A Matter Of Justice (Grey Justice #4)(76)

One down, one to go. He heard no more footsteps and figured the guy was waiting for Grey to make a move. Since he didn't want the man to go after Irelyn, Grey decided to oblige him. He took one step toward the door, and a shot rang out. Grey dropped to the floor. That shot hadn't come from the open door. Grey turned in time to see a man climbing through the broken window. Seemingly unconcerned about the shards of glass scattered across the floor, he came toward Grey with a wide grin on his face. There was no reason to wonder why. Grey was lying on the floor like a sitting duck. With only a knife, he'd never make the kill before the man blasted his head off.

Determined to not go to his grave while lying down, Grey sprang to his feet. Just as the guy went for the kill shot, a long, slender knife whooshed by Grey’s head and embedded in the guy's throat. His gun dropped to the floor as he grabbed at his throat. The instant he pulled the knife free, blood gushed like a spigot had been turned on full force. The man collapsed inches from Grey’s feet.

Turning, Grey stared at the lovely and lethal woman at the doorway. It wasn't the first time she had saved his life, but that might've been as close to death as he'd been in some time. “Whoever said not to bring a knife to a gunfight doesn’t know Irelyn Raine.”

They stiffened as the creak of a floorboard told them they weren’t alone. The lone man upstairs was likely waiting to take them unawares.

“I’m out of ammo,” Grey said softly. “You have any left?”

“Yes.”

“Save it in case we don’t have a choice. I’d like to have a talk with him. You go left, and I’ll—” He broke off at the sound of an engine starting up and then a vehicle roaring away.

“Guess he changed his mind about staying.”

“Think we’re alone now?”

“Yeah. Except for about a dozen or so dead bodies.”

Surprising him, she flew into his arms. “I thought I'd lost you.”

“Not going to happen. At least for sixty or so years.” He pushed her away to examine her. “Where are you hurt?”

“Most of them are just scratches and cuts.”

He spotted the bloody towel at her thigh. “That looks a bit more serious.”

“Probably needs a couple of stitches.” She picked up his bloody hand. “This looks bad.”

“A couple of stitches will take care of it, too.” Before she could question him further, he pulled her back into his arms and held her tight. They hadn't come out unscathed, but considering what they'd been up against, he felt damn lucky.

She raised her head and looked around at the destruction. “Having a house with a lot of glass might not have been our best idea.”

“Agreed. How about we get this place repaired again and sell it to someone who doesn't have a thousand or so enemies?”

“I'll miss it, but you're right. We need to move on.”

“As long as we move on together.”

“About the marriage thing.” She chewed her lip, and uncertainty filled her eyes. “You were serious about that?”

“Never been more serious.”

“But you said… I thought…” She shook her head. “Never mind.”

“No. We don’t do that, Irelyn. We say what’s on our minds.”

She sighed. “All right. Do you remember an interview you gave to that reporter a few years ago?”

“Seriously, Irelyn? I’ve talked to hundreds of reporters. How can I—”

“It was a television interview for Dallas Talk. The reporter asked you about your private life.”

Having this conversation surrounded by broken glass, blood, and dead bodies felt surreal. If he hadn’t recognized how important it was, he might have suggested they wait till later. But he saw the insecurity in her eyes. She had doubts, and he needed to address them.

“I vaguely remember. She got intrusive with her questions.”

“Yes. She asked you why you’ve never married. Do you remember your answer?”

“No, I don’t.”

“You told her, ‘Why would I want to get married?’ You said you already had everything you could ever want.”

“Irelyn…I—”

“Look, I know we’ve never been traditional in anything. Our lives are complicated and not what most people would call normal, but when I heard you say that, I realized that’s the way you wanted it forever.”

“You knew I was committed to you, and only you.”

“I know. It just hit me that you didn’t see us going beyond that to something more.”

He barely remembered the interview, other than the aggravation at the too personal questions. But he could certainly see how a flippant remark might have been misconstrued, especially by the woman with whom he shared his life.

“That was a boneheaded answer to a reporter who should have known better than to ask. It was our agreement that she wouldn’t ask personal questions, and I gave her an insincere, off-the-cuff remark. It had nothing to do with how I feel about you.”

She gave him a self-conscious smile. “I guess I could have overreacted.”

“Why didn’t you say something before now?”

“I should have, but we were embroiled with what was going on with the Slaters.”