Forgotten Sins

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.

“I can put you somewhere safe, Mrs. Dean,” Detective Malloy said.

“You should let the police help.” Tom rubbed her shoulder.

“I’m not hiding.” Her voice trembled and she straightened her posture. She deserved answers, and she’d get them. Besides, something deep down whispered that the police couldn’t hide her from Shane. He had skills none of them had realized. So she needed to be ready when he showed up again. And she needed to warn Tom.

Malloy nodded. “I have your contact information, Mrs. Dean. We’ll be in touch.”

They hurried out of the station. The fall sunshine failed to warm her face as Tom hustled her toward his battered truck. A scratched tool box stretched across the front of the bed, holding all of the tools Tom had brought from Texas.

The hair on the back of her neck rose. Her body instinctively stilled. She glanced around the parking lot. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. No eyes on her. But she jumped into the front seat and leaned against the clean material with a sigh.

Tom loped around the front, stepped inside, and started the engine to pull away from the station. “So. What a mess, huh?” His dimples flashed.

Josie shook her head. Leave it to Tom to try and cheer her up. “You could say that.”

“How about we drive somewhere safe? Anywhere you want to go.” Tom aimed them at the interstate toward his home outside of town.

“I’m tempted, but can’t. You know I have that audit all next week.” The books weren’t adding up at work, a fact that should be consuming her. While she’d fixed one account, she had several more to check. Plus, she’d had to start at the bottom of the Washington branch when she’d moved from California. She was a good CPA. No way was she letting Shane Dean screw up her job or her life. Not again. Besides, deep down, she knew he’d find her. No matter what.

They drove in silence for a while. Tom finally took the east exit, winding around the lake toward his home.

“I don’t suppose he signed the divorce papers before you found out Dean was a stalker.” Work-roughened hands tightened on the steering wheel, but Tom’s voice remained steady as he stopped in the driveway and pressed the garage door button.

She huffed out a breath. “That would make life too easy. I’m so sorry.” None of this was fair to him. One day in Shane’s world and she’d almost slept with him. He’d taken her heart three years ago, and she wasn’t getting it back. “I’ve really screwed things up this time.” She had no idea what Shane was up to, why he’d been watching her. But even now part of her hoped for a good explanation. She loved him. “I’m such a fool.”

Tom waited for the automatic garage door to rise. “We’ll figure this out, Josie. I promise.”

His tone was soft and gentle, and she’d heard him use it before while on the phone. She grinned. “You’re using your ‘I’m dealing with my younger sisters’ voice right now.”

He started, his eyes sparkling. “I have a voice with my sisters?”

Oh yeah. As the older brother to what sounded like three wild younger sisters, he had a tone he used. “I’ve listened to you talking to them on the phone. Last month when Sylvia wanted to drop her business major and study ceramic pottery, you really used the voice.”

Tom snorted. “That was crazy. Thank goodness she changed her mind. For now, anyway.”

What would it have been like to grow up with siblings? With people who cared what happened in her life? Josie sighed, her gaze focusing Tom’s half-finished ranch house. A tight tarp covered part of the house as Tom waited for time and money to finish it. Cedar shakes lined the sides of the finished part of the home—a place perfect for a real family. She knew Tom wanted that family. “I don’t know what to do. Nothing seems real.”

Tom pulled the car into the garage and shut off the ignition. He reached for her hand, his larger one warming hers. “Life gets messy, sweetheart.” She glanced up at his smile. “But you’re a very smart woman. I have no doubt you’ll figure this out.”

Relief and gratitude flowed through her until her knees wobbled. Tears pricked her eyes. Tom believed in her. She was smart and tougher than anyone knew. It was time she woke up. A great guy sat in front of her—one who was honest with her. A man who wanted what she needed in life—a stable home and a loving family. Kids. Sometimes her empty arms ached with the need for a baby, when she could keep one safe, that was. “I need to warn you. Shane is dangerous, and he might be coming after you. There were several pictures of you and me in his house.” If Shane hurt Tom, she’d never forgive herself.

Tom eyed her and then nodded. “I know. The police warned me.”

“So I probably shouldn’t be here.” But where could she go?

“This is exactly where you should be.” Tom brushed an errant hair off her cheek. “We’re stronger together, and don’t worry, I can fight.”

Yeah, he’d told her about his boxing for fun days. Josie sighed. “You didn’t see him fight—see him kill. He’s gifted in a bad way.”

Tom nodded and opened his door. “We’ll be safe, Josie. Come on. It’s Saturday night. Let’s have a wild one and watch a movie.” Tom tugged her from the car, enveloping her in a hug. “Life will work out. I promise.”

