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bad news.”
    His throat closed. He wanted to tell her to spit it out, not try to prepare him or cushion it. But there was no way to do that, he knew that from experience. She knew it, too, goddamn her, and instead of holding it forever, as part of him wanted her to, she said it. The words he’d expected since he recognized her, the only reason she would have gone to all this effort to see him in person.
    “Chris is dead.”
    And his world imploded.
    Brady didn’t remember going to his knees. He just found himself there, some tiny sharp hard thing digging into one of them—probably what brought him out of the dark ball of pain that had engulfed him. Molly remained on the bed but had wrapped herself around him, and his arms were tight around her, a pose that brought back a flicker of memory, of pain that was laughable compared to this. White agony ripped him apart, her words echoing not only in his head, but through his entire body. Not Chris. Anybody but Chris .
    Molly was talking. Murmuring. Comfort sounds rendered meaningless by her own raw anguish. She’d lost a brother, too, and somehow, that realization was like a balm, taking away the edge, bringing him back to solid ground. He was gripping her so tightly he had to be hurting her, and when he forced his arms to loosen, they cramped. He needed—something. Anything but this static, throbbing mess.
    “How?” he rasped, settling back on his heels, unable to rise or move even the short distance back to the bed.
    “I don’t know. They wouldn’t tell me.”
    His head came up. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t my parents—”
    She shook her head. “Not them. The facilitators.”
    He shook his head. That word made no sense, not coming out of Molly’s mouth. The foundation of his world had disintegrated so completely that nothing made sense anymore. The edges of his vision closed in, and he reached for it, welcoming the darkness.
    …
    “Brady.” Molly cupped his jaw in both hands, frightened at the glaze that had just come over his expression. He couldn’t do this now. No one had been in the hallway when she checked, but they could have heard the scuffle and called the police. They could not afford to be detained here. She had to get him pulled together enough to get out of there.
    She patted his cheek, but of course it did nothing. “ Brady .” He didn’t move. She needed to shock him somehow. As if he weren’t already in shock.
    Kiss him, or hit him? She bit her lip. Nope, she couldn’t do it. She hauled her hand back and slapped him hard across the cheek. Awareness jolted into him, but instead of reacting violently to the strike, he folded his hand around hers and just held it.
    “What happened?” he asked.
    Molly took a steadying breath. “Jessica called me three days ago. Someone came to her house to tell her Chris was dead, but wouldn’t tell her how. Someone else went to tell your parents.”
    A metallic bang echoed outside the room, probably in the stairwell across the hall. Brady jerked to his feet and pulled Molly up with him. “We have to get out of here.”
    “No shit.”
    “Stay behind me.”
    She obeyed, pulling her hood back up to shadow her face and tugging her sleeves down over her hands. They made their way out of the tenement and up the street. Once they were a few blocks away, Brady pulled her into the entryway of a boarded-up building.
    “Tell me.”
    She didn’t know where to start. She had stayed in touch with the Fitzpatricks over the last three days, making sure they were okay, that Jessica was holding on. Brady’s sister-in-law had been hospitalized for monitored sedation the first night, and after that she’d managed to pull herself together enough to function. A little. His parents were desperate to have Brady home, and Molly had promised to get him there as soon as she could. But he was deep, and it had taken a day to get down here, another day to track him down, and all of today to get close enough—and strong