Malloy shrugged. “We don’t know yet. But a preliminary examination shows the first two died from broken necks.” His finger tapped on the third picture of a man with mottled bruises and cuts marring his face. “This guy probably died from an intense beating that crushed his skull—we’ll know more after the autopsies tomorrow.” The detective glanced at the damaged knuckles of Shane’s hand resting on the table.
“Any forensics?” Shane’s voice remained pleasant and unconcerned.
“Not yet. But I’m sure we’ll find something.” Malloy raised an eyebrow. “Do either of you recognize these men?”
Josie studied the pictures, a lump forming in her throat. Had Shane killed three men with his bare hands? Was he capable of such an act? Her skin pricked with awareness and a new sense of self-preservation. She didn’t know the man she’d married. “I don’t recognize them.”
Shane’s hand settled at her nape.
She jumped.
Malloy’s eyes narrowed.
Shane rubbed her neck in soothing circles that failed to soothe. “I don’t know them.”
“We found a baseball bat near one of them.” Malloy took out a picture of a metal slugger. “It was in the river, but we’ll find prints on the handle.”
Shane shrugged. “We both know you already printed the bat, and if you’d found any, you’d have said so.”
Josie stiffened. How did he know that?
Malloy surveyed her. “Are you sure you don’t recognize any of these men, Mrs. Dean?”
“Yes.” She kept her voice low to prevent it from quivering. “Why do you ask?”
Malloy reached into a second file for an evidence bag holding a battered piece of paper. “Because we found your picture in the pocket of a dead man.”
Chapter 5
Josie reached out with trembling fingers to touch the wrinkled paper. The picture was from her firm’s website and had been printed on cheap computer paper. Her knees trembled and the air in her lungs chilled. “Why would someone have my picture?”
Shane shook his head. “So the mugging wasn’t random.”
“No.” Malloy tapped his pen on the table. “These men were looking for Mrs. Dean.”
“Why?” Josie turned toward Shane. “I don’t understand. Why would these guys be looking for me? And why hurt you?” Reality began spinning away from her along with her sense of safety. Fear tasted like acid in her throat. “How did you meet up with them?” So many questions, and the answers remained locked in Shane’s hard head.
His jaw tightened. He grabbed the paper, studying her smiling face. “I don’t know. But this picture is off the Internet, right?” At her nod, he exhaled. “We’ll discuss the safety in posting your face online later.” He tossed the paper back down. “They needed the picture to identify you. My assumption is they were looking for me, considering someone bashed my head in.” The chair creaked as he sat back. “Of course, we need to get you somewhere safe while we figure this out.”
Had those men been looking for her? What if they’d found her? No way could she have defended herself against all three of them. “The three guys with my picture are dead.” Probably by Shane’s hand.
He eyed the picture. “There could be more men after us.”
“After you.” Or maybe after her. What was she going to do? “Maybe I should take a vacation. By myself.”
He shifted his focus, his gaze wandering her face, a smile flirting with his lips. “You’re stuck with me for now, angel. Deal with that fact.” The smile did nothing to camouflage the determination setting his hard jaw.
Malloy cleared his throat. “I can put you somewhere safe, Mrs. Dean.” His chest puffed out.
Josie fought to keep from choking on the testosterone that thickened the air. “I need a minute to myself, gentlemen.” The word probably didn’t apply to either man sitting in the room. What should she do?
Hiding out didn’t seem like a smart option… especially without a timeline. She couldn’t just abandon work, especially since she needed to correct Billy’s files—and then make partner. The security from such a position would allow her finally to relax a little bit, and the only way she’d get the promotion would be to stay visible. At the firm, anyway. “Is there another alternative?”
Malloy sighed. “I can have a black-and-white check by your house during patrol. We don’t have the manpower to put someone on your house twenty-four hours a day, but I’ll do what I can.” He slid the paper into a file, tapping the entire stack into a neat pile and eyeing Shane. “I’m assuming you’ll be staying with her?”
