He led her through the hall and into the kitchen.

Malloy met them at the door. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Shane’s nostrils flared. “The hospital. The ambulance is too late, and I’m taking my wife for a checkup.”

Malloy frowned. “I’ll meet you there when we’re finished with the scene.”

Confusion hazed in Josie’s brain, but instinct pushed her to go. Quickly. She stumbled alongside Shane as he led her to the garage and lifted her into the SUV.

“Put on your seat belt.” Quick strides put him behind the vehicle, and he backed out of the garage.

“Why didn’t you tell Malloy about the bug?” She clasped her frozen hands in her lap.

Streetlights played across the dangerous angles of Shane’s face. “The detective isn’t prepared for whatever’s going on here.”

“And you are?” Okay. That did scare her.

“Yep.” He circled the block, scrutinizing the homes stirring to life with the dawn. “In your neighborhood, is there an empty house, one for sale or one with the owners on a long vacation?”

“Why?”

“Because that bug sucked. The device had a radius of a block, max.”

“How do you know the radius just from looking at the bug?”

He stilled. “I don’t know.” The vehicle slowed at the end of the block.

Josie shook her head. He knew stuff he shouldn’t and was beyond trained. Trained to kill anybody in his way. What if she was suddenly in his way? A chill slithered down her spine.

“Josie?”

She stiffened and pointed to a small bungalow. “That house was for sale. I mean, the sign is gone, so maybe they sold it.” She’d known he had training as a soldier, but just what kind of skills had he developed? His hearing must be truly excellent to have detected that bug under her phone. What was he really capable of? Besides hand-to-hand combat that resulted in the other guy being dead.

Shane nodded, drove around the corner, and parked next to the community gazebo. “Why don’t you like hospitals?”

For the love of Pete. She’d known he wouldn’t let it go. “I don’t think this is the time to talk about it.”

“We’re not leaving until we talk about it.” A muscle jumped in his jaw.

She’d told him her entire life story before, and yet he hadn’t told her a thing. For two months they’d shared a home, shared a bed. And she’d had no idea he was a killer. Their marriage had been a lie, one she’d jumped into wholeheartedly. She’d loved somebody that didn’t exist, and the loss of that dream pierced her breastbone with a blade sharper than she would’ve imagined.

A stranger sat next to her.

“Josie. Answer me about the hospital,” he said calmly.

She jumped. The morning pressed in. A sense of urgency had her wiggling on the seat. They couldn’t just sit there, and appeasing him right now seemed wise. “Fine. I grew up in foster care. One of the houses had a drunk who hit. He took me to the hospital, and I associate the smell of the place with, ah, pain.”

Shane’s hands tightened on the wheel, the knuckles turning white. “Have I killed him?”

“No.” Josie coughed. “Though you wanted to.”

“Still do.” Anger and pain bracketed Shane’s mouth.

Yeah. Amnesia or not, Shane was Shane. Unless it was all a trick. “It ended up being a good thing. The doctors made a report, and I went to Arthur and Claire’s to live. They were foster parents, but they planned to adopt me.” Her voice sounded wistful, even to her. When she’d fallen on her bike, she’d even felt safe at the hospital with Arthur carrying her in.

“Why didn’t they?”

“Claire died.” Josie shrugged against the wash of sadness from what could’ve been. “Embolism. One day she was there, the next day she wasn’t.” Arthur had started drinking, nearly losing his accounting business. Social services took her away again, and probably would have even if Arthur hadn’t spiraled into depression. They couldn’t let her stay with a grieving single man.

Her first chance for a normal life had been snatched away so quickly. Her second, with Shane, had disappeared as well. Maybe some people were meant to live alone. Man, that was a depressing thought.

Shane released the steering wheel. “I’m sorry.” He opened his door. “What did Claire do?”

“She was a homemaker. Arthur was an accountant. He loved numbers.” Josie squinted to see out the window. Enough with the sad memories. Life moved on. “What now?”

Shane jumped out of the vehicle. “Stay here.”

No freaking way. She could either run back to the cops, or follow Shane into the bungalow. If somebody had been bugging her house, she wanted to see who and how. She leapt from the car, swaying until she regained her balance. Quick steps had her on Shane’s heels.

