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 her throat and took a good look.

Several bandages were strapped across Shane’s muscular torso while a splotchy purple 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, his scarred chest and packed abs betraying a life of combat. The new wounds would fit 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, and familiarity 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 dangerous like 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 providing security 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 leaned against a poster depicting the inner ear. The room was small—examination table, smooth counter with sink, one rolling chair for a doctor. Yet she hadn’t even 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 in a notebook. “Is this your husband?”

The quiet power of Shane’s presence yanked her attention back to him. Even after all this time, he commanded her body’s responses. He cocked his head as if awaiting her answer.

She nodded. “This is Shane Dean.” This couldn’t be happening. The helplessness she’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 she had to family, struggling to keep her lips firm. It was really him. Really Shane. “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 washed through her edged with a sharp pain. Two years. Two long years since he’d left her. “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 raw nerves. She would not let him affect her. “I didn’t even know you were back in the 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 a minute. “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 in Washington State?”

Shane shrugged. The paper on the table crinkled as he moved. “Dunno. Probably coming to visit you from my home in Oregon? I have an Oregon driver’s license as well as a card with your name and phone number in my wallet… along with our marriage 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 married there.” Within three weeks of meeting each other—the one and only time in her life she’d taken a risk and been spontaneous. Of course it had ended in disaster. She had been so stupid. What had she been thinking?

The detective cleared his throat. “Your husband isn’t wearing dog tags. He was found down by the river, which is miles across the city from your home. To your knowledge, does he know anyone else here in Snowville?”

“No.” At least, she didn’t think so. More than 100,000 people lived in the eastern Washington town. Shane might know somebody else who lived there.

Her knees began to tremble, and she forced them still with stubborn pride. She dug her nails into her palms to quell the urge to caress his bruises. Her romantic notion of being able to heal him, to show him love was possible, had earned 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 were separated?”

Warmth flushed through her chest, just under the skin. “Ending our marriage was your choice.” In fact, he hadn’t bothered to officially end the marriage. He had just disappeared—leaving her alone after making promises he clearly had never intended to keep. Some people didn’t get a family, and she should’ve remembered that before trusting him.

The detective clicked his pen, gaining her attention. “Please explain. Is it some religious type of deal? The separation?”

Josie tilted her head. “Excuse me?”

Malloy straightened his pose against the wall. “The separation instead of a divorce. Is it a religious deal?”

Josie blew out air. “No. We’re getting a divorce. I didn’t feel right requesting it in absentia, and I wanted to wait until Shane could sign the papers. It just seemed fair…” She’d wanted to face him, to end it right. Of course, there had always been that tiny chance he’d try to win her back—explain why he’d deserted 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 and spurred 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 she couldn’t steel herself to end it one-sided. To divorce a soldier most likely in combat seemed wrong. Even after everything, to hurt him like that would hurt her more. “I sent the divorce papers to your base in Pendleton. You could’ve mailed signed copies back to me.”

“Maybe I don’t want a divorce.” Shane’s jaw set in the way always guaranteed to prod her temper.

She forced anger down. Way down. She would not argue in front of the cop. Her gaze searched Shane’s bruised face. “Was he mugged?”

The detective began to write again. “We don’t know. If so, the muggers might need medical help, as well.” He gestured toward Shane’s bloodied knuckles. “He beat the crap out of someone.” Scribble. Scribble. “Ah, Mrs. Dean, would you know 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 the military. Or his brothers.”

Shane’s head snapped up. “Brothers?”

“Yes. You let it slip once that you had brothers.” How could he not remember anything? For a control freak like Shane, it had to be hell. “Though I have no idea who they are.”

He exhaled in exasperation, and his gaze wandered over her face in a caress so familiar 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’t enough. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes, and she ruthlessly batted them away. He didn’t get to see her cry now. Before he’d left, there was one night when she’d thought they were getting closer, she had thought he was finally letting her in. Then he’d disappeared.

His eyes warmed and a hint of a smile threatened. A tension of a different sort began to heat the room. Josie tugged her jacket closed as her traitorous nipples peaked. She’d forgotten his ability to shift affection into desire. Damn the man.

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 meet Josie’s gaze, both eyebrows rising. “Right?”

“Yes.” She swallowed. “You already had the tat when we met, and you said it meant freedom.”

“I don’t remember getting inked, but I know what the symbol means.” Shane frowned, running his wounded hand through his hair.

The detective cleared his throat. “So, you don’t know who’d want to attack your husband, and you haven’t seen him in two years. Ah, Mrs. Dean, you’ve built a life 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 her head. “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. She opened 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 at a small coffee shop in California.

He shook his head, giving a slight wince and then holding still. “No. No memories. You look like an angel—big blue eyes, wispy blond hair. My angel.”