“Yes.”
Josie blinked several times. Why would those men want her? What was Shane involved in? What if they came after her? Sure, she remembered some self-defense. Not enough, though. She’d purposefully decided to take yoga instead of karate to keep in shape. The exact opposite of what Shane would’ve told her to do.
Malloy stood. “I don’t have any other questions for you right now but would appreciate you keeping me informed of your location.”
“Of course.” Shane pushed back from the table and stood, assisting Josie to her feet. “Let me know if you identify the men in the morgue.”
“I will. Although you’ll probably remember them soon, I’d think.” The detective crossed around the table. “I’ll show you out.”
* * *
Well past midnight, darkness filtering in the window, Josie finished knitting a scarf and laid it on the bed to admire it, her mind ablaze with thoughts. Shades of copper speckled the scarf’s pattern, guaranteed to bring out the amber flecks in Tom’s eyes. She’d been working on the scarf for him for about a week. Maybe she should’ve called him back after dinner. Should she tell Tom about Shane staying with her? She and Tom were just friends, but something more had hinted between them lately, and she liked him.
A year or two younger than her, Tom was a good guy, a construction worker with big dreams. And he believed in her dreams. Of course, right now her biggest dream was getting back to her safe life.
Was she in danger now? Were the men after her, or did they have her picture because they sought Shane? She and Shane had left the police station and run to a clothing store to buy him jeans. He’d scowled the entire time and had been quiet, lost in his own thoughts. Not sharing them with her and not providing any answers—just like old times. Once home, they’d both headed to bed.
Charming in a boyish way, Tom never hid his emotions from her.
Pressing her hand to her abdomen, she centered her thoughts and concentrated on breathing, allowing fear to slide away. For two years she’d taken meditation and yoga classes in an effort to stay calm. Maybe she should’ve been taking shooting lessons.
The knife she’d grabbed from the kitchen gleamed on her nightstand. The blade was big enough to cut through a twenty-pound turkey. Just in case the muggers returned—she wanted the weapon near.
The cell phone buzzed, and seeing Tom’s number come up, she answered it.
“There you are,” Tom said. “Sorry it’s so late. I can’t sleep.”
“Me either.” She and Tom often spoke late into the night, both too tired to sleep after a hard day’s work. Now, more than ever, she needed to talk. She needed to get the words out to someone she trusted. To someone who would understand and hopefully have insight into fixing everything.
She took a deep breath. “Remember when I crashed into you in the elevator a couple of months ago?”
Tom chuckled. “When we met? Yes. You were late for a meeting and tripped—and you apologized for being a mess.”
She had been a disaster, just having found out about the possible promotion. Tom, catching her attention with his shaggy hair and strong jawline, had quickly helped her right all the papers, telling her to take a deep breath. He’d also grinned and promised she wasn’t a mess.
Swallowing, she settled against the headboard. “I’m a mess again. You wouldn’t believe the night I’ve had.” Tom had become her confidant, and she couldn’t stop now.
Taking a deep breath, she told him the entire story, starting with the phone call from the hospital. Tom had known about Shane from the beginning and had encouraged her to file the divorce papers without waiting for Shane’s input. Of course, Tom’s divorce had him miserable, so she hadn’t wanted to follow suit right away.
Dead silence met her when she wound down her story. Unease pricked the back of her neck. “Tom?”
He exhaled loudly. “Wow.” More quiet pounded between them. “I’m not sure what to say. I mean, this sounds like something from Law and Order—with amnesia, dead bodies, and your photo trampled in the mud at a crime scene. You know this isn’t good, right?” Concern animated his deep voice. A fridge closed at his end, echoing across the line. She could almost see him prowling through his half-finished house with the phone pressed to his ear. He lived in the finished part while he waited for the money to build the rest.
“I know it sounds unreal.” There was no rational way to explain why she let Shane sleep in the next room. “I wish I could explain.”
