Forgotten Sins

Present Day

Josie's heels clicked in rapid staccato against the well-worn tiles, the smellof bleach making her stomach cramp. Her mind spun. How could this be happening?It must be some sort of trick.

Someone had taped smiling pumpkins along the hospital walls to celebrate themonth of October. Something about their jagged teeth against the dim wallscreeped her out. Even as an adult, the sense of helplessness she'd felt as achild in the hospital caused her body to tense and brace to flee from theantiseptic smells.

Several nurses converged behind a wide counter, studying charts. Josie ignoredthem and hurried down the hall. She reached the last room on the left and ransmack into a uniformed police officer. Bouncing back, she struggled to balanceherself in the heels she'd worn to work. The call had come in after dinner, andshe was still at the office. As usual. A promotion to vice president was up forgrabs, and she was going to get it.

The cop steadied her, dark eyes appraising. "You all right, ma'am?"

"Yes." She tugged her handbag strap up her arm, needing to get a grip. She wasan adult and in control now. "A Detective Malloy called me to come down. I'mJosie Dean." Her breath hitched on her last name; she'd be changing that soon.

"He's inside with Mr. Dean."

"Major Dean," she said automatically, and then her face heated. "I mean, he usedto be a major. He may have been promoted." God. She sounded like an idiot.

A voice over a loudspeaker announced a code blue. The officer straightened,listened, and then relaxed his shoulders as a room on the third floor was named."You can go right in." He tipped his head toward the open doorway beforeflashing a smile at a pretty nurse pushing a book cart down the hall.

Yeah. She'd go right in. Easier said than done. Josie took a deepbreath, steeled herself, and walked inside, her attention instantly captured bythe male figure perched against the hospital bed.

For the briefest of seconds, time stopped. Memories flooded through her mind,her body, maybe somewhere deeper until her lungs forgot their job. That quickly,she was helpless with the need to heal him. Coughing, she forced air down herthroat and took a good look.

Several bandages were strapped across Shane's muscular torso while a splotchypurple lump rose from his forehead. His long legs were encased in bloody jeans,and he'd crossed his thick boots at the ankles. He sat bare to the waist, hisscarred chest and packed abs betraying a life of combat. The new wounds wouldfit with the rest.

Those scars broke her heart all over again.

His gray eyes lasered in on her, and she fought the urge to run. Pain, need, andfamiliarity swirled through her brain. Her skin warmed. Damn, he looked good.Dark brown hair swept back from his battered face, and even with the bruises,his rugged features spoke of strength and masculine beauty. Fierce and dangerouslike a wolf.

His hair had grown to his shoulders and added a wild new edge to the danger.

She had a lot of layers, and he'd appealed to her on each one by providingsecurity and fulfilling her desperate need to belong. Until he'd abandoned her.She faltered and clutched her handbag strap until the leather cut into her skin.

A throat cleared. "Mrs. Dean?"

"Josie." She shifted her focus to a man in a rumpled brown suit who leanedagainst a poster depicting the inner ear. The room was small—examinationtable, smooth counter with sink, one rolling chair for a doctor. Yet she hadn'teven noticed the other man until he made a sound. "Detective Malloy?"

"Yes." Shrewd eyes the color of his suit studied her, and he began scribbling ina notebook. "Is this your husband?"

The quiet power of Shane's presence yanked her attention back to him. Even afterall this time, he commanded her body's responses. He cocked his head as ifawaiting her answer.

She nodded. "This is Shane Dean." This couldn't be happening. The helplessnessshe'd felt as a frightened and hurting child in the hospital closed in on her.The need to flee made her knees tremble. She focused on the closest person shehad to family, struggling to keep her lips firm. It was really him. ReallyShane. "They said you have amnesia."

Shane gave a short nod. "I can't remember a damn thing."

The familiar rumble of his voice slammed into her solar plexus. Emotion washedthrough her edged with a sharp pain. Two years. Two long years since he'd lefther. "What happened?"

The detective stopped writing. "We were hoping you might provide an explanation.Where was your husband going today?"

She barked out a laugh. Seriously? "I have absolutely no idea. We're separated."

Shane stilled, the air thickening with tension around him. "We are?"

"I haven't seen you in two years." Her voice shook, and she fought to settle rawnerves. She would not let him affect her. "I didn't even know you were back inthe country."

"What country should he have been in?" the detective asked.

Like she'd know. "He's in the marines based out of Pendleton. Call them." Wait aminute. "How did you know to call me if you didn't know he was in the military?"She took a small step back to study her husband. "And what are you doing inWashington State?"

Shane shrugged. The paper on the table crinkled as he moved. "Dunno. Probablycoming to visit you from my home in Oregon? I have an Oregon driver's license aswell as a card with your name and phone number in my wallet ... along with ourmarriage license. Am I from Oregon?"

Her thoughts began to swirl. "Yes. I mean, I think so."

A muscle in his jaw ticked. "You don't know?"

"No. I didn't know much about you, Shane. We met in California and marriedthere." Within three weeks of meeting each other—the one and only time inher life she'd taken a risk and been spontaneous. Of course it had ended indisaster. She had been so stupid. What had she been thinking?

The detective cleared his throat. "Your husband isn't wearing dog tags. He wasfound down by the river, which is miles across the city from your home. To yourknowledge, does he know anyone else here in Snowville?"

"No." At least, she didn't think so. More than 100,000 people lived in theeastern Washington town. Shane might know somebody else who lived there.

Her knees began to tremble, and she forced them still with stubborn pride. Shedug her nails into her palms to quell the urge to caress his bruises. Herromantic notion of being able to heal him, to show him love was possible, hadearned her a broken heart. Rightfully so. It was over. They were over.Her body needed to freakin' remember that fact. As did her heart.

