Forgotten Sins

Chapter 9

Josie clutched the bouquet of flowers to her chest, the sweet scent of roses churning her stomach. She leaned back in the front seat of Tom’s Chevy, her gaze on the rainy dusk outside. “Thanks for driving me.”

Tom nodded, his concentration on the wet road. “Not a problem. No reason to work late tonight, anyway.”

Maybe she should tell Tom that Shane dropped by the office. But why worry her friend? Great. Now she was lying and hiding facts from people in order to protect her killer of a husband. Her life had become a movie. And not a good one. “No work, huh?”

Tom grimaced and shrugged his flannel-covered shoulders. “Not so much. And it’s weird being on my own now. I mean, I had a company of six people back in Texas. When I went under, I thought I’d end up hiring people here as the business took off. So far, it’s just me.”

“The construction business is picking up, finally.” She forced her problems to the back of her head. “Right?”

“Yes.” Tom flashed her a goofy grin, good humor settling once again on his attractive face. His unkempt hair made him all the more boyishly handsome. “Still, I wish you could’ve seen our offices and my company when things were good. I was quite the catch.” He snorted, turning back toward the road.

“You’re still quite the catch.” And he was. Good-looking, smart, hardworking, and even better, he made her laugh. At first it bothered her that he was a couple years younger, but now she usually forgot about the age difference.

“Do you think I could catch you?” He lost his smile and his voice deepened, but he kept his gaze straight ahead.

She stiffened. “I, ah, I think you’re great.”

His shoulders jolted, and then he threw back his head and laughed, deep and loud.

Unable to help herself, Josie joined in. “I mean, I…” She gasped for breath, trying to speak. Her shoulders shook as she laughed, tension escaping her for the first time in days.

Tom wiped the corner of his eye. “Yeah, okay. You figure out the deal with your soon-to-be ex, and then I’ll make my move.” He chuckled again and then sobered. “But in all seriousness, if you’re in danger, I swing a mean hammer. I can keep you safe.”

Was it her smaller size that had men reassuring her they’d keep her safe? She’d been alone her whole life, and yet here she was. Perfectly capable of keeping herself safe. Even scared, she could think and plan. “Thanks.”

Tom nodded. “Are you and Daniel still sparring?”

Josie stiffened. “We’re competing for the same promotion. Plus, the guy’s a jerk.” A condescending jerk. Guilt hunched her shoulders. “I’m sorry. I know you’re friends.”

Tom shrugged. “You two would like each other if the situation were different.”

“Not likely.” The car’s headlights flashed on the stone pillars that flanked the cemetery entrance. “Turn right once inside the gates.” She hated to ask Tom for such a personal favor, especially since Shane probably wanted him dead. But without her car, she’d needed a ride to the cemetery to visit Mona on the anniversary of her death. Josie had failed to be there for her friend in life… she wouldn’t screw up in Mona’s death, too.

Tom maneuvered his truck through the entrance, winding along the manicured drive. “All right. Who are we visiting?” He eyed the overgrown foliage.

The paper around the flowers crinkled as her grip tightened. “A friend named Mona Wilson. We were in foster care together in California.” Time rarely healed all wounds.

“When did she die?” Tom followed the road, as overgrown branches scraped at the truck’s cab.

“When we were seventeen.” Josie pointed at a fork in the road. “Go left.”

Tom nodded, maneuvering the truck over several potholes. “How?”

Drugs. They killed. “When we were sixteen, she was sent up here to Northridge, which is a drug rehabilitation center that takes indigent kids as well as people who can pay. After a year, she got out and was put in the foster system here. She got back into drugs and overdosed.” Mona had attended the same drug rehab center Billy was now in because it was supposed to be the best in the Northwest. Hopefully Billy would succeed and beat the drugs.

Tom stopped the truck when a stone wall ended the road. “Is Mona why you moved to Snowville?”

Josie shrugged. “Maybe part of it.” Everyone should have flowers put on their grave on the anniversary of their death. “Do you think our childhoods create our adulthoods?”

“Absolutely. One hundred percent… whoever we were as kids shapes us as adults.” Tom’s face held a new seriousness.

Josie nodded. She was alone as a kid, and maybe that was the only way she knew to live. Her shoulders sagged at the thought. She opened the door and slid to the ground. “I’ll be back in a minute.” Quietly shutting the door, she stepped over a mud puddle and onto the grass.