Tom sighed. “You don’t owe me an explanation. I understand you’re married and the ties that implies, even if you are seeking a divorce. And I sure as hell understand how a divorce can cut you down at the knees.” Tom had discovered his wife of three years was sleeping with their optometrist, a rich guy with a winter house in Belize. Of course, this happened just as Tom’s construction business had floundered and disappeared in the tough economic times. Very tough. He’d moved from Texas to Washington for a fresh start.
Emotion clogged Josie’s throat. Tom’s friendship had quickly become a rare anchor in her life, and she relied on him. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you.”
“Well, on that note, how about I tell you how much I can’t stand that your soon-to-be ex is sleeping in the next room?”
And that was why she counted on Tom. He told her the truth, sharing his feelings. Both good and bad. He trusted her to be strong enough to deal with anything. She allowed her shoulders to relax. “I know.”
“It’s incredibly difficult for me to make a move with a guy in your house.” Humor and a hint of seriousness echoed in his low tone. Chiefly humor.
Josie smiled. So Tom had been gearing up to make a move. She’d wondered. A tiny part of her was glad for the reprieve—she obviously wasn’t ready to abandon Shane if their kiss in the kitchen was any indication. “I imagine it would be.”
“Well, all things in good time. For now, how about you let me get you out of here? Away from danger and dead bodies?” The sound of leather crackled across the line as she pictured Tom shifting in his favorite chair in what he called his “man cave,” an empty room with new sheetrock he’d taped himself that would someday have a pool table and plasma television. When the economy bounced back. “We can both take off from work until things are safe for you. No pressure, no stress, just away from here until the police get everything figured out. Please.”
The heartfelt entreaty in the last word moved her to close her eyes. Tom couldn’t afford to leave work any more than she could right now. Yet he’d offered. “I appreciate it. But for now, let’s wait and see what the police find.” An odd part of her, deep beneath the fear, truly couldn’t imagine the bad guys wanted her. It just didn’t make sense. “Did you hear about the ninth floor yet?”
“Not yet.” The ninth floor of their office building was being remodeled, and Tom had made a bid for the job. “Josie, don’t change the subject. You need to get out of town—you’re mixed up in something dangerous.”
She stiffened against the stack of pillows in her quiet bedroom. The pillows were a reminder of a happier time and what she thought happy married people had to have on their beds. The best foster parents she’d ever had were named Arthur and Claire. Their bed had had so many pillows it had taken Claire a full five minutes to make the bed. Josie had helped before school each day, telling herself that her grown-up bed would be the same someday.
But sitting there, in her wonderful bed with its multitude of colorful pillows, Josie felt a heaviness in her chest. “I can’t leave.” A hoarseness crackled her voice.
“I get it. If my wife showed up tomorrow and wanted another chance, I don’t know if I could say no. I mean, ex-wife.”
Josie’s chest warmed. “The woman was crazy to leave you.”
Tom sighed. “Thanks. I have to ask, are you safe with Shane? I mean, how well do you really know this guy?”
“Not very well.” She considered allowing Tom to whisk her away to safety, away from the raw need she felt whenever Shane was near. The irony almost made her smile. She’d be seeking shelter from the one man whose entire focus had been to protect her during their marriage. Before he’d left her alone and devastated. A small part of her had always thought Shane would find her again.
She had been right.
Tom took a moment, probably swallowing some beer. He liked Bud out of a bottle. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you kind of remind me of one of those women in movies that get beat up and can’t leave the guy because they love him.”
Her head jerked back. “Shane has never hit me.”
“I know. But he left you high and dry… and now he’s in your guest room.”
“Yeah, and you went to couples counseling after you found your wife doing a guy who touches eyeballs.”
Tom snorted. “You have a great point, my friend. We’re suckers… the both of us.”