“I told you to stay in the car,” he muttered, his gaze swinging to both sides of the road.

“I’m scared.” She really should feel bad about manipulating him. “I don’t want to stay alone in the car.” Plus, anyone who had ever seen a slasher movie knew the person waiting in the car always ended up dead. She went for the jugular. “Please let me stay with you.”

He faltered and then sighed. “Okay. But stay behind me.” He took her hand, hurrying around the bungalow to open the fence toward the back. The rear yard had turned brown, weeds sprouting up. The smell of decaying brush scented the air. He peered into the kitchen window. “Empty.”

Glancing around, Shane grabbed a medium-sized rock and smashed the sliding glass door near the handle. Josie cringed. A dog barked in the distance. But nobody moved.

Shane reached inside and unlocked the lever, sliding the door open and stepping inside. He looked around and motioned for her to join him. She gingerly stepped over broken glass, her heart thundering in her ears. What was she doing? This was so illegal.

The kitchen area was empty, not even a table. Quick movements sent them hustling through the unfurnished dining room. Their footsteps echoed through the dusty space until they reached the living room.

Josie’s legs froze in place.

Her eyes stared back at her from a picture on the wall. The moment captured her smiling brightly into the sun, a daiquiri in her hand. She glanced at the next picture, taken of her at a baseball game. Several more pictures of her adorned the walls. Pictures of her coming home after work. Of going to the gym. Of gardening outside her home. Months’ worth. All tacked up next to a sprawl of surveillance equipment.

Shane growled, hurrying toward the equipment. “What the hell?”

Josie frowned. Her wedding picture caught her eye. The official one in the stunning silver frame. The one she’d left for him at his base when she’d moved to Washington. Just in case he wanted the memories. It sat on the end table. She looked closer at some of the pictures. Her hair was shorter. Lighter. Some of the pictures were from California. From before she’d met Shane. From three, maybe four years ago.

She stumbled back a step.

An empty Guinness bottle sat on the counter.

Guinness.

The picture.

With a soft cry, she ran for the bedroom. The scent of heated cedar filled her nostrils. The bed with its navy comforter made, the corners tucked. Shaky steps brought her to the small dresser in the corner. She pulled out the first drawer. Socks. Perfectly folded, in order of color. Just the way Shane organized them. His sole concession to being a soldier, to allowing himself one quirk.

She grabbed a discarded shirt off the floor and brought the material to her nose. Shane’s masculine scent filled her nostrils. Her fingers fisted in the material as she slowly turned around.

He overpowered the doorway. She took a step back, straightening her shoulders. There’d be no crying.

He frowned, glancing at the shirt. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She threw the shirt down, hiding the faded Marine Corps logo. Panic threatened to stop her breathing. What should she do? He’d lied to her—he’d stalked her. Even before they met, he’d watched her. Betrayal coated her throat until she wanted to choke. She’d trusted him. Anger wanted to roar, but self-preservation won. She couldn’t beat him, and she had one chance to get free. So she forced herself to shrug and walk toward him. “I just don’t like breaking and entering.” Her voice trembled. “Can we leave now?”

She brushed past him toward the door.

His hand shot out and grabbed her arm. Dark pupils narrowed and zeroed in on her. Questioning. “Not yet. I need to check more of the equipment.”

She was no victim. Her smile hurt as she swung around to face him. “Okay.” The urge to run shot her into full action. She bunched, and with every ounce of strength she owned, she kneed him in the nuts.

His eyes widened in shock.

He dropped to the floor with a muffled oomph, both hands clutching his groin.

Oh God, oh God, oh God. Her hands shook and she scrambled for the next move. Pivoting, she shot a sidekick to his temple and knocked him over.

She yelped as she turned and ran.

Glass cut her arm as she jumped out the sliding door, leaping through the open gate of the fence. A rustle sounded behind her. She cut across the front lawn, yelling for Detective Malloy. The detective looked up from her porch, a frown on his face. She ran as if the devil himself chased her, her steps pounding on the asphalt.

“Damn it, Josie. Stop!” Shane yelled.

She pushed harder. Who the hell was Shane Dean? She reached Malloy in a rush, all but tumbling into his arms. He steadied her.

Turning, she held her breath at what she’d see. Nothing. A dark, quiet street.

Shane was gone.