She had drained his mug. He grabbed it and went to heat more water. This time he put two mugs in the microwave.

She followed him. “How do you know everything’s connected?”

He might have compromised his safe house for her, but he wouldn’t share anything about Maria without Maria’s express permission. “I have sources.” When she opened her mouth, he glared at her. “That’s all I’m saying. If you get caught, you can’t give away details you don’t know.”

She drew herself up. “I wouldn’t betray your confidence.”

He gave her a grim look. “I might trust your integrity and good intentions, but anyone will talk sooner or later if they’re tortured long enough. You’re going to have to trust me.”

“Wow.” She paled even further. “But you’re asking me to walk away with nothing. How do I disappear without resources? I wouldn’t even have a car. Even bus stations have security cameras these days.”

He spooned instant coffee into one of the steaming mugs and shoved it in her direction. “I’m working on it.”

Wrapping her hands around the mug, she took a sip, then said bitterly, “And why the hell you have this god-awful instant coffee boggles my mind. You spent thousands of dollars on the contents of that monitor room, and you couldn’t even buy a Keurig?”

He rounded on her. “It’s caffeine. It’s fuel. Shut up for a few goddamn minutes and let me think.”

She slid sideways, mouthing at him silently, Fine. Just fine.

He glared as she limped up the stairs carrying her mug. When the floorboards overhead creaked, he opened the fridge. She hadn’t touched any of the food since she vomited, and that had been hours ago.

Stalking over to the foot of the stairs, he roared, “And eat something with that coffee! How can you expect to heal if you don’t fucking eat?”

Blistering silence roared back. Great job, asshole, he told himself. She just learned she lost her husband and her lawyer. She’s losing her entire life, and you had to bite her head off.

She was a time suck. A disaster. And now she was probably going to become a money pit. Women like Molly Sullivan were high-end luxury mammals. They cost a goddamn fortune to maintain. He happened to have a goddamn fortune, but a lot of his liquid assets were tied into fueling the coven’s efforts.

He slammed a spoonful of coffee into his mug. Fresh brewed coffee would taste better. Goddamn it. Baring his mental teeth, he chased that thought out of his head, then he glared at his surroundings. He was sick to death of living in basements.