Forgotten Sins

Chapter 18

Her stockings snagged on the subfloor as Josie ran for the elevator. Slivers cut into her feet. Sobbing, she punched the up and down buttons.

Behind her, something crashed against the wall. George had thrown the saw.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry,” Josie chanted, pushing the buttons. The blood rushed through her ears. Her knees trembled. She glanced toward the makeshift office. George teetered to his feet with a roar, stumbling toward her.

No time. She pivoted and ran toward the far wall. Toward the stairwell. Her feet slipped on new marble tiles. With a cry, she yanked open the door and ran inside.

Shit. She wasn’t in the stairwell. The room was a large closet, probably a janitor’s storage area. A stinky room. Rows of metal shelves stood next to the door, awaiting some sort of order.

Footsteps pounded closer. Reason fled, and she panted out fear. Survival was all that mattered. She slammed the door shut, engaging the lock. Would George have a key?

Someone had left the light on, thank goodness. She leaped forward and yanked a shelving unit down in front of the door. Then another. Stacks of marble tile rested against the far wall. Her fingers shaking, she grabbed several tiles and piled them between the downed shelves. Her nails split. The rough edges of the tiles cut into the pads of her fingers.

George pounded on the door. “You little bitch. I’m going to kill you.”

She bit back a sob and kept piling tiles. Back and forth. Tiles. Until they were all between the shelves, keeping the door shut. Even if he had a key and could unlock the door, no way could he push it open.

Panting now, she backed away from the door. What now? How could she get a message to Shane?

Josie sniffed, tears burning her eyes.

George continued to pound.

She scanned the room frenziedly for a weapon. Near the tiles. A box cutter. She leapt for the large razor blade, holding the tool in front of her toward the door. Her hands shook. Blood from her tile-mangled fingers dripped to the floor.

George continued to pound.

He didn’t have a key. She needed to focus.

What stank? Did new tile smell like rotten tomatoes? She eyed the small room. Stacks of wooden flooring piled up at the far wall. She edged toward them. Was there a dead rat in the corner?

Holding her nose, she skirted the edge of the wood and glanced behind the stack.

She screamed. Billy lay on his back, his eyes wide and unseeing at the ceiling, a hole in the center of his head. His hands were tied in front of him, his wrists rubbed raw.

Dead.

Coughing, Josie forced bile down. Her mind sheeted white, and she stumbled back. Why wasn’t he in rehab?

She shook her head. Focus. She needed to focus. They’d killed Billy.

Silence descended outside the stifling room.

She slowly turned around, her heart pounding. She glanced up. Where was a vent? Way up, in the wall. No way could she reach so high.

Her mind scrambled.

Something hit the outside wall. Hard. She yelped, jumping back. Toward Billy.

“That’s right, little girl. I’m coming,” George bellowed. Something slammed into the wall again, and dust flew.

He was going to tear down the wall. Maybe he’d hit electrical wires and fry himself. Was that even possible?

She needed to think. Think, damn it.

Her fingers hurt. Breath heaved in and out of her lungs. She eyed Billy.

A large thump echoed, and Sheetrock dust flew toward her. Panic had her gasping. George would be inside soon. Why hadn’t she spent two years learning karate instead of yoga?

She slid the razor closed and put the tool in her pocket. With a gulp of a swallow, Josie fell to her knees, reaching for Billy’s pockets. Hopefully he had a weapon.

Nothing in his front pockets.

Closing her eyes, breathing through her nose, she yanked him to the side to check his back pockets.

A phone!

She grabbed the cell, punching in numbers to her office with slippery fingers. Hopefully Shane was there. If not, Vicki would pick up. Billy fell back with an inanimate thud.

“What?” Shane growled in answer.

“Shane!” Josie hissed, forcing herself to lower her voice.

“Josie. Where the hell are you? Whose number is this? I’m in your office—”

“Listen. I’m on the ninth floor in a maintenance room. Billy’s dead. George is going to kill me—”

The head of a sledgehammer plowed through the Sheetrock near the door. Josie screamed and jumped back, stumbling over Billy’s body and falling to the floor. Her butt bounced against the tiles, causing fresh bruises. The phone flew out of her bloody hand, skipping across the room.

Eww. She kicked against Billy’s legs, scrambling to get away from the dead body. Hand over bloody hand print, she crawled up the wall to stand on shaking legs.

She grabbed the box cutter out of her pocket, shakily working to slide the blade out. Her bloody fingers slipped, her nerves screamed in pain. Holding the tool with both hands, she finally pushed hard enough to expose the blade.