Winding around several headstones, she arrived at Mona’s. Rain pattered down, matting her hair to her neck. “Hi, Mona.” Gently, Josie leaned down and placed the flowers next to the weathered headstone. “I brought red roses this time. Something to brighten the day.”

Memories of the tall, curvy brunette washed through Josie’s mind. She and Mona had lived together in a small apartment owned by a lady named Judy who worked two jobs. Judy was nice but was rarely around. Josie had missed Arthur and Claire, and Mona had tried to cheer her up. But Mona had already been hooked on crack at that time, and after three months had been sent to Northridge. Even so, during their brief time together, they’d bonded as wanna-be sisters. “I miss you.”

The wind picked up, scattering pine needles across the roses. Josie wiped them away. “I have another friend who’s having problem with drugs. Don’t worry, I’ll help him.” Like she should’ve helped Mona. Somehow. She cleared her throat. “I’m really scared, Mona.” Saying the words made the reality all the more stark. While she couldn’t admit the truth to all the tough men wanting to protect her, here she was safe. “I’m not sure who to trust. Or who’s after me. Or Shane. It’s so confusing—so terrifying.”

The small tombstone stared back at her silently.

Josie shivered in the rain. Making Tom wait in the truck probably wasn’t nice. Plus, she needed to figure her life out. “I’m not sure where you are, or if you can hear me. But if so, take note, will you? I could use all the help I can get. Especially with which man to rely on. Tom is safe and trusts me, but I’m putting him in danger. Shane, well…”

She couldn’t find the right words. “You know Shane, if you’re watching me. And… say hi to Claire for me. I mean, if heaven works like that. I’ll be back.” Turning in the damp grass, she hustled through the rain.

Reaching the truck, she climbed into warmth and safety where Tom’s clean scent of Irish soap calmed her. She sent him a grin. “I get to choose the movie tonight.”

Shane settled into the sleeping bag overarched by the thick awning of pine branches. The moon filtered through a smattering of clouds. Wildlife rustled around him. Nothing in the forest was as dangerous as him. He knew the truth in his bones, even if his brain hadn’t kicked in yet.

Since awakening, he’d wanted his memories back. Now, he wasn’t sure. The new ones, of pretty Josie and her strong spirit… those were good and right. But what if his memories proved he’d used her? What if the old him didn’t love her? Because the new Shane did. This pounding in his chest had to mean something real—even if it was new.

He’d tamped down on the extra senses for the moment. Hearing horns miles away was just annoying. He glanced at Marsh’s quiet house. Josie had gone to bed a half hour before. Alone. Safe for the time being. Though he should probably get her out of town. If he thought they’d be safe, he’d move forward and start over with her. But whoever was after him would keep coming. The only way to fight back was to remember them, but doing so could lead to the loss of Josie. He wanted a slice of time with her before all hell broke loose. He needed to show her the good side of himself—even if it was new and temporary. Just the thought of her tightened his groin. Made his heart thump faster.

There hadn’t been time to sleep since he’d been injured, and despite his worries, his eyes drifted shut, his hand on the butt of his gun.

His dreams floated in and out until one came into focus.

His arm hurt. He frowned at the black cast that covered his left wrist. His small, childlike wrist. He couldn’t be more than nine years old. Maybe eight.

“Damn it, Shane.”

From his perch on the bed, he glanced up at a boy, a large boy, towering over him. Embarrassment heated his face. “Wasn’t my fault, Mattie.”

Matt’s gray eyes flashed even as another boy about ten years old ran up, skirting beds. “He broke his arm?”

“Nathan, Shane broke his wrist. Sparring with Emery.” Matt dropped onto an adjacent bed, one of several scattered within the concrete-block walled room. A barracks.

“Shit, Matt.” Nathan sat next to Matt, his gray gaze serious on the cast. “Does the commander know?”

“Yes.” Dread slid down Shane’s spine. The scent of dust and pine cleanser made him bite back a sneeze. “He knows.” He glanced at his brothers, steeling his shoulders. “It’s okay. The fight was good and I hurt him, too. They won’t take me away.” Probably. He’d get to stay this time. Unless he allowed himself to get hurt again. “I’m sorry.”

His brothers shared a look.

“We need a diversion just in case,” Nathan muttered.

“Already on it.” Matt glanced at the large clock hanging over the door. “Jory is going to crash the computer system in about two minutes.”

Shane relaxed his shoulders. “Good. That’ll keep the commander busy.”

“This time.” Matt’s young face hardened. “We need to up our own training schedule.”

