Forgotten Sins

  “Why?”

  “Because that bug sucked. The device had a radius of a block, max.”

  “How do you know the radius just from looking at the bug?”

  He stilled. “I don’t know.” The vehicle slowed at the end of the block.

  Josie shook her head. He knew stuff he shouldn’t and was beyond trained. Trained to kill anybody in his way. What if she was suddenly in his way? A chill slithered down her spine.

  “Josie?”

  She stiffened and pointed to a small bungalow. “That house was for sale. I mean, the sign is gone, so maybe they sold it.” She’d known he had training as a soldier, but just what kind of skills had he developed? His hearing must be truly excellent to have detected that bug under her phone. What was he really capable of? Besides hand-to-hand combat that resulted in the other guy being dead.

  Shane nodded, drove around the corner, and parked next to the community gazebo. “Why don’t you like hospitals?”

  For the love of Pete. She’d known he wouldn’t let it go. “I don’t think this is the time to talk about it.”

  “We’re not leaving until we talk about it.” A muscle jumped in his jaw.

  She’d told him her entire life story before, and yet he hadn’t told her a thing. For two months they’d shared a home, shared a bed. And she’d had no idea he was a killer. Their marriage had been a lie, one she’d jumped into wholeheartedly. She’d loved somebody that didn’t exist, and the loss of that dream pierced her breastbone with a blade sharper than she would’ve imagined.

  A stranger sat next to her.

  “Josie. Answer me about the hospital,” he said calmly.

  She jumped. The morning pressed in. A sense of urgency had her wiggling on the seat. They couldn’t just sit there, and appeasing him right now seemed wise. “Fine. I grew up in foster care. One of the houses had a drunk who hit. He took me to the hospital, and I associate the smell of the place with, ah, pain.”

  Shane’s hands tightened on the wheel, the knuckles turning white. “Have I killed him?”

  “No.” Josie coughed. “Though you wanted to.”

  “Still do.” Anger and pain bracketed Shane’s mouth.

  Yeah. Amnesia or not, Shane was Shane. Unless it was all a trick. “It ended up being a good thing. The doctors made a report, and I went to Arthur and Claire’s to live. They were foster parents, but they planned to adopt me.” Her voice sounded wistful, even to her. When she’d fallen on her bike, she’d even felt safe at the hospital with Arthur carrying her in.

  “Why didn’t they?”

  “Claire died.” Josie shrugged against the wash of sadness from what could’ve been. “Embolism. One day she was there, the next day she wasn’t.” Arthur had started drinking, nearly losing his accounting business. Social services took her away again, and probably would have even if Arthur hadn’t spiraled into depression. They couldn’t let her stay with a grieving single man.

  Her first chance for a normal life had been snatched away so quickly. Her second, with Shane, had disappeared as well. Maybe some people were meant to live alone. Man, that was a depressing thought.

  Shane released the steering wheel. “I’m sorry.” He opened his door. “What did Claire do?”

  “She was a homemaker. Arthur was an accountant. He loved numbers.” Josie squinted to see out the window. Enough with the sad memories. Life moved on. “What now?”

  Shane jumped out of the vehicle. “Stay here.”

  No freaking way. She could either run back to the cops, or follow Shane into the bungalow. If somebody had been bugging her house, she wanted to see who and how. She leapt from the car, swaying until she regained her balance. Quick steps had her on Shane’s heels.

  “I told you to stay in the car,” he muttered, his gaze swinging to both sides of the road.

  “I’m scared.” She really should feel bad about manipulating him. “I don’t want to stay alone in the car.” Plus, anyone who had ever seen a slasher movie knew the person waiting in the car always ended up dead. She went for the jugular. “Please let me stay with you.”

  He faltered and then sighed. “Okay. But stay behind me.” He took her hand, hurrying around the bungalow to open the fence toward the back. The rear yard had turned brown, weeds sprouting up. The smell of decaying brush scented the air. He peered into the kitchen window. “Empty.”

  Glancing around, Shane grabbed a medium-sized rock and smashed the sliding glass door near the handle. Josie cringed. A dog barked in the distance. But nobody moved.

