Josie stirred in his arms.

The closest cop settled his stance, his gun aimed at Shane’s head. “Put her down.” The kid had to be about twenty.

Shane took a deep breath. “No.”

The cop’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “I don’t want to shoot you, man.” His hand wavered just enough to increase Shane’s heart rate.

Shane leaned against the wall in case he needed to balance and kick out. “Call Detective Malloy. He knows what’s going on. Tell him someone broke into Josie Dean’s place.”

The other cop, just as young as the first, tilted his head and spoke into the radio strapped to his shoulder. He listened and then straightened up. “Malloy already heard the call—he’s on the way. And he sounds… pissed.”

“Yeah, I assume so.” Shane pivoted, fighting every instinct he owned so he could turn his back on the guns. “I’m putting my wife in her room. Feel free to follow me, but if you point the gun in her direction again, I’m taking it away from you.”

Not by one whit did he doubt he could do it. So many different ways to disarm the cops flashed through his head, his skull began to ache. Memories of fights, of stripping away weapons, of his killing people, ripped through his mind.

Whoever or whatever he was… there was no way he was the good guy.

Pity.

* * *

Men’s voices awakened Josie. She opened her eyes, keeping her body motionless in self-protection. A trick she’d learned from the foster parent who hit.

One voice filtered through the rest. Shane. Safety.

She sat up on her bed. “What in the world?”

Shane grabbed her hand from his perch next to her. How did they get back into her room? His gaze ran over her face. So serious. So pissed.

She fought a shiver. “What—”

“Flash grenade,” he muttered, wiping blood off his forehead with the back of his free hand. A cut splayed open above his left eye, and fresh bruises mingled with the yellowing ones already on his strong face and down his bare torso. He’d somehow donned jeans.

How many bruises could one body take?

Early sunshine glinted off the sparkling wooden floor. Cops in uniform strode by in the hallway, placing markers, taking pictures. Muted voices came from the guest room. A figure pushed off from the wall, his deep brown eyes bloodshot. “Mrs. Dean.”

“Detective Malloy.” Josie glanced down at her bare legs. Shane grabbed a blanket off the end of the bed to drape over her. “Ah, what happened?”

“Well, Mrs. Dean, as far as we can tell, three men attacked you and your husband. Two bodies are in the guest room, and one man is on his way to the ER.”

Bodies? Nausea swirled in her gut. Shane had killed two men? So what, his body count was up to five this week? “Who were they?” Her voice cracked at the end. The men had violated her home, her sanctuary. Maybe safety didn’t exist.

Shane stiffened. “They haven’t been identified yet, angel.” He dropped his gaze to her trembling lips. “Hold on, the next ambulance should be here soon.”

“I don’t want an ambulance.” She tightened her jaw to still her lips. “I’m not going to the hospital again.” Fear made her voice tremble, and she cleared her voice.

His focus narrowed. “Why not?”

He really didn’t remember anything, or he’d never ask that question. She’d already told him about her childhood, and the story had seriously pissed him off. It was all she could do to keep him from hunting down the bastard who’d hit her. She glanced away, seeking comfort in the pretty Norman Rockwell prints of peaceful homes she’d hung on the walls. “I don’t like hospitals. Most people don’t.”

“Josie.” Low, commanding, his voice held no quarter.

They hadn’t seen one another in two years, and yet her body reacted instantly to that tone. Sexy and male, it tingled down her spine. Her gaze swung to his. Deep gray, his eyes demanded an answer, as if there weren’t cops all around them. She struggled to derail his concentration. “Who’s after you?”

He blinked twice. His hold tightened. Finally, he ran a hand over his face. “I don’t know. I’m so sorry I brought them to you.” He shook his head. “I didn’t think—”

Malloy cleared his throat. “I heard back from Pendleton, Major Dean. You retired over two years ago, with full honors.”

Confusion swirled in Josie’s brain. She’d forgotten about Malloy. “No, no, that’s not right. He stayed in the marines. I always assumed he left on a mission.” That he’d be back for her someday.

“He retired on June first two years ago, Mrs. Dean.” Malloy studied them both, the gun at his hip outlined through his cheap jacket.

Betrayal hit her like a fist in the gut. Shane had left her in August—two months after retiring. Where had he gone every day when he’d said he was going to work? Who the hell was her husband?

Shane exhaled. No expression showed on his battered face. “Any idea where I’ve been for two years?”