Shane jogged around the perimeter, the gun comfortable in his hand. He’d retrieved the nine-millimeter from the bungalow before running. His bungalow, he figured. What had he been doing spying on his own wife? He dodged around a thick spruce. Nice of Marsh to live at the edge of the forest. So many places to hide. If the bastard didn’t take his hands off Josie, the man would die at the edge of the forest. Shane paused. He’d killed before. And not just earlier that day. Was he a killer? Regularly or just for the military? Did it matter? His torso and ribs had already healed, which seemed off. Way too quick.

The forest spread out empty and safe around him. Uncertainty had him pausing. He should run. Just get the hell out of there and leave Josie to rebuild her life. He should go find those brothers he couldn’t remember.

The idea of leaving her, even for the right reasons, tightened his chest until he couldn’t breathe. Memories or not, she was his air. The fact made absolutely no sense, yet he clung to it with a desperation that scared the shit out of him. He couldn’t remember her and had certainly hurt her. Yet he couldn’t leave her again. Was it some weird stalker mentality? Or God, could it be something good? Something right?

Chances weren’t good on that score. But he wasn’t leaving until he figured it out.

He scaled a tree, perching in the top to stare down into Marsh’s sparse living room. The man ate popcorn and watched two movies with Shane’s wife. Shane could hear the television as clearly as if he were sitting in the room. Maybe he should get an MRI and see if there was some sort of implant or device in his head. No way was his hearing normal.

The cutest dimples flashed when Josie laughed at a scene. Her hands worked gracefully with her knitting as she watched the movie. Looked like she was making a scarf.

A warmth heated in Shane’s chest. She’d kicked his ass. A groin shot was an easy one to be expected from a small woman defending herself. But the kick to the head. Well now. That was impressive. No hesitation, no fear. She’d aimed for his temple and nearly knocked him out. Before she ran toward the cop.

Shane had thought about pursuing her, taking on the cop, and retrieving his wife. Too many men had still been in the house. He didn’t need to fight the entire police force. Not yet, anyway.

His gaze wandered over her pale skin and delicate features. His woman. He wondered at the possessiveness. Had he always felt it? Or was it new, flourishing since she was the only link to the life he’d led? The man he was?

As he watched her, he settled on an answer. He’d always felt it. She was his. While his motive remained unclear, he wasn’t going to figure it out while they remained apart. He needed to retrieve her and soon.

The movie ended. Tom and Josie retired to separate bedrooms. Good. Relief he probably didn’t deserve flowed through him. He scouted the area again. Marsh owned an acre surrounded on two sides by expansive federal land. Pine, spruce, and cottonwood trees stood like silent sentinels offering shelter. Wildlife scampered naturally. Any predators close by were solely of the four-legged variety. All was secure. Josie was safe for a while.

Shane turned to lope back through the forest toward the hidden van. He’d traded the vehicle for Josie’s SUV, leaving her car where it would be found. She needed her car.

Now he needed to question the guy at the hospital and then head to Josie’s place and check out the bugs. How many had he planted? Where and why? He hoped he didn’t have to break into the police station to see all the evidence. But if he did, then he would. Somehow he figured he had the skills. Knew he had them, in fact.

He needed to remember. Dark and blank, the interior of his head kept him out. Maybe for his own protection. Not knowing himself was driving him crazy. Why had he been stalking Josie? His fists clenched and unclenched. Who were his brothers? Did he hurt them, too? Did they want anything to do with him, or not? He had to remember his past. Maybe, no matter how bad he’d been, just maybe he could fix everything?

Something told him he wasn’t going to like who he found. Who he was. The thought weighed heavily on him, and bile rose from his stomach.

He slid into the car and drove down the road, trying to force memories into his conscience. Only a blank slate rose to his internal search. A big, black empty hole. Frustration settled like a rock in his gut. Or maybe that was fear. If he couldn’t figure out who he was, how in the world was he going to protect Josie?

If he had brothers, shouldn’t they be looking for him? The name Jory caused something to hurt in his solar plexus. A weight squeezed his lungs.

The lights of the hospital soon came into view, and he scouted the parking lot for the best space in case he needed to make a quick exit. Finding one close to the curb, he parked and jumped out, striding toward the staff door as if he had every right to do so. It was too early to search Josie’s house, so he’d make good use of his time before heading to discover her secrets, and maybe some of his own.

A nurse in green scrubs slid her card through the slider, and he opened the door for her, returning her smile as she walked inside and hurried to a large lounge set to the right.

Two steps inside and the scent of bleach slammed into him. Sparks flashed behind his eyes. He staggered against the wall as memories cut deep. A dim picture of him sitting on a gurney in a dingy hospital room with a man digging something out of his leg. Crumbling concrete made up the walls. Pain had exploded along his shin. A bullet. The man had been digging out a bullet.

Almost in slow motion, the guy rose, smiling. “Got it.”

The man had gray eyes. The exact color of Shane’s eyes.

The strangled gasp Shane made as he returned to the present echoed around the empty room. Jesus Christ. Leaning down, he rubbed a scar along his left leg. Nausea swirled in his gut. His hands shook. Finally, more memories were flooding back. Relief and fear slammed through him. He’d been shot, and his brother had helped him. The first look at his family made his mind spin. But now wasn’t the time.