Shane's eyes sharpened. "When did you move to Washington?"

"Two years ago."

"When we separated."

"Yes."

He lifted an eyebrow in an expression she remembered well. "Did I know we wereseparated?"

Warmth flushed through her chest, just under the skin. "Ending our marriage wasyour choice." In fact, he hadn't bothered to officially end the marriage. He hadjust disappeared—leaving her alone after making promises he clearly hadnever intended to keep. Some people didn't get a family, and she should'veremembered that before trusting him.

The detective clicked his pen, gaining her attention. "Please explain. Is itsome religious type of deal? The separation?"

Josie tilted her head. "Excuse me?"

Malloy straightened his pose against the wall. "The separation instead of adivorce. Is it a religious deal?"

Josie blew out air. "No. We're getting a divorce. I didn't feel right requestingit in absentia, and I wanted to wait until Shane could sign the papers. It justseemed fair ..." She'd wanted to face him, to end it right. Of course, there hadalways been that tiny chance he'd try to win her back—explain why he'ddeserted her.

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 andspurred 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 shecouldn't steel herself to end it one-sided. To divorce a soldier most likely incombat seemed wrong. Even after everything, to hurt him like that would hurt hermore. "I sent the divorce papers to your base in Pendleton. You could've mailedsigned copies back to me."

"Maybe I don't want a divorce." Shane's jaw set in the way always guaranteed toprod her temper.

She forced anger down. Way down. She would not argue in front of the cop. Hergaze searched Shane's bruised face. "Was he mugged?"

The detective began to write again. "We don't know. If so, the muggers mightneed medical help, as well." He gestured toward Shane's bloodied knuckles. "Hebeat the crap out of someone." Scribble. Scribble. "Ah, Mrs. Dean, would youknow 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 themilitary. Or his brothers."

Shane's head snapped up. "Brothers?"

"Yes. You let it slip once that you had brothers." How could he not rememberanything? For a control freak like Shane, it had to be hell. "Though I have noidea who they are."

He exhaled in exasperation, and his gaze wandered over her face in a caress sofamiliar 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'tenough. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes, and she ruthlessly batted themaway. He didn't get to see her cry now. Before he'd left, there was one nightwhen she'd thought they were getting closer, she had thought he was finallyletting her in. Then he'd disappeared.

His eyes warmed and a hint of a smile threatened. A tension of a different sortbegan to heat the room. Josie tugged her jacket closed as her traitorous nipplespeaked. She'd forgotten his ability to shift affection into desire. Damn theman.

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 meetJosie's gaze, both eyebrows rising. "Right?"

"Yes." She swallowed. "You already had the tat when we met, and you said itmeant freedom."

"I don't remember getting inked, but I know what the symbol means." Shanefrowned, running his wounded hand through his hair.

The detective cleared his throat. "So, you don't know who'd want to attack yourhusband, and you haven't seen him in two years. Ah, Mrs. Dean, you've built alife 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 herhead. "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. Sheopened 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 ata small coffee shop in California.

He shook his head, giving a slight wince and then holding still. "No. Nomemories. You look like an angel—big blue eyes, wispy blond hair. Myangel."

"Not anymore." She wouldn't let him do this to her. It'd taken two years to dealwith the past, and she couldn't face the pain again. No matter how lost helooked, or how lonely she was. "We're over."

"Who are you dating, Josie?" As usual, Shane ignored her words and narrowed hisfocus to what he deemed important.

"We do need to know, Mrs. Dean," Detective Malloy cut in before she could tellShane 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 thesensation. The cop narrowed his eyes. Both men waited.

She took a deep breath, pulling calmness in. "I'm not dating anyone, but I dospend time with Tom Marsh. He's in construction, and the last thing he'd ever dowould be to mug somebody. And we're just friends."

"What kind of friends?" Shane kept his focus solely on her as if the cop weren'tin 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 hishead, grimacing as he tugged down the worn cotton. He pushed off thebed—toward her. "Does Marsh know you're taken?"

Awareness slammed into her abdomen as Shane's unique scent of heated cedar andrough male washed over her. How could she have forgotten how big he was? Howmuch 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 withmy wife. Call if you hear anything."

The firm hand around her bicep—so warm, so familiar—sent a wave ofthrilling 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 hadnearly destroyed her once. Never again. She sucked in a breath. "Did the doctorsrelease 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 meevery two hours tonight, darlin'."

The twang. That Southern twang that escaped when he was either tired oraroused—an idiosyncrasy he normally managed to camouflage. The mere soundof it ignited memories of heated nights and soft whispers from her brainstraight to her core. It was an intimacy most people didn't know about him, andlearning 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 toleave, Major Dean."

Shane smiled.

The air rushed out of Josie's lungs. She knew that smile. The detective didn'tstand a chance.

Neither did she.

Shane lowered his voice to a purely pleasant tone that wouldn't fool anybodywith half a brain. "Malloy, I was attacked and have cooperated with you. Iunfortunately have no new information, nor am I under arrest. Thus, I'm goinghome 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 onher. "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, butwe need to explore all possibilities."

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

The detective nodded, his gaze taking in them both. "Are you sure you want himwith you?"

No. Though it was time to finish this. "Sure. We need to talk, and I have papersfor Shane to sign. Thank you for your concern." Not for one second did she thinkShane would stay away at this point.

"Are you sure you're safe? He may be dangerous." The detective appraised themboth without expression. Cop face ... soldier face. She'd seen it on herhusband.

"Shane's dangerous as hell." He'd saved her from an obnoxious jackass the firstday they'd met, his combat training obvious. She allowed herself a wry grin."But he would never hurt me." Physically anyway.