Rebecca Zanetti - Forgotten Sins

Unease straightened her posture. “Developments?”

“Yes. I know it’s almost eight at night, but I’d like for you and your husband to meet me at the station in thirty minutes.” The detective hung up.

Josie pulled the handset from her head, turning to stare at it. Developments? Malloy needed a book on proper phone etiquette. She hung up the phone and turned toward the doorway.

“Angel?” Shane leaned against the door frame in faded jeans and ripped T-shirt, the casual stance belied by the sharp gaze in his too-pale face. His head was probably killing him. His scent of heated cedar wafted her way, suffusing a maleness into her comfort zone.

“Detective Malloy would like to speak with us.” Her hands clutched the thick comforter with its pattern of homey tulips. She’d purchased the cover from a catalog, waiting impatiently until it arrived before choosing the whimsical table lamps that matched. She normally counted her pennies, but she’d splurged on creating her home.

The king-sized bed had been another indulgence.

Memories of heated nights and fun mornings spent grappling in another bed with Shane filled her mind. He was a big guy and needed a king-sized bed. She fought a blush.

Shane lifted an eyebrow, leaning against the wall she’d painted a soft beige. A shadow lined his sharp jawline, giving him the look of a rebel. “Why does the detective want to speak with us?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.” Blood stained Shane’s ripped shirt, a testament to the violence that stalked him. “Give me a second while I change, and we can go see what this is about.”

His eyes warmed. “Need help?”

Her abdomen heated. “No.”

His shrug made him wince. “Suit yourself.”

“Are you okay?” The unwanted concern reminded her of emotions she thought she’d destroyed.

“Fine. Just a headache.” He pivoted on his bare feet and disappeared from view.

Yeah, there was the Shane she remembered. Blocking her out on the pretext of protecting her delicate nature. Dumbass.

It was time to move on and unravel the hold he had on her. The emotions Shane evoked were raw, dangerous, and so deep. She’d never completely expel him from inside her heart.

He was a soldier and he’d staked his claim.

The sooner he left, the sooner she could return to pretending she’d moved on. Maybe someday she actually would. Her feet hit the cold wooden floor. She’d been searching for a rug for the bedroom for more than a year—someday she’d find the perfect one.

She dressed in comfortable jeans and a blue sweater that brought out the varied hues in her eyes. Not that she was dressing to impress Shane. She just liked that sweater.

Indecision had her biting her lip until, with a shrug, she grabbed a faded men’s T-shirt out of the bottom dresser drawer. On cold nights, or lonely nights, she often slept in one of Shane’s old shirts. He couldn’t very well go to the police station in the ripped one.

She found him at the kitchen table, eating the rest of the cold lasagna. “You’re hungry again?”

He finished chewing. “I like your cooking.”

The T-shirt landed on the table with a quick toss. “I have one of your old shirts. It’s clean.”

He wiped his mouth with a napkin, his gaze on the shirt. “Am I supposed to read something into this?” Deep and dark, his voice lowered to a rumble that sped up her heart.

“No.” Only that she hadn’t gotten over him yet. No matter how hard she tried to lie to herself. “Some of your clothes must’ve been mixed up with mine when I moved.” Nothing would make her admit she also kept a shirt of his she refused to wash, hidden in the back of her closet. Even after two years, his unique male scent still clung to the worn cotton.

“All right.” He whipped off the bloodied shirt and pulled on the clean one. “Thanks.”

“Sure.” One glimpse at his impressive chest and she wanted to lick him head-to-toe. Man, she needed to get herself under control. She grabbed a jacket from the small closet near the door. The emotional walls between them were suffocating her, and she needed to get outside. “We should get going.”

Shane nodded, unfolded himself from the kitchen chair, and opened the door slowly and deliberately. “Okay.”

Concern stilled her movement. “Are you all right?”

“Yep. Just a headache. I’ll drive.”

Josie thought about arguing. But why bother? He’d end up driving, and frankly, driving at night wasn’t her favorite activity. She’d liked that about Shane during their brief marriage. Driving was a pleasure for him, and she could just sit back and relax during the ride. “Whatever.”

She waited until he’d backed them out of the driveway before giving him directions. They drove in silence until he reached town. Josie picked distractedly at a fray on her jeans. “Any memories come back?” Only stubborn will kept her gaze off the capable hands on the steering wheel. She’d loved those hands.

“No.” Shane glanced again at the rearview mirror.

Josie turned to look at the cars behind them. “What are you searching for?”

“The van that followed us earlier today.”

Maybe his concussion was worse than they thought. “I think your imagination took over. You do have a head injury.”

“Perhaps.” He checked behind them again. Frustration and doubt slid across his face, to be masked by a pleasant smile. One that didn’t fool her a bit. “Regardless, I don’t sense any danger now.”

Yep. He still kept secrets now, didn’t he? Josie turned her focus to the night outside the car.

Shane exited the freeway, drove for a mile, and parked the SUV in front of the three-story brick building. Bright lights surrounded the station, banishing the night. Jumping out, he crossed to open her door before she grabbed the handle. Strong hands helped her out of the vehicle, where the autumn breeze cut into her skin.

“Ah, Josie? How about letting me do the talking with the detective?” The door shut with a soft click, and Shane gestured her forward.

“Why?” She was perfectly capable of answering questions from the police. Not only had she done nothing wrong, but she’d grown up in foster care. Dealing with authority and its agenda was nothing new for her.

Shane opened the door. “I have a feeling Malloy is after something. I don’t like that he didn’t tell you any details about his new developments.”

She was surrounded by manipulative people keeping hidden agendas, and that included Shane. Even if the amnesia was real, he wasn’t exactly forthcoming with the truth.

The waiting room of the police station held two leather couches, a myriad of live plants, and several wide orange chairs. Homey and comfortable. A slice of small town in a city that had grown unexpectedly. A forty-something woman with riotous red hair sat behind a broad counter walled off by thick glass, humming contentedly through the night shift. Behind her spread a wall of photos depicting police officers at various award ceremonies. She smiled and spoke through the speaker, her voice emerging tinny. “May I help you?”

Shane stepped forward to answer just as a buzzer rasped and a door opened next to the counter. Malloy held it open with one beefy hand. “Come on in.”

Josie pivoted to walk into a wide, quiet hallway. Shane’s broad hand settled at the small of her back, pressing her along. Possessive and protective—completely in charge. She’d forgotten that feeling of being his.

Several closed doors lined the hall as the three approached a large double door that blocked the hub of the police station from the public. Malloy pushed open a scratched metal door, gesturing them inside a conference room with a thick oak table and leather chairs. Josie slid into the chair Shane pulled out for her, glancing at the pleasant watercolor of a snowy mountain scene adorning the side wall. “Where’s the two-way mirror?” she asked.