Forgotten Sins

Chapter 6

Pain exploded across Shane’s cheek as the second man landed a punch. Flashes sparked behind his eyes. Memories. Noise, fighting, brutal and deadly.

He dropped to one knee, next to the man he’d just killed. The knife was kicked out of his hand to go spinning under the bed. Explosions ripped through his brain. A firefight in Asia. A training field with the dead littering the ground. Flashes of moments in time. Blurry, loud, confusing, the thoughts hit him harder than the bastard throwing punches.

Something ripped through his ear canal. Sounds… so many, so harsh, flooded his senses. Sounds beyond the normal. A car honked miles away. Cats hissed in a fight four neighborhoods over. Memories of other cars, other animals, tumbled through his mind.

Shane tried to yank his attention to the present, blocking his face from the worst of the hits. His limbs seemed weighted down with huge blocks.

A memory slammed him like a sledgehammer to the chest. Jory. Pain. Gone.

Glass crunched as a third man jumped through the window.

Shane caught a glimmer of gold from the corner of his eye. Josie’s hair. Her pretty eyes fluttered closed, and she dropped to the ground, unconscious.

Time stopped. All pain receded. Focus shot through him like an electrical current. He calmed. One thing mattered, only one.

Protecting his woman.

He leapt up, both legs flying to encircle the hitter’s throat. Twisting his knees, Shane cut off the guy’s air supply as they fell to the ground. He didn’t feel the jarring impact. An elbow to the temple knocked the intruder out cold. Rolling, Shane released him and flipped backward to his feet.

No questions, no concerns, nothing existed but the threat in front of him. The third man yanked a Sharkman Fixed-Blade out from behind his back. He stood about six foot, packed hard, with dead brown eyes.

“As combat knives go, that’s a good choice.” Shane said. How could he identify the kind of knife but not know his middle name? “Though I prefer the Black Frog.”

The guy smiled, showing a gold tooth. “That’s a good one, too.”

Shane angled to the side, keeping his body between Josie and the weapon. “Leave and I won’t kill you.” Probably not a true statement. He could think of twenty different ways to kill the guy without moving his feet from their current position. The blood flowing through the guy’s veins made a soft sound. One Shane shouldn’t be able to hear. He’d worry about that knowledge later. Right now, his focus was absolute.

The guy lunged.

Shane pivoted, slamming the heel of his hand against the man’s wrist and smoothly stealing the knife. Two steps forward, and he plunged the knife into the side of the guy’s jugular. Following his prey to the ground, he used both hands to slice open the man’s neck, fighting against cartilage and bone. Knowledge slammed into him that, although difficult, the task was easier than it should’ve been. His strength wasn’t normal, either.

Sirens trilled in the distance.

He stilled, glancing at the phone on the floor. Josie had dialed 911.

The blood rushed through his ears as he took in the bloody scene. He’d killed two men and knocked one out. Something whispered in the back of his head that he should take care of the unconscious man. Kill him so he couldn’t seek revenge.

Shane tried to take a deep breath and regretted it as the stench of death filled his lungs. God, who the hell was he? Why could he do such amazing things? None of the memories flashing back were good—none showed a decent life. His head pounded, and his gut clenched tighter than his fists. His bloody fists.

But instinct ordered him to take out the last man for good. So he stood and took a step toward the prone figure.

Josie groaned.

He stopped cold.

For the first time that night, his hands began to tremble. His angel lay on the floor surrounded by death and blood. What kind of a monster was he?

He’d left her, and now he’d brought danger to her door. Her distrust of him had ticked him off earlier, but now he had to acknowledge that her instincts were probably good. This time. Shame filled him that he’d left her alone. Why? Those memories had to come back.

Small, she lay curled on her side, delicate features so pale. He had to get her out of there. Grabbing a pillowcase, he quickly wiped blood off his face and hands, tossing the material onto the floor. Leaning over, he reached down to gently pick her up.

Two cops met him in the hallway, young and earnest, guns aimed at him.

Fire zapped along his vertebrae. Absolute calm followed. Moves to disable them, to kill them, ran through his brain so fast his shoulders tensed.

Josie stirred in his arms.

The closest cop settled his stance, his gun aimed at Shane’s head. “Put her down.” The kid had to be about twenty.

Shane took a deep breath. “No.”

The cop’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “I don’t want to shoot you, man.” His hand wavered just enough to increase Shane’s heart rate.

Shane leaned against the wall in case he needed to balance and kick out. “Call Detective Malloy. He knows what’s going on. Tell him someone broke into Josie Dean’s place.”