“We’ve been training all the time.” Shane shook his head. “Enough already.”

“Do what you’re told.” Nathan’s eyes turned the darker gray that meant he was about to hit somebody.

Shane glared at his older brother. “You always side with Matt.”

Nathan nodded. “Yeah, I do. Because if you get hurt…”

“You disappear,” Shane finished quietly. Panic and fear grabbed his heart and hurt worse than his arm. “You’re right. I’ll do better next time.”

Suddenly Shane jerked awake. What the hell? A barracks? Who the hell was the commander? If those were his brothers, where were they?

A rustle sounded in the quiet woods, and he eyed the brush. Some sort of small animal. But the forest had gone wholly quiet. The hair on the back of his neck rose.

Sliding out of the bag, he yanked on his boots and tucked his gun in his waistband. He crept to the edge of the trees where the house sat quietly. Too quietly. A shadow moved toward the garage. Then another one. He circled around, his eyes on the targets. They used hand signals—military. These guys were better trained than the others.

He listened. Nobody else. A team of two. Apparently two were enough for Marsh and Josie. That’s what they thought. At the idea of someone hunting his wife, his gut rolled. He stilled, and forced all emotion into nothingness. While the ability to do so wasn’t normal, he’d use the skill to save Josie and question it later.

As quiet as death, he crept forward. He leaped for the first man, aiming an elbow just below the guy’s neck. The man dropped to the ground, unconscious.

The other man turned, yanking a gun from his vest.

Shane kicked the guy’s hand and the gun went flying. He kicked for the face and the soldier blocked him, jumping forward and tackling him to the ground. Together they hit the concrete with a dull thud. Pebbles dug into Shane’s back, giving his shoulders a fulcrum. Bad move. Shane rolled the attacker over and shot three hard punches to the face that knocked the soldier out cold.

Shane jumped up. Man, he wasn’t even breathing heavily. In fact, his entire body was calm and relaxed. What the hell was wrong with him?

Now probably wasn’t the time to figure that out.

Tossing the men’s weapons into the forest, Shane ran to pound on the front door. Then he rang the bell. A light went on, and soon Marsh stood in the entryway, bare to the waist with an angry scowl on his face. Muscles lined his chest and abs. The guy worked out—probably practiced swinging sledgehammers.

Josie pounded down carpeted stairs dressed in a faded T-shirt, her hair in wild disarray. “Shane? What the hell?”

He turned toward Marsh. “Two men, over to the side of the garage. They’re knocked out, probably for a half hour. Call the police.”

Marsh twisted his head to see around Shane. “I don’t think so, Major.” He pulled out a gun, leveling the barrel at Shane’s chest. “Somehow I thought you’d show up. Most stalkers do.”

Josie hustled across rough tiles. “Tom! Put the gun down.”

Shane tensed, muscles bunching. She was getting too close to the gun. “Step back, angel.”

Marsh widened his stance. “Call the police, Josie. Tell them the major is here.”

Shane relaxed his shoulders. “Do call the police. Before the men outside wake up.”

Pale, her lips trembling, she nodded and hurried down a Sheetrocked hallway to do his bidding.

Shane kept his gaze on the builder, taking inventory of the entryway. The walls were mostly bare, freshly painted. One watercolor of a forest scene covered the farthest wall. Its frame would make an excellent weapon, should he need one. He focused outside. The men outside remained silent, the forest was at peace. He smiled at Marsh. “You a good guy, Tom?”

“Yes.” One eyebrow rose. “Much better than you.”

Probably. Shane nodded, glancing behind Marsh. Swift as a whisper, he dodged forward, grabbed the gun, and hooked a leg around the man’s knee. They crashed to the floor. Shane leveled his forearm against Marsh’s windpipe, digging his knees into the tile while the man struggled for air.

Finally, Marsh went limp.

Shane hissed out a breath. The guy had struggled longer than Shane would’ve thought. He jumped to his feet, rushing through the house toward the direction of the garage. The door stood to the right of the refrigerator, leading to a large, well-organized space. He grabbed a water ski rope off the far wall and took the outside exit, quickly tying up the unconscious soldiers.

Should he tie up Tom? He wanted to. Probably unnecessary, though. He gathered an extra length of rope and returned to the entryway.

His wife waited, her bare legs apart. His gaze ran up her smooth thighs, flat stomach, and focused on the gun in her hands. His angel held the weapon with confidence, aiming the barrel square at his chest.

“Drop the rope,” she said calmly.