  Shane reached inside and unlocked the lever, sliding the door open and stepping inside. He looked around and motioned for her to join him. She gingerly stepped over broken glass, her heart thundering in her ears. What was she doing? This was so illegal.

  The kitchen area was empty, not even a table. Quick movements sent them hustling through the unfurnished dining room. Their footsteps echoed through the dusty space until they reached the living room.

  Josie’s legs froze in place.

  Her eyes stared back at her from a picture on the wall. The moment captured her smiling brightly into the sun, a daiquiri in her hand. She glanced at the next picture, taken of her at a baseball game. Several more pictures of her adorned the walls. Pictures of her coming home after work. Of going to the gym. Of gardening outside her home. Months’ worth. All tacked up next to a sprawl of surveillance equipment.

  Shane growled, hurrying toward the equipment. “What the hell?”

  Josie frowned. Her wedding picture caught her eye. The official one in the stunning silver frame. The one she’d left for him at his base when she’d moved to Washington. Just in case he wanted the memories. It sat on the end table. She looked closer at some of the pictures. Her hair was shorter. Lighter. Some of the pictures were from California. From before she’d met Shane. From three, maybe four years ago.

  She stumbled back a step.

  An empty Guinness bottle sat on the counter.

  Guinness.

  The picture.

  With a soft cry, she ran for the bedroom. The scent of heated cedar filled her nostrils. The bed with its navy comforter made, the corners tucked. Shaky steps brought her to the small dresser in the corner. She pulled out the first drawer. Socks. Perfectly folded, in order of color. Just the way Shane organized them. His sole concession to being a soldier, to allowing himself one quirk.

  She grabbed a discarded shirt off the floor and brought the material to her nose. Shane’s masculine scent filled her nostrils. Her fingers fisted in the material as she slowly turned around.

  He overpowered the doorway. She took a step back, straightening her shoulders. There’d be no crying.

  He frowned, glancing at the shirt. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She threw the shirt down, hiding the faded Marine Corps logo. Panic threatened to stop her breathing. What should she do? He’d lied to her—he’d stalked her. Even before they met, he’d watched her. Betrayal coated her throat until she wanted to choke. She’d trusted him. Anger wanted to roar, but self-preservation won. She couldn’t beat him, and she had one chance to get free. So she forced herself to shrug and walk toward him. “I just don’t like breaking and entering.” Her voice trembled. “Can we leave now?”

  She brushed past him toward the door.

  His hand shot out and grabbed her arm. Dark pupils narrowed and zeroed in on her. Questioning. “Not yet. I need to check more of the equipment.”

  She was no victim. Her smile hurt as she swung around to face him. “Okay.” The urge to run shot her into full action. She bunched, and with every ounce of strength she owned, she kneed him in the nuts.

  His eyes widened in shock.

  He dropped to the floor with a muffled oomph, both hands clutching his groin.

  Oh God, oh God, oh God. Her hands shook and she scrambled for the next move. Pivoting, she shot a sidekick to his temple and knocked him over.

  She yelped as she turned and ran.

  Glass cut her arm as
she jumped out the sliding door, leaping through the open gate of the fence. A rustle sounded behind her. She cut across the front lawn, yelling for Detective Malloy. The detective looked up from her porch, a frown on his face. She ran as if the devil himself chased her, her steps pounding on the asphalt.

  “Damn it, Josie. Stop!” Shane yelled.

  She pushed harder. Who the hell was Shane Dean? She reached Malloy in a rush, all but tumbling into his arms. He steadied her.

  Turning, she held her breath at what she’d see. Nothing. A dark, quiet street.

  Shane was gone.

  Chapter 7

  Police station coffee sucked. Josie huddled over the Styrofoam cup, her finger probing the bite marks she’d left in the spongy top. How could she have been so wrong? But really, what had she ever known about Shane? Some of those pictures had been from before she’d even met him. Had he been stalking her? If so, why leave her for two years? He’d had her.

  What kind of a crazy game had he been playing?