The other cop, just as young as the first, tilted his head and spoke into the radio strapped to his shoulder. He listened and then straightened up. “Malloy already heard the call—he’s on the way. And he sounds… pissed.”

“Yeah, I assume so.” Shane pivoted, fighting every instinct he owned so he could turn his back on the guns. “I’m putting my wife in her room. Feel free to follow me, but if you point the gun in her direction again, I’m taking it away from you.”

Not by one whit did he doubt he could do it. So many different ways to disarm the cops flashed through his head, his skull began to ache. Memories of fights, of stripping away weapons, of his killing people, ripped through his mind.

Whoever or whatever he was… there was no way he was the good guy.

Pity.

Men’s voices awakened Josie. She opened her eyes, keeping her body motionless in self-protection. A trick she’d learned from the foster parent who hit.

One voice filtered through the rest. Shane. Safety.

She sat up on her bed. “What in the world?”

Shane grabbed her hand from his perch next to her. How did they get back into her room? His gaze ran over her face. So serious. So pissed.

She fought a shiver. “What—”

“Flash grenade,” he muttered, wiping blood off his forehead with the back of his free hand. A cut splayed open above his left eye, and fresh bruises mingled with the yellowing ones already on his strong face and down his bare torso. He’d somehow donned jeans.

How many bruises could one body take?

Early sunshine glinted off the sparkling wooden floor. Cops in uniform strode by in the hallway, placing markers, taking pictures. Muted voices came from the guest room. A figure pushed off from the wall, his deep brown eyes bloodshot. “Mrs. Dean.”

“Detective Malloy.” Josie glanced down at her bare legs. Shane grabbed a blanket off the end of the bed to drape over her. “Ah, what happened?”

“Well, Mrs. Dean, as far as we can tell, three men attacked you and your husband. Two bodies are in the guest room, and one man is on his way to the ER.”

Bodies? Nausea swirled in her gut. Shane had killed two men? So what, his body count was up to five this week? “Who were they?” Her voice cracked at the end. The men had violated her home, her sanctuary. Maybe safety didn’t exist.

Shane stiffened. “They haven’t been identified yet, angel.” He dropped his gaze to her trembling lips. “Hold on, the next ambulance should be here soon.”

“I don’t want an ambulance.” She tightened her jaw to still her lips. “I’m not going to the hospital again.” Fear made her voice tremble, and she cleared her voice.

His focus narrowed. “Why not?”

He really didn’t remember anything, or he’d never ask that question. She’d already told him about her childhood, and the story had seriously pissed him off. It was all she could do to keep him from hunting down the bastard who’d hit her. She glanced away, seeking comfort in the pretty Norman Rockwell prints of peaceful homes she’d hung on the walls. “I don’t like hospitals. Most people don’t.”

“Josie.” Low, commanding, his voice held no quarter.

They hadn’t seen one another in two years, and yet her body reacted instantly to that tone. Sexy and male, it tingled down her spine. Her gaze swung to his. Deep gray, his eyes demanded an answer, as if there weren’t cops all around them. She struggled to derail his concentration. “Who’s after you?”

He blinked twice. His hold tightened. Finally, he ran a hand over his face. “I don’t know. I’m so sorry I brought them to you.” He shook his head. “I didn’t think—”

Malloy cleared his throat. “I heard back from Pendleton, Major Dean. You retired over two years ago, with full honors.”

Confusion swirled in Josie’s brain. She’d forgotten about Malloy. “No, no, that’s not right. He stayed in the marines. I always assumed he left on a mission.” That he’d be back for her someday.

“He retired on June first two years ago, Mrs. Dean.” Malloy studied them both, the gun at his hip outlined through his cheap jacket.

Betrayal hit her like a fist in the gut. Shane had left her in August—two months after retiring. Where had he gone every day when he’d said he was going to work? Who the hell was her husband?

Shane exhaled. No expression showed on his battered face. “Any idea where I’ve been for two years?”

“Nope. Your commanding officer said you left without a word, just took off. Though he said you were a hero first. Saved several lives.” Malloy’s voice remained steady and without inflection. Cop voice.

Josie shook her head. She’d believed the lies. Just like a domestic violence victim. Tom might be right. Maybe she should get out of town. Hell, maybe she should take a chance on a guy who trusted her… a guy who let her in and didn’t lie. “You lied to me, Shane.” Her voice came out small, weak.

Shane exhaled. “We don’t know that, sweetheart. Let me find out what was going on. Possibly I went undercover or something.”

Her vision blurred. Perhaps the flash grenade had given her a concussion. She blinked to clear her head.

Malloy scribbled in his tattered notebook. “Mrs. Dean, please relate what happened here tonight.”

