McNab waited until he’d dropped Magnus before calling Freya. Almost midnight, he decided to only let it ring three times. If she didn’t answer, he would assume she was asleep and wait until the morning to get in touch with her.
Freya answered on the second ring.
‘You’re still up?’ he said.
‘I’m a Witch, remember? I’m contemplating the full moon.’
She sounded pleased to hear from him, at least McNab let himself think so.
‘Where are you?’ she said.
‘In the car, heading home.’
‘Come here instead.’
When he didn’t immediately answer, she said, ‘It’s late, I know.’
‘I don’t care about the time.’
‘Then you’ll come?’
‘Yes.’
She told him the address.
‘I’ll be there in ten minutes.’
McNab did a great deal of thinking in those ten minutes. Mainly around the question: What the hell am I doing? Regardless of how he might try and persuade himself otherwise, Freya was part of the investigation and he was pursuing a relationship with her. Not professional and not wise. But what worried him more was the concerned reaction of Rhona and Magnus to Freya’s existence. True, Maurice had confirmed that the three women hadn’t come together to the coven, which meant Freya had told McNab the truth about that. But. And this was the big but. The three women were connected by Wicca, and whatever he might think of that, it might place Freya in danger.
Which is why I need to watch over her.
It was a good line to feed himself, he thought, as he pressed her buzzer. She answered immediately and freed the door. She was waiting for him on the first landing. There was a moment’s hesitation as neither of them knew quite how to greet one another.
Freya settled for a smile and ushered him inside.
McNab followed her through to an open-plan room with a sitting area and kitchen combined. A large bay window gave a distant view of the university towers.
‘Coffee?’ she said.
McNab answered in the affirmative, although he would have preferred alcohol.
She was dressed in tracksuit bottoms and a T-shirt and he thought she looked beautiful. While they waited for the coffee, he told her he’d been at the coven meeting in the Vaults.
She registered this with surprise. ‘Tonight?’
He nodded. ‘That’s where I was coming from when I called you.’
Her open look suggested she wasn’t worried about what he’d discovered there, because she’d told him the truth about her visit. McNab was so used to people lying to him, or at the very least avoiding the truth, he found her honesty disconcerting.
‘Was it helpful?’ she finally said.
‘It was.’ McNab took a mouthful of coffee. ‘Do you know anything about a pamphlet on sexual magick?’
She thought for a moment. ‘I’ve seen incunables on sexual magick.’
‘What’s an incunable?’
She smiled at his confusion. ‘A book or pamphlet printed in Europe, before the year 1501.’
‘This pamphlet is more recent. Written by a man called Maurice Wade. A member of the Edinburgh coven.’
She shook her head. ‘I haven’t seen it. Is it important?’
‘That’s why Leila was there, to speak to him about it.’
She looked thoughtful at that. ‘So what I said was true? She was performing sex magick?’
‘According to Maurice, yes, she was.’
‘And you think that’s why she died?’
McNab was suddenly weary of it all. He didn’t want to talk about violent death with this woman. He wanted to be here for a different reason.
As though reading his mind, Freya said, ‘Shall we go to bed?’
McNab hadn’t been invited into a woman’s bedroom for what felt like forever. His sexual encounters, even with Rhona, had not been at her place. Iona had turned up at his unkempt, unpleasant-smelling flat and seemingly hadn’t cared. But then, if you’re high on drugs and drink, who does?
McNab was stone cold sober now, and he cared.
This time she led him through to the bedroom.
The scent of her was here in abundance, encompassing him, heightening his senses. He had the buzz, but it wasn’t from drink.
She chose to undress him first. Her gentle moves excited him more than any mad tearing off of clothes. Standing before her was a revelation. He had never felt so naked before, physically or emotionally. The feeling both frightened him and flooded him with pleasure.
Undressing Freya, he was seized by an overwhelming need to protect her.
No one will frighten or hurt you while I’m here.
McNab imagined he only thought the words, but realized by her reaction that he must have said them out loud.
She touched his cheek and it felt like fire.
When he woke she was beside him. That in itself filled McNab with wonder. If he was honest, most of his couplings involved himself or the woman leaving in the middle of the night. In truth, he often preferred it that way. No awkward morning silences. No uncomfortable goodbyes. No lies about calling them.
Freya was still asleep, her expression content, her breathing quietly even.
He took time to study her in detail, feeling wonder that someone so lovely would invite him into her bed. Perhaps sensing his attention, she opened her eyes.
‘Good morning,’ he said.
She smiled and drew him to her.
He stayed to breakfast, which was another first. Minus a hangover, loved up and verging on happy, McNab felt like a stranger to himself. The more cynical side of him muttered an occasional internal It won’t last, which he did his best to ignore.
Freya pottered about, brewing fresh coffee, toasting bagels and spreading them with honey. Watching her eat one, her tongue licking the honey from her lips, was an erotic experience. McNab realized if he didn’t leave soon, he was unlikely to leave at all.
He stood up.
‘You have to go to work,’ she said, sounding sorry.
‘Don’t you?’
She nodded. ‘I have a thesis to research and write.’
‘On Witchcraft.’
She smiled. ‘Does that worry you?’
‘I spend my days chasing killers. Does that worry you?’
A shadow crossed her face, making him want to take back the words. They had said nothing of the case from the moment she’d led him to her bed. He wanted to keep it that way.
‘Can I phone you later?’ McNab said.
‘Yes, Michael.’
McNab was unused to being called by his first name, but found he liked it. When Freya said it, he forgot for a moment that he was Detective Sergeant McNab. The feeling didn’t last long. He was barely out of the building when his phone rang.
‘Dr MacLeod. This is an early call.’
‘Can you come by the lab?’
‘Not if you intend interrogating me,’ he said, keeping his voice light.
‘There’s something you should know.’
‘Okay,’ McNab said, noting her serious tone. ‘I’m on my way.’
His first instinct was that the secret he shared with Rhona was no longer a secret. That would account for her obvious concern. Also, she wouldn’t want to reveal this in a phone call, hence the request for his lab visit. McNab’s joie de vivre evaporated and he was back in the real world.
She was in her office when he arrived. Security had buzzed him in, commenting on his early visit, to which McNab had feigned a jocular reply. A mood he was no longer in. Dread had descended again. The dread he used to experience when he first opened his gritty eyes and knew he had another day to face, half of which would involve a hangover. The light mood with Freya had gone so quickly, McNab questioned whether it had really happened or whether it could ever happen again.
Seeing Rhona only served to heighten this feeling.
Her studied look reminded him that Dr Rhona MacLeod was the only woman who had ever come close to knowing him, and not just in the biblical sense.
‘It’s Freya Devine,’ he said, seeing no point in hiding the fact from Rhona.
She smiled and he thought it was from pleasure on his behalf. ‘I thought so.’
‘I went to see her last night.’ His confession rolled on like a Catholic who’d just found a long-sought-for priest.
She nodded, although he detected her thoughts were elsewhere.
‘So why am I here?’ he ventured.
She caught his look. ‘It isn’t about your love life or about . . . the other matter.’
McNab registered relief.
‘What is it then?’