old T-shirts. The cotton material had been washed so many times that the material felt butter-soft to his callused fingers. He was big enough that the bottom of the shirt should hit her thighs. He pulled out a pair of gray sweats and athletic socks.
“I have some clothing essentials here, but none of it’s fancy.”
“Trust me.” She gave him a dry look. “Fancy is overrated.”
“You’re going to have to do without underwear until we wash what you’re wearing or get you something new.” When he turned back to her, the sight of her nearly nude body stopped him in his tracks. Still clad in a lacy gray bra and panties, she was as covered as any modem woman on a beach.
But they weren’t on a beach. She stood in a private place where he often slept, and she was beautiful everywhere, with a racy-looking body, long, delicately muscled legs, and high breasts that he immediately wanted to cup in his hands.
But if he’d thought her face had looked bad, the marks of damage on her body looked worse. He had targeted her concussion with most of the healing spells, but some of the magic had filtered down to other injuries. It was enough to advance the bruises and contusions to what would have been the second or third day of the healing process—right about at the point when they looked and felt the worst.
“Brace yourself, babe,” he said bluntly. “There’s not much of a mirror in the bathroom down here, but you look like shit.”
The edges of her full lips turned downward as she ran fingers over the blackened mottling over her narrow rib cage. Her voice was quiet. “It’s nothing that won’t heal.”
“You were lucky.” He handed her the clothes. He still wanted to touch her, only this time the desire was almost overwhelming. “There’s soap and shampoo in the shower stall and towels in the cabinet. Call if you get dizzy or need help.”
“Will do.” She gave him an unfathomable look before turning away.
There were only three rooms in the big basement. They bordered a large open area that held a washer and dryer, the furnace, and the water heater. The bathroom was located right by the bedroom. She went around the corner and shut the door.
He waited until he heard the shower going. Then he pulled out his phone to text Anson. Report.
Anson responded swiftly. I’m surveilling the house. They’ve put out the blaze. Police and fire crew are monitoring while the car cools. There’s an ambulance and tow truck present. I haven’t heard talk over the police scanner about finding a body or transporting someone to the hospital. I think Sullivan disappeared before they got here.
Either Sullivan hadn’t been as hurt as Molly had thought and had left on his own, or he’d had help.
Josiah’s fingers moved rapidly over the screen as he replied. Nobody would bother transporting a dead body. Sullivan isn’t dead—or at least he wasn’t when he left the scene. Question is, did he have help?
Agreed. Any further instructions?
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