George broke the hole in the wall wider, pounding either side of the opening and sending chunks of Sheetrock dust flying. He poked one thick boot through the bottom, kicking drywall toward her. Both beefy hands pulled at the broken wall to open a man-sized hole.

He stepped inside, blood pouring down his face, his brown eyes wide and crazed.

Chills ripped down her back. She lifted the inch-long blade toward him. “I called for help.” Her voice trembled more than her hands. “You should run. Now.”

He grimaced, his gaze on her meager weapon. “You didn’t call nobody.”

She shoved fear to the back of her mind. Think. Focus. Shane’s words from so long ago came flying back. Accept you’re being attacked, breathe, and face reality. Her stance settled.

George leapt forward, both hands grabbing her wrist and swinging her toward the wall. Her knuckles crashed into hard Sheetrock, and she cried out, the blade clattering to the floor. Her foot shot out to kick. George reared back and punched her in the jaw.

Pain ripped through her face. Josie went down.

He grabbed her by the hair, dragging her through the hole and out of the closet. Agony scorched along her scalp.

Bunching her fist, she plowed it into the back of his knee. He yelled, loosening his hold and turning toward her. Scrambling for her feet, she jabbed him in the groin on her way up.

Somebody yanked him away. He released her, bellowing in protest.

Josie dropped to the floor, her vision blurred, her ears ringing.

“Angel,” Shane breathed, gathering her into a seated position. He lifted her chin. “Where are you hurt, sweetheart?” Concern and fury comingled in his eyes.

Josie shivered. “My hands.” Her entire body began to shake. “My jaw.” Where did George go? She glanced around in terror.

The breath caught in her stomach. Matt held George in a headlock, a wicked double-edged knife at her kidnapper’s throat. George’s eyes had gone wide, his body slack. Nathan stood to Matt’s side, a gun in his hand. They’d come for her.

Like a real family would.

Shane eyed her jaw, and his snapped shut. Swiveling to full height, he shot a punch to George’s face. A loud crack split the air. George went limp, and Matt let him fall to the ground. Shane instantly stomped on George’s hand. The sickening sound of knuckles breaking destroyed the silence. He moved for the other fingers.

“Wait.” Matt held up a hand.

Shane circled George like an eagle hungry to strike. “No. He hit her.”

“I know.” Nathan stepped between Shane and George, ignoring his brother’s warning growl. “We need answers, Shane.” He glanced at Josie, his gaze softening. “How badly are you hurt, sweetheart?”

She pushed to her feet. “I’m not. I’m fine.” Her jaw was on fire, and speaking forced tears to her eyes. She batted them back.

Nathan’s upper lip quirked. “Good on you.” He raised an eyebrow. “Why did he take you? Does he know about Shane?”

Josie frowned, rubbing her smarting fingertips together. Blood smeared. “No. His boss is the one who trashed our offices because they want some of my records.”

Shane frowned. “Which records?”

Josie shrugged, trying to catch her breath. “George wouldn’t say. It had to be in one of the four files I took home the other night. Those are the only files they couldn’t get at the office.”

George groaned, rolling to the side.

Shane reached for her wrists and turned her palms over. “What the hell happened to your hands?”

“I grabbed the tiles to block the door.” She bit her lip against tears. Now that the danger had passed, fear clutched her around the throat. No crying. She would not cry.

“Smart girl,” Shane murmured, his hands warm under hers. “You go with Mattie, angel. We’ll be along shortly.” He pushed her gently toward Matt, who put a reassuring arm around her shoulder.

“Oh but—” Reality crashed back. “Billy’s dead. I mean, his body is in the storage room.” Poor Billy.

Nathan raised an eyebrow and hustled through the hole in the wall, plunging back out after a couple moments. “Thirty-five to the head. Point-blank.”

Her knees quivered. George would definitely have killed her. “All four of the accounts I brought home with me were Billy’s clients first.” They were good clients. What did George hope to gain by obtaining their financial information? Or was he trying to cover up Billy’s mistakes? Had he stolen from the companies? If so, for whom?

Shane’s face turned to stone. “Well, then. We need to find out what this guy was looking for, don’t we?” Anticipation and deadly promise whispered through his deep tone. “Matt, please take my wife out of here. We’ll meet you shortly.”

Josie shivered. “No, Shane. I think we should call the police.”

The smile he flashed was one she’d never seen. Hard and dark. “We will. After I get the answers I need.” He nodded at Matt. “The police have seen both Nathan and me—let’s keep you out of this. Take her out of here.”

“I can figure it out from the paperwork—we don’t need this guy.” She struggled against Matt.

Shane shook his head. “No—we need the answers now.”