Damn it. He had a job to do.

The first few steps were more like stumbles, and then he found his stride. Focus. Forget the past images and focus. The voice in his head wasn’t his, yet he trusted it implicitly. He continued down the hallway, pausing in front of a room that housed several dictating machines along with computers.

Dodging inside, he sat and let his fingers fly across the keyboard. Interesting. He knew how to type and rather quickly. He didn’t know the name of the computer program, but he knew how to use it. Several codes led him to a screen that listed all new admittances. Two pages into the database, and Shane found his man.

The world centered again. He felt nothing. Odd and creepy talent, that.

Quiet reigned along the corridor as he strode out of the computer room, peering inside supply closets until he found a light blue hospital gown and some bandages. Concentrating, he forced the millions of sounds that whirled in his head into a blur of white noise that wouldn’t disturb him. Grabbing what he needed, he hurried out of the staff area and past the emergency room, riding the elevator up to the correct floor. Disembarking, he found a restroom and hustled inside to change into the gown.

The cool breeze filtered across his butt when he stepped outside. Shane fought a growl.

An empty room contained a half-filled IV of saline, and he grabbed the piping, taping the cord to his wrist. Then he walked the hall. Room 700 soon came into view. The cop dozing outside the door may have been on the lookout for a guy in scrubs. Or a doctor’s uniform.

But not a patient.

Not a bruised, lurching, wounded patient in battered slippers tugging his IV cart behind him. As Shane limped by, the cop looked up, giving him a nod. Shane grimaced and kept walking. He lapped the entire floor, and this time when he drew near, the cop’s chin rested on his chest, his snores echoing across the hall.

Shane slid inside the room. The door clicked shut behind him. The patient lay in a neat hospital bed, much cleaner than the one that recently flared through Shane’s memory.

He ditched the IV cart and stalked toward the bed, flipping over the guy’s chart. His name was Ray. Shane’s kick to the gut had broken five ribs; one rib had pierced a lung. Ouch. Shane scratched his head. He could decipher doctor’s notes. But something told him he wasn’t a doctor.

Ray filled out the bed at probably six foot, two-fifty. Matted black hair pressed to his head. Dark circles slashed under his eyes. Surgery had probably been a bitch. Shane pressed his hand over the patient’s mouth. Ray started, his eyes flying open. He struggled, then stilled.

Shane smiled. “Sorry about the ribs.”

No response.

“So. You understand I could kill you in seconds?”

A nod.

“Good.” Shane removed his hand. “Why?”

Ray’s forehead wrinkled. “Why what?” He whispered, a good sign.

“Why did you try to kill me?”

Ray shrugged. “The job paid good. We were supposed to knock you both out and start the house on fire. I got alimony to pay—”

“I don’t care.” Shane eyed the slow breathing. The guy was drugged. “Were you watching me from a blue van the other day?”

“Yeah. We were supposed to watch you—well, until the order came in to kill you.”

“Who hired you?”

“Denny hired me.” Ray’s blue eyes hardened. “He’s the guy you stabbed to death.”

“I didn’t stab him. I sliced his jugular.” A significant difference. The fact that dumbass Ray didn’t know that showed he was just hired muscle. A moron. Certainly not trained well enough to go up against a killer. Shane might have no clue as to his identity, but something told him his enemies knew exactly who he was. Shouldn’t they have sent someone better? “Who hired Denny?”

“No fucking clue, man. Paid ten large for each of us.”

Ten grand. Josie’s life was worth less than ten grand to this asshole. Something must’ve shown on his face because Ray shrank back, jaw quivering. Shane pierced him with a glare. “You’re going to give me more than that, Ray. Because I really want to kill you right now—with a lot of pain.”

Fear widened Ray’s eyes. “Okay, I mean, okay. Denny said we had to make sure everyone in the house died, and that the whole thing burned to the ground.”

So they couldn’t be identified? Who wanted him wiped from the earth? Shane frowned. “What’s Denny’s last name?”

“Clinton. Denny Clinton. He freelances for area bookies and anyone who needs, well…”

Needs someone dead. Not much of a lead, though the fact that Denny was local created possibilities. Somebody might’ve followed Shane to Snowville and then hired local muscle. Denny could’ve been working for anybody. “I’m not going to kill you today, Ray.” Though every instinct Shane had whispered that was a mistake.

But until he could figure out his past, he wasn’t going to do something so permanent as murder when there was a choice. Something told him once he remembered his life, he’d change that theory. Maybe he’d even hunt down good old Ray.

However, even now with his brain a blank slate, there was no question Shane would kill for Josie. He leaned forward, crowding the bed with his bulk. “But if you come near my wife again, if I even seen you in the same vicinity…”

Ray lifted bruised hands, palms out. “I get it, man. I get it.”