“Nope. Your commanding officer said you left without a word, just took off. Though he said you were a hero first. Saved several lives.” Malloy’s voice remained steady and without inflection. Cop voice.

Josie shook her head. She’d believed the lies. Just like a domestic violence victim. Tom might be right. Maybe she should get out of town. Hell, maybe she should take a chance on a guy who trusted her… a guy who let her in and didn’t lie. “You lied to me, Shane.” Her voice came out small, weak.

Shane exhaled. “We don’t know that, sweetheart. Let me find out what was going on. Possibly I went undercover or something.”

Her vision blurred. Perhaps the flash grenade had given her a concussion. She blinked to clear her head.

Malloy scribbled in his tattered notebook. “Mrs. Dean, please relate what happened here tonight.”

Josie took a deep breath and recalled the grenade and seeing the fight. “But it was all hazy. I didn’t understand what was going on.” Her voice trembled. She would not cry.

Shane scooped her up, blanket and all, and tugged her to his bare chest. Scars lined his angular form, knife and bullet wounds now partially camouflaged by new bruises. Heat radiated from his hard body, an oasis of warmth in the chill of the room.

She didn’t trust him, and she sure as heck shouldn’t be on his lap. But the warm illusion of safety was too tempting to fight—for now. For a moment, she needed to pretend. She wet her dry lips and let him shelter her—temporarily. “How long was I out?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

He’d killed two men in less than half an hour. She shivered and he tucked her closer. His familiar scent of heated cedar surrounded her. He’d killed. To protect her, but still, he’d ended the lives of those two men. Yeah. That scared her.

Malloy flipped his notebook closed. “You folks stay here.” He headed out of the room toward the guest room.

Shane shifted, resting her against the headboard and rising from the bed. His gaze took in the entire room, studying each corner, each nook. “What the hell is that buzzing?” He stilled and seemed to center himself in absolute concentration.

Josie frowned, the room cooling her again without his body heat near. “There’s no buzzing.” Had he been hit in the head again?

Finally, with a frown, he stalked over to the phone base on her nightstand.

“What’s going on?” Josie pulled the blanket up higher.

Shane shook his head, lifting the base and peering at the bottom. His jaw tightened. Flaring his nostrils, he yanked a round silver disc off to throw on the floor.

“What’s that?”

Shane held up a hand and grabbed her cowboy boot from the closet. Quick motions sent the heel smashing the disc into pieces. “Fucking bug.”

A bug? Someone had bugged her room? “What are you talking about?”

“They sent the grenade into the guest room. Where I was sleeping. How did they know?” Shane swept the pieces under her dresser with his bare foot. “Don’t say anything to Malloy. Something happened when I was hit… my hearing is unbelievable all of a sudden.” He stalked toward her, his eyes the swirling gray of a winter storm. “Has my hearing always been beyond the norm?”

She shrugged. “Not that I know about.” Of course, she wouldn’t know now, would she?

He gave a short nod. “Do you need a doctor?”

“No.” A shrink maybe.

“Good. Pack a bag.” He glanced at his bare chest. “Damn it. I’m sure they won’t let me get my shirt from the crime scene.”

Josie blushed, scrambling off the bed. “I, uh… may have another of your shirts in the bottom drawer of my dresser.” He didn’t comment, just tugged open the drawer and yanked on a faded Marine Corps T-shirt. “Thanks.”

She panicked and dressed quickly. If they were going to argue, she needed to be fully dressed. “I’m not leaving with you.”

Reaching into her closet, he tossed her clothes in a bag. “You’re in danger… more than I thought. You are leaving.”

He meant it. He’d try and take her, regardless of the cops in the other room. Chances were, he’d succeed. What should she do? She couldn’t trust him, but he knew how to fight and win. Why didn’t that reassure her? “The cops will shoot you.”

His shrug made him wince as he glanced down at his torso. “I’ve been shot before.”

She edged toward the hallway.

He grabbed her arm, his hold firm. “Josie, I know things are complicated. But three killers just stormed your house. You need protection, and I’m better than the cops.”

Her thoughts slugged through her mind in slow motion. Should she leave with him? What about the police? But he was right—he’d taken care of the threat. What was wrong with her? She didn’t trust him, but she couldn’t walk away. Her lungs compressed. If she didn’t go with him, would she ever see him again? Maybe not, and she couldn’t take that chance. She had to know who he was—whom she’d married. And she wanted to live. For now, he was her best bet. So many conflicting emotions ripped through her that her stomach hurt.