering to teach you was a bad impulse, and I’ve since thought better of it. You’re in danger here, and I don’t have time to babysit a new witch.” Or any time to indulge the dangerous distraction… obsession she had become. “As soon as you’re on your feet, you need to relocate.”

Licking her lips, she moved into the room and leaned against his desk. His clothes looked ridiculous on her. The T-shirt gaped at her slender neck and arms, and the sweatpants hung low on her hips. Even his thick white socks were somehow adorably oversized on her narrow feet. And the nipples of her small, firm breasts were visible against the old, thin material of the shirt.

He had to throttle down a surge of anger. Even beat up and badly dressed, she was gorgeous, and she was becoming more compelling by the minute. Sullivan had been a remarkably ugly, stupid man.

“Somebody killed Nina,” she said in a low voice. She glanced in his coffee mug, then picked it up to take a deep swallow. “And if I didn’t kill Austin, somebody else did. They’re going to want me dead too. I don’t know how to live in hiding. How do I leave without getting caught?”

Wearing his clothes. Drinking his coffee. Leaning back against his desk while they talked.