His hand on the small of her back, Grey gently ushered Irelyn into the apartment. She had been quiet since they’d left the theater. He knew she was in shock, exhausted and hurting, both physically and emotionally. He hadn’t pushed her. She needed gentleness and care, not questions.

She pulled away from him. “I need to take a shower.”

Intending to help her, he said, “All right,” and walked with her toward her bedroom.

Without looking at him, she said in a too-distant voice, “I can do it. I’d…like to be alone for a while.”

“Irelyn, look at me.”

She raised her gaze then, and he felt a punch to his gut. The depth of pain in her eyes clawed at him. She had saved his life tonight and in the process had killed the only family she had.

“I’m so sorry.” He had no other words he could say.

She nodded. “I know. I am, too.” Clearing her throat, she darted a look to her bedroom door. “I’ll be okay. Just need a moment alone.”

“I’ll make us some tea.”

She didn’t acknowledge his words, and he wasn’t even sure she’d heard him. Her main focus was getting behind those doors so she could be alone. Before she disappeared into her bedroom, he said, “Thank you for saving my life.”

The look she sent him spoke volumes, but her words almost brought him to his knees.

“I’d do it again if I had to.” She closed the door.

He took a step toward the door and then made himself stop. Hell yes, he wanted to follow her. He wanted to hold her, comfort her, let her cry in his arms. But he also knew how important control was for Irelyn. He would respect her privacy for now.

He wasn’t sure who needed to be held more, him or Irelyn. He could have so easily lost her tonight. She had stood there, motionless, watching as the shooter aimed directly at her. If Grey hadn’t called out, the bastard would have killed her. He had no doubt about that.

He still didn’t know how or why she thought the man was her brother, although he had seen a slight family resemblance, but it was obvious there had been no brotherly love for her.

Rubbing the tension at the back of his neck, Grey headed to the kitchen. While he prepared tea, he reviewed the night’s events. They sure as hell hadn’t gone down the way he had planned.

The assassin had waited until the movie ended. Grey had sat up front, alone, and waited. Apparently, the killer had been waiting, too. The man his people had caught and detained was no one other than a guy looking to see a movie for free. Little had he known that he had fallen into a trap set for an assassin. The guy had likely learned his lesson and wouldn’t be doing that again.

Since it had obviously been a justified shooting—Grey had three holes in his tuxedo jacket and some ugly bruises on his back as proof—the questions from the police had been routine. The knowledge that someone had tried to kill him already had gone a long way in shutting down suspicion of anything other than self-defense.

Grey had left Gallagher in charge of cleanup. He had wanted to get Irelyn out of there as soon as possible. Though her answers to the police had been coherent and precise, he had recognized that she had put herself somewhere else until she could be alone.

Liberally lacing both teas with sugar and Irelyn’s favorite whiskey, he carried two mugs to her room. He knocked, and after hearing her say, “Come in,” he opened the door.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed, hair caught up in a messy knot. She wore no makeup and had on her favorite blue fuzzy robe. He found himself struck, as he often was, by her incredible, natural loveliness.

The droop of her mouth and her slumped shoulders told him something else. She was devastated. Though the heat of the shower had brought some color to her face, she was still too pale for his liking.

He handed her the cup of steaming tea, and then, pulling the chair from her vanity, he sat in front of her.

She stared down at the tea but didn’t drink it, and Grey figured he knew why. “It’s not drugged. Just added a bit of Irish to warm you.”

She nodded and took her first swallow.

He waited till she’d downed several sips. When she settled the mug on the bedside table, he took that as a cue.

“Feel better?”

“A little. Thank you.”

“Feel up to talking?”

“Yes. I guess I owe you an explanation. Several, actually.”

“I want to hear it all.” One particular question was hammering at his head and his heart, and he had to know. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t even know I had a brother.”

Coming from anyone else, that might have sounded strange. But he knew Irelyn’s history. What she had been through. Not knowing she had a brother was completely plausible.

“When did you find out?”

“The night I killed Hill. He told me in a casual manner. As if it was just a bit of news I might be interested in knowing. As if it meant nothing.”

“You don’t remember him?”

“No. As you know, most of my life before Hill is just a blur of senses—smells, fear, hunger. I have no recall of a brother, or anyone else.”

They had been down this road so many times before. He wished to his soul that he could change her past—give her some good memories. All she had was the horror of the truth. Purchased by Hill Reed from a drug-addicted woman who might or might not have been her mother. If Reed hadn’t bought her, she would have likely died in the streets or been sold to another monster. Instead, she had been taken into a house filled with killers and thrown into another kind of hell.

“And Reed made him into an assassin.”

