Charming in a boyish way, Tom never hid his emotions from her.

Pressing her hand to her abdomen, she centered her thoughts and concentrated on breathing, allowing fear to slide away. For two years she’d taken meditation and yoga classes in an effort to stay calm. Maybe she should’ve been taking shooting lessons.

The knife she’d grabbed from the kitchen gleamed on her nightstand. The blade was big enough to cut through a twenty-pound turkey. Just in case the muggers returned—she wanted the weapon near.

The cell phone buzzed, and seeing Tom’s number come up, she answered it.

“There you are,” Tom said. “Sorry it’s so late. I can’t sleep.”

“Me either.” She and Tom often spoke late into the night, both too tired to sleep after a hard day’s work. Now, more than ever, she needed to talk. She needed to get the words out to someone she trusted. To someone who would understand and hopefully have insight into fixing everything.

She took a deep breath. “Remember when I crashed into you in the elevator a couple of months ago?”

Tom chuckled. “When we met? Yes. You were late for a meeting and tripped—and you apologized for being a mess.”

She had been a disaster, just having found out about the possible promotion. Tom, catching her attention with his shaggy hair and strong jawline, had quickly helped her right all the papers, telling her to take a deep breath. He’d also grinned and promised she wasn’t a mess.

Swallowing, she settled against the headboard. “I’m a mess again. You wouldn’t believe the night I’ve had.” Tom had become her confidant, and she couldn’t stop now. Taking a deep breath, she told him the entire story, starting with the phone call from the hospital. Tom had known about Shane from the beginning and had encouraged her to file the divorce papers without waiting for Shane’s input. Of course, Tom’s divorce had him miserable, so she hadn’t wanted to follow suit right away.

Dead silence met her when she wound down her story. Unease pricked the back of her neck. “Tom?”

He exhaled loudly. “Wow.” More quiet pounded between them. “I’m not sure what to say. I mean, this sounds like something from Law and Order—with amnesia, dead bodies, and your photo trampled in the mud at a crime scene. You know this isn’t good, right?” Concern animated his deep voice. A fridge closed at his end, echoing across the line. She could almost see him prowling through his half-finished house with the phone pressed to his ear. He lived in the finished part while he waited for the money to build the rest.

“I know it sounds unreal.” There was no rational way to explain why she let Shane sleep in the next room. “I wish I could explain.”

Tom sighed. “You don’t owe me an explanation. I understand you’re married and the ties that implies, even if you are seeking a divorce. And I sure as hell understand how a divorce can cut you down at the knees.” Tom had discovered his wife of three years was sleeping with their optometrist, a rich guy with a winter house in Belize. Of course, this happened just as Tom’s construction business had floundered and disappeared in the tough economic times. Very tough. He’d moved from Texas to Washington for a fresh start.

Emotion clogged Josie’s throat. Tom’s friendship had quickly become a rare anchor in her life, and she relied on him. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you.”

“Well, on that note, how about I tell you how much I can’t stand that your soon-to-be ex is sleeping in the next room?”

And that was why she counted on Tom. He told her the truth, sharing his feelings. Both good and bad. He trusted her to be strong enough to deal with anything. She allowed her shoulders to relax. “I know.”

“It’s incredibly difficult for me to make a move with a guy in your house.” Humor and a hint of seriousness echoed in his low tone. Chiefly humor.

Josie smiled. So Tom had been gearing up to make a move. She’d wondered. A tiny part of her was glad for the reprieve—she obviously wasn’t ready to abandon Shane if their kiss in the kitchen was any indication. “I imagine it would be.”

“Well, all things in good time. For now, how about you let me get you out of here? Away from danger and dead bodies?” The sound of leather crackled across the line as she pictured Tom shifting in his favorite chair in what he called his “man cave,” an empty room with new sheetrock he’d taped himself that would someday have a pool table and plasma television. When the economy bounced back. “We can both take off from work until things are safe for you. No pressure, no stress, just away from here until the police get everything figured out. Please.”

The heartfelt entreaty in the last word moved her to close her eyes. Tom couldn’t afford to leave work any more than she could right now. Yet he’d offered. “I appreciate it. But for now, let’s wait and see what the police find.” An odd part of her, deep beneath the fear, truly couldn’t imagine the bad guys wanted her. It just didn’t make sense. “Did you hear about the ninth floor yet?”