  The heat snapped on in the small room, but it failed to penetrate her chilled skin.

  Detective Malloy sat across the battered table of the interview room, the dark circles beneath his eyes widening as the day wore on. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Dean.” He tapped a photograph of her leaving a gym in California holding a rolled up yoga mat under her arm. “Since you’re ready to continue, let’s look at a few more photographs my men brought from the cottage where your husband apparently has been staying. Do you remember this picture?”

  Considering she hadn’t realized the snapshot was being taken, no. “I haven’t seen this picture before.” She fought a shiver at the creepy fact that she’d been photographed without her knowledge. “Though I hadn’t met Shane when this shot was taken.”

  “Are you sure?” Malloy’s gaze sharpened.

  “Yes. My California yoga instructor opened her own place across town, and I followed her. I stopped going to this location at least a month before I met Shane.” She’d keep using his name. No way would she refer to Shane Dean as her husband. Never again.

  Malloy scribbled in a notebook, sliding another photograph in front of her. “Your hair is longer in this one.”

  “Yes.” Josie stared for a moment. The shot had captured her leaving her office building in California dressed in her favorite green silk suit. “This was taken even before the yoga one. I cut my hair shortly after this picture, I think.” Fear made her breath arrive in short bursts.

  “You worked for Montgomery and Associates?”

  “Yes. I moved to the local branch here when I, ah, left Shane.” Apparently her instincts were right for once.

  “Why Snowville? I mean, your firm has branches all over the country.”

  “I don’t know.” Josie rubbed her eyes. “Snowville is a decent-sized town, not a city, with four seasons, lakes, and mountains. Seemed like a good place to make a home.” And her one and only friend from childhood was buried in the local cemetery.

  “Yeah. I like living here, too.” Malloy shook a picture out to the side. Dark dust flew from where the police had tried to fingerprint the paper. He slid the photo in front of her. “This was taken in front of your office building here in Snowville.”

  “Yes.” Dread flipped her stomach over. The picture showed her smiling up at Tom, his hand at her elbow as they left at the end of the day. Probably before they went out to dinner, or to one of their homes, where they could cook and save money. She should warn Tom about Shane. “The coat I’m wearing in the picture—I bought it last week.”

  Malloy made a notation. “What I find interesting is we couldn’t find one single fingerprint on these pictures. I have men going through the cottage now, and so far… nothing.”

  “Shane took those.” The Guinness can, the rolled-up socks, the shirt smelling like him all proved Shane had been watching her. For years. Fear sharpened the room into clear focus. Where was he now? He’d taken her SUV and disappeared.

  Malloy smoothed the photographs into a nice pile. “I have another call into Pendleton to find out more about the major.”

  The smell of sweat, burnt coffee, and fear swirled around the freezing room. Josie fought a sneeze, glancing at the dingy wall. The idea of being stalked for so long made her feel small and vulnerable. “I still keep expecting a two-way mirror.” This time Malloy had brought her farther into the station, bypassing other detectives barking into phones and pecking at computers as they worked at their desks.

  The corners of Malloy’s thin lips tipped up. “The two-way mirrors are usually only on television, Mrs. Dean.” He tapped his pen on his notebook. “Just like heroes protecting you for your own good and happily-ever-afters.”

  “That’s true.” Even her eyes felt bruised. “This doesn’t make sense. Why would Shane stalk me? Then why leave me and come back?” Why pretend to love her? Why make her love him?

  “I dunno. Maybe it’s all about the chase. I mean, maybe he likes the stalking, and since he succeeded so well last time, Dean wanted to try again.” Malloy shrugged. “I’m hoping we’ll get lucky and see his psych evaluation. Perhaps we’ll discover why he left the marines two years ago.”

  “I’d like to hear the answer to that question.” She picked at a torn cuticle on her pinkie. “He’d never talk about his past, about his life before we met. All he’d say was that he was alone without a family.” She’d believed him. God, she’d been so stupid. “I figured he had a rough childhood and wanted the past left behind us. I could understand that.”

  Malloy nodded. “Yet you found out he had brothers.”