Josie took a deep breath and recalled the grenade and seeing the fight. “But it was all hazy. I didn’t understand what was going on.” Her voice trembled. She would not cry.

Shane scooped her up, blanket and all, and tugged her to his bare chest. Scars lined his angular form, knife and bullet wounds now partially camouflaged by new bruises. Heat radiated from his hard body, an oasis of warmth in the chill of the room.

She didn’t trust him, and she sure as heck shouldn’t be on his lap. But the warm illusion of safety was too tempting to fight—for now. For a moment, she needed to pretend. She wet her dry lips and let him shelter her—temporarily. “How long was I out?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

He’d killed two men in less than half an hour. She shivered and he tucked her closer. His familiar scent of heated cedar surrounded her. He’d killed. To protect her, but still, he’d ended the lives of those two men. Yeah. That scared her.

Malloy flipped his notebook closed. “You folks stay here.” He headed out of the room toward the guest room.

Shane shifted, resting her against the headboard and rising from the bed. His gaze took in the entire room, studying each corner, each nook. “What the hell is that buzzing?” He stilled and seemed to center himself in absolute concentration.

Josie frowned, the room cooling her again without his body heat near. “There’s no buzzing.” Had he been hit in the head again?

Finally, with a frown, he stalked over to the phone base on her nightstand.

“What’s going on?” Josie pulled the blanket up higher.

Shane shook his head, lifting the base and peering at the bottom. His jaw tightened. Flaring his nostrils, he yanked a round silver disc off to throw on the floor.

“What’s that?”

Shane held up a hand and grabbed her cowboy boot from the closet. Quick motions sent the heel smashing the disc into pieces. “Fucking bug.”

A bug? Someone had bugged her room? “What are you talking about?”

“They sent the grenade into the guest room. Where I was sleeping. How did they know?” Shane swept the pieces under her dresser with his bare foot. “Don’t say anything to Malloy. Something happened when I was hit… my hearing is unbelievable all of a sudden.” He stalked toward her, his eyes the swirling gray of a winter storm. “Has my hearing always been beyond the norm?”

She shrugged. “Not that I know about.” Of course, she wouldn’t know now, would she?

He gave a short nod. “Do you need a doctor?”

“No.” A shrink maybe.

“Good. Pack a bag.” He glanced at his bare chest. “Damn it. I’m sure they won’t let me get my shirt from the crime scene.”

Josie blushed, scrambling off the bed. “I, uh… may have another of your shirts in the bottom drawer of my dresser.” He didn’t comment, just tugged open the drawer and yanked on a faded Marine Corps T-shirt. “Thanks.”

She panicked and dressed quickly. If they were going to argue, she needed to be fully dressed. “I’m not leaving with you.”

Reaching into her closet, he tossed her clothes in a bag. “You’re in danger… more than I thought. You are leaving.”

He meant it. He’d try and take her, regardless of the cops in the other room. Chances were, he’d succeed. What should she do? She couldn’t trust him, but he knew how to fight and win. Why didn’t that reassure her? “The cops will shoot you.”

His shrug made him wince as he glanced down at his torso. “I’ve been shot before.”

She edged toward the hallway.

He grabbed her arm, his hold firm. “Josie, I know things are complicated. But three killers just stormed your house. You need protection, and I’m better than the cops.”

Her thoughts slugged through her mind in slow motion. Should she leave with him? What about the police? But he was right—he’d taken care of the threat. What was wrong with her? She didn’t trust him, but she couldn’t walk away. Her lungs compressed. If she didn’t go with him, would she ever see him again? Maybe not, and she couldn’t take that chance. She had to know who he was—whom she’d married. And she wanted to live. For now, he was her best bet. So many conflicting emotions ripped through her that her stomach hurt.

He led her through the hall and into the kitchen.

Malloy met them at the door. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Shane’s nostrils flared. “The hospital. The ambulance is too late, and I’m taking my wife for a checkup.”

Malloy frowned. “I’ll meet you there when we’re finished with the scene.”

Confusion hazed in Josie’s brain, but instinct pushed her to go. Quickly. She stumbled alongside Shane as he led her to the garage and lifted her into the SUV.

“Put on your seat belt.” Quick strides put him behind the vehicle, and he backed out of the garage.

“Why didn’t you tell Malloy about the bug?” She clasped her frozen hands in her lap.

Streetlights played across the dangerous angles of Shane’s face. “The detective isn’t prepared for whatever’s going on here.”

“And you are?” Okay. That did scare her.

“Yep.” He circled the block, scrutinizing the homes stirring to life with the dawn. “In your neighborhood, is there an empty house, one for sale or one with the owners on a long vacation?”

“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.