“Yes. Just like me.”

“No, baby, not just like you.”

She looked at him then, pain so intense in her gray eyes they appeared almost black. “Why not like me, Grey? I am what he made me.”

“You damn well are not. Let’s not go down this path again, Irelyn. You left that life a long time ago.”

“Did I?”

Grey rubbed his gritty eyes. Damn, he was tired, but he could not let this go. She had killed her brother tonight to save his life.

“Are you sure Reed didn’t lie?” The bastard had certainly been capable of it. From all he knew about Hill Reed, one of his greatest joys had been screwing with people’s emotions and minds.

“That was my hope for a while, but the more I thought about it, the more I decided it wouldn’t have made sense for him to lie. Yes, if he thought it would hurt me, or elicit a desired response, he would have. But that’s not the way the conversation went. It was…” Her hands fluttered as she tried to explain. “It was just a little aside. Like an ‘Oh, by the way, I stopped at the bakery and bought some bagels’ kind of remark. Like it really wasn’t that important.” She shrugged. “I believed him.”

“Did you try to contact Kevin when you found out? Try to talk to him?”

“No. I had no idea who he was. Didn’t even know his name then.”

“The bastard wouldn’t tell you?”

“He didn’t get the chance. He—”

“That’s why you were giving him CPR.”

“He dropped several bombshells in a row. Admitted he had nothing to do with Jonah’s supposed death and told me my brother was working as an assassin for him.” She shrugged. “I don’t know if he would have told me his name. He probably wouldn’t have if he knew how very badly I wanted to know.”

“That’s what you’ve been working on all this time. Why you killed those assassins. Why you wanted to get Sebastian Dark’s attention. You needed to get back inside Hill House to find your brother.”

“I knew Dark wouldn’t let me in, especially not to stay there for any length of time. It was the only thing I could think to do to impress him, to get him to invite me to stay. I had to prove myself.”

“And you couldn’t kill any of his people since you didn’t know which one was your brother.”

“I couldn’t have anyway. That would’ve just pissed Dark off. I tried to choose the most hideous killers.”

“The ones who targeted children.”

“Yes.”

“Do you think Kevin recognized you?”

“I think so. He called me Irelyn. And I saw a glimmer of recognition, an acknowledgment maybe, of our connection. I think I remember him from my time at Hill House. I think I saw him. I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

Grey closed his eyes. Shit, this was so messed up. “I would do anything to take away that pain.”

“I know you would, Grey.” She rubbed her forehead, and he noted her hands were shaking. She was on the edge.

“Do you want me to call Dr. Tobin?”

The therapist had helped Irelyn immensely and wouldn’t be at all surprised to hear from her in the middle of the night.

“Why? So she can tell me again that I have nothing to feel guilty about?”

“He would have killed me, Irelyn. You saved my life. Do you regret that?”

“No. Of course I don’t.”

He had known the answer to that, but hoped to help her with some perspective. Even as volatile and unusual as their relationship was at times, he knew her feelings for him were deep. Their emotional bond had been honed by blood and death, but their relationship was also the truest, most honest one he’d ever possessed. Even in the midst of unimaginable pain, they had an unbreakable bond. She had tried to sever their connection, and now he knew why.

Everything was making sense again, but he couldn’t get past one issue. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have helped.”

“And that’s exactly why. I just…I just…” She rubbed her forehead again. “I need some sleep. I can’t think straight.”

Meaning her defenses were down and she was likely to be completely honest. His head told him to push her and find out everything. Even though they had few secrets between them, Irelyn was so multifaceted that there were times when he had no clue what was going on in her beautiful head. His heart told him something else. She had been through too much. Hell, he still didn’t know how she’d been injured. Cutting her some slack and letting her rest seemed a small allowance. He’d have to tear down the walls again tomorrow, but that was another day.

Standing, he reached for her mug on the nightstand. It was still half full, but it had hopefully given her a little comfort. She surprised him by grabbing his wrist. “Stay with me.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Grey returned the mug to the table and slipped off his shoes. He was in the middle of unbuttoning his shirt and stopped, struck by her sensual beauty as she slipped the robe off her shoulders. Other than those short passionate moments in Paris, it had been months since they’d kissed, even longer since they’d made love. He wanted her with a longing that went a million times past physical desire. That need would have to be put on hold. Holding her all night long had its own rewards.

The instant they slid beneath the covers, she went into his arms. Closing them around her, he held her gently, tenderly. Her body was sore, and her heart was broken. He wanted to fix everything in her life that had hurt her, but knew that was a useless want. So he did the only thing he could do. He held her, treasuring that he could.