  “Yes.” She’d never forget that night. She’d met Shane at their cozy apartment after work for dinner and he’d been… different. Distant and almost cold. He wouldn’t meet her eyes. Yet when they went to bed, he’d all but burned her up with passion. So hard and fast. Almost desperate. The night had given her such hope that she was getting through to him… that he was opening up to her. That he was finally going to let her know him. “I woke up in the middle of the night, and Shane was screaming the name Jory.”

  “Jory?”

  “Yes.” She’d shaken Shane’s arm and he’d sat up, turning away from her and dropping his head into his hands with a low sob. She’d asked who Jory was, placing her hand tenderly against Shane’s heated back. Trying to offer comfort when none would be accepted.

  Shane’s entire body had shuddered. “My brother. Jory was one of my brothers. He’s dead.”

  Two years later, sitting in the cold conference room of the police station, Josie could still feel the vibrations of Shane’s pain as he’d said those words.

  He’d left her the next day.

  Malloy straightened his tie. “I’ll run the name Jory Dean, as well.”

  Josie bit her lip. Did Jory even exist, or was it all some sort of bizarre trick? “None of this makes sense. I mean, say Shane has been stalking me, for whatever reason. What does that have to do with the guys found dead in the river? They had my picture.”

  Mallow frowned. “I’d say your husband is involved in some pretty bad stuff. Somebody’s after him, and it appears they’re willing to go through you to get him.”

  So now she had Shane and unknown killers after her. Her feet actually twitched with the need to flee. A shiver shook her shoulders, and goose bumps prickled her skin. She grabbed her purse from the floor, and a ball of yarn fell out. “Are we done here?”

  Malloy exhaled. “What’s up with the yarn?”

  “I knit.” She grabbed the ball and tossed it in the purse.

  “Oh.” He rubbed his chin, his eyes warming. “My granny knitted.”

  “It relaxes me.”

  “You probably need to relax.” Standing, he stomped around the table and opened the door.

  There wouldn’t be any relaxing until Shane was behind bars. She shot to her feet and into the hall, hustling through the surprisingly quiet station and into the lobby.

  Tom tossed a magazine onto the center table and stretched to his feet
and away from one of the hideous orange chairs lining the paneled wall. They were all empty save for him.

  Relief flooded her. She’d called him earlier, hoping he’d pick her up. Thank God. She stepped into his arms. He’d come for her. She’d called, and he’d dropped everything to help her.

  Tom engulfed her in a clean, masculine-scented hug. “Josie.” He leaned back, light brown eyes contrasting nicely with his worn blue flannel. “Never thought I’d be picking you up at the pokey.”

  Josie coughed out a laugh. “Funny. Very funny.”

  Tom stood back to study her face, and she studied his. Deep brown eyes glowed his concern, while the slight lines that fanned out from them marked a guy who laughed often. Full lips quirked in worry, and his light brown hair was ruffled, as if he’d been running his hands through it. His torn jeans covered toned muscle, and broad shoulders filled out his flannel. Funny, she hadn’t realized Tom was as tall as Shane. Nobody seemed as big and powerful as her husband. She was so screwed up. A long shiver escaped her.

  “You’re cold.” Tom eyed the room and put an arm around her shoulder as he focused on Malloy. “Is she free to leave?”

  “Has Detective Connelly finished with your statement?” Malloy asked.

  “Statement?” Josie squinted her eyes up at Tom.

  “Yes.” Tom smoothed a hair off her face. “I came to get you, and they asked me some questions. Where I’ve been the last few days, how long I’ve known you, if I have a camera.” He grinned ruefully at the final query.

  Josie rounded on the cop, her breath heating. “You questioned my friend?”

  Tom tugged her purse strap up her arm. “I assume it’s normal, and I had no problem answering the questions. Let’s help the police figure this out.”

  Malloy nodded. “We’d appreciate that.”

  Tom led her to the exit. “Let’s get you somewhere safe.”

  Safe? Safety was an illusion. She eyed Tom’s tousled hair and straight features. So different from Shane’s rugged ones. She shivered and Tom tightened his hold.