“Not yet.” The ninth floor of their office building was being remodeled, and Tom had made a bid for the job. “Josie, don’t change the subject. You need to get out of town—you’re mixed up in something dangerous.”

She stiffened against the stack of pillows in her quiet bedroom. The pillows were a reminder of a happier time and what she thought happy married people had to have on their beds. The best foster parents she’d ever had were named Arthur and Claire. Their bed had had so many pillows it had taken Claire a full five minutes to make the bed. Josie had helped before school each day, telling herself that her grown-up bed would be the same someday.

But sitting there, in her wonderful bed with its multitude of colorful pillows, Josie felt a heaviness in her chest. “I can’t leave.” A hoarseness crackled her voice.

“I get it. If my wife showed up tomorrow and wanted another chance, I don’t know if I could say no. I mean, ex-wife.”

Josie’s chest warmed. “The woman was crazy to leave you.”

Tom sighed. “Thanks. I have to ask, are you safe with Shane? I mean, how well do you really know this guy?”

“Not very well.” She considered allowing Tom to whisk her away to safety, away from the raw need she felt whenever Shane was near. The irony almost made her smile. She’d be seeking shelter from the one man whose entire focus had been to protect her during their marriage. Before he’d left her alone and devastated. A small part of her had always thought Shane would find her again.

She had been right.

Tom took a moment, probably swallowing some beer. He liked Bud out of a bottle. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you kind of remind me of one of those women in movies that get beat up and can’t leave the guy because they love him.”

Her head jerked back. “Shane has never hit me.”

“I know. But he left you high and dry… and now he’s in your guest room.”

“Yeah, and you went to couples counseling after you found your wife doing a guy who touches eyeballs.”

Tom snorted. “You have a great point, my friend. We’re suckers… the both of us.”

“A perfect pair.” She stretched her legs out under the covers. “I need answers. I need to know where Shane has been the last two years. Crap, I need to know who I married. Finally.” Then maybe she’d be able to move on.

Silence came across the line for several heartbeats before Tom spoke. “I understand. But promise me, if you need help, you’ll call me. Immediately.”

“I promise.”

“Fair enough. I’ll try and swing by your office tomorrow to say hi. Night.” Tom hung up.

Josie slid her cell phone onto the night table and turned off the bedside lamp. She yawned. Yet her mind swirled. Was Tom right? Was she some victim caught in domestic disaster? Shane had earned her trust and then deserted her. He’d known all about her past and what abandoning her would do—and yet he’d left anyway. Was she weak in allowing him in her house?

Memories, ideas, possibilities whipped through her brain for an hour. Exhaustion pulled at her, though her mind took half the night to finally wind down. As she slipped into a shallow sleep, odd dreams in which she was lost in unfamiliar forests prodded her into wakefulness around dawn.

A low growl rumbled through the bedroom wall. Josie sat up, her heart pounding. Shane. He was hurt. The man had refused even over-the-counter medication before bed. She reached for the knife on her nightstand.

Her bare feet pattered across the wooden floor as she hurried into his bedroom. He lay on his stomach, tanned arm outstretched, covers pushed to his bare waist. Such a broad, masculine back, showcasing a life of battle. Scars, some quite old, testified he’d seen pain before. The dark tattoo covered his left shoulder, the graceful lines creating a tough-looking Chinese character. Freedom. He moaned low.

She stepped lightly, leaning over to pat his heated back. “Shane. Are you okay?”

Swifter than sound, he pinned her under his hard body, his hand at her throat. He pressed into her, his mouth near her ear. “Not this time. I told you never again—no more training like this.”

Josie struggled. Training? “Shane. I can’t breathe.”

He stilled. His eyes flashed open. “Josie?” The hand on her throat loosened. He shook his head, eyes focusing. The darkness failed to hide the still-fresh bruises that mottled his face. “What are you doing here?”

“You cried out.” She blinked back tears. Who moved that fast? “I thought your head was hurting you.”

“It is now.” He hardened against her, settling between her legs. The sweats failed to mask his sudden erection. Shadows danced across his angled face, making him both handsome and mysterious. His deep voice roughened to an almost guttural tone. “You want to take the hurt away, baby?”