She faltered. “But, I mean, what if he won’t tell you?” Shane wouldn’t really kill George, would he?

Shane dropped the smile, sadness curling his lip. “He will. I promise.”

Matt tugged her toward the elevator, gently, but not giving an inch.

Josie stumbled, glancing back at her husband. “Do you know how to do this, Shane? I mean, interrogation.”

His eyes turned slate hard. “I know how to do this, angel.”

She faltered, pushing away from Matt.

Shane shifted his gaze to the man writhing on the floor. “Now, Matt.”

Without a word, Matt swung her up in muscular arms. The scent of man and spice surrounded her. She began to struggle even as he stalked to the far corner, his boots thumping on the tile. Her elbow shot tentatively into his gut, and she squirmed in his arms.

Matt tightened his hold and lowered his head. “Stop it. You’ll upset Shane if he thinks I’m hurting you.” He opened a door, stepping into a wide stairwell.

Frustration welled up. How could Shane just let his brother carry her off? Matt was seriously strong, and she couldn’t get free. “Let me go.”

“No.”

“Stop, Matt. Shane’s going to kill George.”

Matt shrugged. “I wouldn’t care if Shane killed the asshole who attacked you, sweetheart. But Shane told you he wouldn’t kill George. So he won’t.” Matt loped down flights of stairs until he kicked open an outside door. Wind whipped hard rain into them, and Matt hunched his body over her, giving shelter. Quick strides had them at her car, where he buckled her in before jumping into the driver’s seat and maneuvering out of the parking lot.

Matt drove quickly through town, taking an unfamiliar exit off the interstate. Businesses and then homes passed by until trees and fields filled the view. The rain slashed against the window of her Toyota, and Josie burrowed farther down in the passenger seat. “We shouldn’t have left Shane to torture that guy.”

Matt’s jaw tightened. “Shane will be fine.”

Then why was tension suddenly filling the cab? Josie sighed. Matt wouldn’t turn back, and there was no way she could help Shane right now. But her clients were another matter. “I should’ve gone back to my office and gotten those files.”

He kept his gaze on the narrow road, his large hands relaxed on the steering wheel. “Your face is pretty banged up. It’s Friday—surely you take off early on Friday sometimes.”

The Hercules hadn’t given her a choice. Just hustled her out of the building. “Why don’t you like me?”

His head jerked. Muscles in his large chest shifted as he exhaled. “I do like you.”

“Do not.”

A dimple flashed in his cheek. Just like Shane’s. “Sure I do.” Matt’s gaze focused on her aching jaw, and he gritted his own, turning back to the road. “Enough to know you don’t belong in our world. You’re too—”

“Soft.” She sighed it. “All three of you have used that term.” It didn’t make any sense. “Maybe you’re all wrong. Whatever shaped you, whatever you think about women… maybe you’re all wrong.” Fog filled the windows, so she reached forward and flipped on the defrost. “I can be pretty tough.”

“I know.” He nodded. “There’s no doubt you’re a tough little thing.”

Why did that not sound like he was agreeing? “You don’t know anything about me.”

Matt had a deep chuckle. “I know everything about you.”

“Is that so? Like what?”

He inhaled. “I’ve read your records, sweetheart. Your hospital reports, your school reports, all the social worker reports. Your school transcripts, any e-mail you’ve ever sent. The court documents when Arthur and Claire Bomont began adoption proceedings.”

What? He’d investigated her? “The adoption proceedings didn’t go through.”

Matt eyed the rearview mirror, his shoulders relaxing as he took another turn. “I know. Claire died, and it took Arthur almost six more months to press forward.”

Surprise had Josie’s hands clutching together. “Six more months? What do you mean he pressed forward?”

Matt flashed her a glance, eyebrows raised. “Ah. Well, he tried to continue adopting you. Wrote letters, even wrote the governor to help. But the officials wouldn’t let a widower, a single man, keep you.”

Warmth, surprise, sadness all flushed through Josie that Arthur had still wanted to keep her, that he’d made an effort to get her back. “I thought he forgot me.” Maybe she should look him up—he was the closest thing she had to a father.

“No. He wanted you, sweetheart.” Matt rubbed his chin, one hand casual on the steering wheel. “Arthur remarried about a decade ago. The woman had three kids, and he seems to have made a good life. I have his contact information if you want it.”

“Maybe.” She needed to think about it and get her life in order first. “So you know all about my childhood. Shane has memories of you as boys at some camp. A military camp.”

Matt’s knuckles tightened on the wheel. “Yeah. We attended military camp.” He increased the speed of the windshield wipers with a flick of his wrist. “What did Shane tell you?”

