Rebecca Zanetti: Forgotten Sins

No such luck.

Now she’d had enough of waiting—the papers were ready. As was she.

“That was nice of you, to wait I mean.” Irony clanged in Shane’s tone and spurred Josie’s vertebrae to snap to attention one at a time.

“Yes, it was.” More than once she had thought about filing the papers, but she couldn’t steel herself to end it one-sided. To divorce a soldier most likely in combat seemed wrong. Even after everything, to hurt him like that would hurt her more. “I sent the divorce papers to your base in Pendleton. You could’ve mailed signed copies back to me.”

“Maybe I don’t want a divorce.” Shane’s jaw set in the way always guaranteed to prod her temper.

She forced anger down. Way down. She would not argue in front of the cop. Her gaze searched Shane’s bruised face. “Was he mugged?”

The detective began to write again. “We don’t know. If so, the muggers might need medical help, as well.” He gestured toward Shane’s bloodied knuckles. “He beat the crap out of someone.” Scribble. Scribble. “Ah, Mrs. Dean, would you know anyone who’d want to injure or kill your husband?”

Besides her? She’d have to know him to know his enemies—and she didn’t. “No. But again, I haven’t seen Shane in years. You really should contact the military. Or his brothers.”

Shane’s head snapped up. “Brothers?”

“Yes. You let it slip once that you had brothers.” How could he not remember anything? For a control freak like Shane, it had to be hell. “Though I have no idea who they are.”

He exhaled in exasperation, and his gaze wandered over her face in a caress so familiar she almost sighed. “Sounds like I didn’t trust you much, blue eyes.”

“You don’t trust anybody.” She’d given him everything she had, and it wasn’t enough. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes, and she ruthlessly batted them away. He didn’t get to see her cry now. Before he’d left, there was one night when she’d thought they were getting closer, she had thought he was finally letting her in. Then he’d disappeared.

His eyes warmed and a hint of a smile threatened. A tension of a different sort began to heat the room. Josie tugged her jacket closed as her traitorous nipples peaked. She’d forgotten his ability to shift affection into desire. Damn the man.

Shane glanced over his bare right shoulder. “Have I always had the tattoo?”

“Yes.” Malloy leaned for a better look. “Nice symbol. What does it mean?”

“Freedom,” Shane murmured, rubbing his shoulder. He swiveled his head to meet Josie’s gaze, both eyebrows rising. “Right?”

“Yes.” She swallowed. “You already had the tat when we met, and you said it meant freedom. ”

“I don’t remember getting inked, but I know what the symbol means.” Shane frowned, running his wounded hand through his hair.

The detective cleared his throat. “So, you don’t know who’d want to attack your husband, and you haven’t seen him in two years. Ah, Mrs. Dean, you’ve built a life here, right?”

“Yes.” A good life with roots. Sure, she was alone, but she was secure.

The detective nodded. “Are you dating anyone?”

Heat rose into her face even as Shane’s eyes sharpened to flint. She shook her head. “That’s none of your business, Detective.”

Shane lifted his chin. “But I believe it is my business, angel.”

The man always could issue an effective threat with the mildest of words. She opened her mouth to tell him to stuff it when his words hit home. “You remember. You called me ‘angel.’ ” He’d given her the nickname the first day they’d met at a small coffee shop in California.

He shook his head, giving a slight wince and then holding still. “No. No memories. You look like an angel—big blue eyes, wispy blond hair. My angel.”

“Not anymore.” She wouldn’t let him do this to her. It’d taken two years to deal with the past, and she couldn’t face the pain again. No matter how lost he looked, or how lonely she was. “We’re over.”

“Who are you dating, Josie?” As usual, Shane ignored her words and narrowed his focus to what he deemed important.

“We do need to know, Mrs. Dean,” Detective Malloy cut in before she could tell Shane to go to hell. “Just to clear the suspect list, if nothing else.”

She sighed. “I’m not dating anybody.”

“Someone popped into your mind,” Shane said softly. Too softly.

Icy fingers traced her spine, and her heart rate picked up. She shrugged off the sensation. The cop narrowed his eyes. Both men waited.

She took a deep breath, pulling calmness in. “I’m not dating anyone, but I do spend time with Tom Marsh. He’s in construction, and the last thing he’d ever do would be to mug somebody. And we’re just friends.”

“What kind of friends?” Shane kept his focus solely on her as if the cop wasn’t in the room.

“None of your business.” The panic that rushed through her veins ticked her off.

He grabbed a crumpled shirt off the flattened pillow and yanked it over his head, grimacing as he tugged down the worn cotton. He pushed off the bed—toward her. “Does Marsh know you’re taken?”

Awareness slammed into her abdomen as Shane’s unique scent of heated cedar and rough male washed over her. How could she have forgotten how big he was? How much taller than her own five-foot-two? She tilted her head to meet his eyes. “Tom knows I’m about to be divorced.”

“You sure about that?” Shane grasped her arm, his focus on the detective. “Malloy, you have my contact information while I’m in town. I’ll be staying with my wife. Call if you hear anything.”

The firm hand around her bicep—so warm, so familiar—sent a wave of thrilling awareness through her veins. The one touch could set her back months, maybe more. The man had always been unreal and larger than life. Wanting him had nearly destroyed her once. Never again. She sucked in a breath. “Did the doctors release you?”

“Yes. I have a concussion, and once it’s healed, my memory should be restored. Though”—his voice dropped to a rumble—“you’ll need to awaken me every two hours tonight, darlin’.”

The twang. That Southern twang that escaped when he was either tired or aroused—an idiosyncrasy he normally managed to camouflage. The mere sound of it ignited memories of heated nights and soft whispers from her brain straight to her core. It was an intimacy most people didn’t know about him, and learning about it made her feel special. Her mouth went dry.

A visible tic set up underneath the detective’s left eye. “You’re not free to leave, Major Dean.”

Shane smiled.

The air rushed out of Josie’s lungs. She knew that smile. The detective didn’t stand a chance.

Neither did she.

Shane lowered his voice to a purely pleasant tone that wouldn’t fool anybody with half a brain. “Malloy, I was attacked and have cooperated with you. I unfortunately have no new information, nor am I under arrest. Thus, I’m going home with my wife. Call me if you have questions.”

The twang was gone.

Malloy tapped his pen. “I could hold you as a material witness.”

“Try me.” Somehow the tone became even more pleasant.

Josie fought a shiver.

Malloy, to his credit, ignored the threat and turned bloodshot brown eyes on her. “Is there anyone who’d want to hurt you, Mrs. Dean?”

Josie sucked in air. “You think he was injured because of me?”

The detective shrugged. “I don’t know. This might’ve been a random mugging, but we need to explore all possibilities.”

She hadn’t seen her husband in two years. No way was the mugging connected to her. “Nobody wants to hurt me. Besides, most of my friends don’t know I’m married.” Next to her, Shane stiffened, and her breath quickened in response.