“A perfect pair.” She stretched her legs out under the covers. “I need answers. I need to know where Shane has been the last two years. Crap, I need to know who I married. Finally.” Then maybe she’d be able to move on.
Silence came across the line for several heartbeats before Tom spoke. “I understand. But promise me, if you need help, you’ll call me. Immediately.”
“I promise.”
“Fair enough. I’ll try and swing by your office tomorrow to say hi. Night.” Tom hung up.
Josie slid her cell phone onto the night table and turned off the bedside lamp. She yawned. Yet her mind swirled. Was Tom right? Was she some victim caught in domestic disaster? Shane had earned her trust and then deserted her. He’d known all about her past and what abandoning her would do—and yet he’d left anyway. Was she weak in allowing him in her house?
Memories, ideas, possibilities whipped through her brain for an hour. Exhaustion pulled at her, though her mind took half the night to finally wind down. As she slipped into a shallow sleep, odd dreams in which she was lost in unfamiliar forests prodded her into wakefulness around dawn.
A low growl rumbled through the bedroom wall. Josie sat up, her heart pounding. Shane. He was hurt. The man had refused even over-the-counter medication before bed. She reached for the knife on her nightstand.
Her bare feet pattered across the wooden floor as she hurried into his bedroom. He lay on his stomach, tanned arm outstretched, covers pushed to his bare waist. Such a broad, masculine back, showcasing a life of battle. Scars, some quite old, testified he’d seen pain before. The dark tattoo covered his left shoulder, the graceful lines creating a tough-looking Chinese character. Freedom. He moaned low.
She stepped lightly, leaning over to pat his heated back. “Shane. Are you okay?”
Swifter than sound, he pinned her under his hard body, his hand at her throat. He pressed into her, his mouth near her ear. “Not this time. I told you never again—no more training like this.”
Josie struggled. Training? “Shane. I can’t breathe.”
He stilled. His eyes flashed open. “Josie?” The hand on her throat loosened. He shook his head, eyes focusing. The darkness failed to hide the still-fresh bruises that mottled his face. “What are you doing here?”
“You cried out.” She blinked back tears. Who moved that fast? “I thought your head was hurting you.”
“It is now.” He hardened against her, settling between her legs. The sweats failed to mask his sudden erection. Shadows danced across his angled face, making him both handsome and myste
rious. His deep voice roughened to an almost guttural tone. “You want to take the hurt away, baby?”
Need flashed through her on the heels of apprehension. Instinct kicked in. “You’re scaring me, Shane.”
He instantly rolled over, releasing her. She hated that about him. Always had. He was so easy to manipulate with weakness, with fear or softness. But try to meet him head to head, and he ran right over her. Without causing a bruise. Apparently the real Shane was returning. “God, you piss me off.”
“I’m sorry I scared you.” He raked both hands over his face.
She wouldn’t scream. Not a chance. Levering up, she leaped onto his stomach, her knee pressed precariously close to his balls, the knife at his throat. “Now who’s scared?”
Soft light filtered in, making his eyes glow in the near-darkness. His entire body stiffened below hers. Ready to fight. “What do you think you’re doing, angel?” Warning melded with curiosity in his tone.
“You don’t know me, you moron.” She tightened her grip on the handle. “Maybe I did hire those men in the morgue. I could’ve been the one to injure you. To put you in the hospital and take your memories.” Her knee inched closer to his boys. Just once, she needed to see the real man behind the calm mask. “Yet you trust. So easily. Why?”
“Because you’re half my size and look like an angel.”
“That’s fucking stupid.” One swift move and she could sever his jugular. A move he’d taught her so long ago. “If you have a blind spot, Shane, it’s for women who look soft. I don’t know why.”
He frowned. No concern filtered in his eyes from her threat, so she pressed her knee up. His sharp intake of breath made her smile.
“Josie, move your leg away from my balls and get off me. Now.”
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll forget you’re soft and teach you a lesson.” The Southern drawl escaped, though his tone remained calm.
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