“Everything.” Could she get information out of Shane’s big brother?

“Ah.” Matt turned on the lights as the forest sped by around them. They were heading into nowhere land. “I see.”

Okay. So he wasn’t going to bite and reveal everything. “Where are we going?”

Matt shrugged. “We rented a cabin for the duration. It’s safe and we can keep an eye on who approaches it.”

“I think I’d rather go to my house.” Enough hiding. “I mean, this whole thing was about me and not Shane, right?” She’d been thinking about it. Apparently Billy had done something or known something that had gotten him killed. Taking another look at those accounting records was a good idea. “My house was bugged because of a client, not Shane’s past.”

“It’s starting to look that way.” Matt turned onto a barely visible dirt road. “Any idea which client? Or why?”

“Maybe. The numbers for a few of the accounts weren’t adding up, but I haven’t figured out where the money has gone. I need to look again.”

“You think someone was skimming? Or laundering money?”

“I don’t know.” The words clicked out before she could weigh the question. “I guess it’s possible Billy was stealing to support his drug habit.” And she should check the other twenty accounts she’d taken over from Billy. Chances were he’d done a good job of hiding the theft but had probably also goofed up on the other files. Negligence and malfeasance from the drug addict. The Toyota bounced along rough potholes. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“That’s the idea.”

Should she be afraid? For some reason, Matt exuded safety and comfort. “You know, I’m still married to Shane.”

“I know.”

“That makes you my brother.”

Matt stiffened. His eyes closed briefly, and he lifted his head to reopen them. “Yes. I guess it does.”

Ah, so much like Shane. The need to protect was ingrained. “I always wanted a brother.” She ignored Matt’s loud exhale. “Alone in the foster homes, sometimes scared, always lonely. I prayed so hard for brothers.” It was the truth. So many times she’d hoped a brother would show up to protect her. Love her. Just be hers.

“You’re killing me.” Matt’s voice dropped to a rumble that sounded just like Shane.

“I know,” she whispered. The second they’d all shown up when she needed help had cinched it for her. She wanted a family—no matter how damaged it might be. “But I’m not letting him go this time. You might as well get on board now.” Realizing the truth, admitting it out loud, filled her with determination. “I’ve wanted a family my entire life. Now I’ve got one.” Whoever they were, whatever they’d done, they were hers. Right or wrong, she was keeping them. “That includes you, Matt.”

The sound he gave may have been a groan. A strangled groan. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Of course I do. The danger is over. We know one of my clients bugged my house. This isn’t about Shane. He’s safe.”

“Ah, darlin’. Shane will never be safe. And if he alerted us to his presence, he alerted the—”

“The?”

Matt cleared his throat. “Jesus. You’re good.” He took a turn between two large blue spruce trees onto a weed-riddled path. The Toyota jerked and dipped along the uneven road. “You need to understand we have enemies, and now they probably know exactly where Shane is.”

“You could get him to safety.”

Matt nodded. “Yes. I will get him to safety—whether he likes it or not.”

Relief had Josie’s shoulders relaxing. “Thanks. Now tell me about the military camp you all went to as kids. It sounds bad.”

“No.” Matt squinted into the pelting rain.

“Okay. Tell me about you. What do you do?”

“Um, I’m a U.S. marshal.”

Now that made no sense. Otherwise he would’ve called the cops and not let Shane torture George for information “No, you’re not.”

Matt flashed a grin. “Yeah, I am. For now, anyway.”

“Why?” She actually felt like a pestering younger sister. Warmth filtered through her along with curiosity. “I’ll bug you until you tell me.”

He rolled his eyes. “I need to find somebody, and marshals find people.”

“Who are you trying to find?”

“A woman who has answers I need.” His jaw hardened.

“It sounds like you don’t like her much.” Josie shivered. Having Matt as an enemy would be downright terrifying.

“No. Let’s just say she’s not a softie like you.”

Frustration ripped through her nerves. “Tell me something. What the hell is up with you guys and soft women? I mean, what makes you think most of us can’t face this world?”

“Ah, Josie. There are parts of this world you can’t even imagine. I wouldn’t want you to.” He shook his head. “More importantly, I wouldn’t want someone to hurt you to get to Shane. There are people out there who would be overjoyed to harm you.”

So much responsibility and determination in the set of Matt’s shoulders. “You’re the oldest, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Responsible for everybody?”

“Yes.”

“That’s quite the burden, Matt. Three brothers to be responsible for.”

He pulled abreast a large log cabin, switching off the ignition and turning to face her. “Two brothers these days. And now one sister.”