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.
Chapter 7
Police station coffee sucked. Josie huddled over the Styrofoam cup, her finger probing the bite marks she’d left in the spongy top. How could she have been so wrong? But really, what had she ever known about Shane? Some of those pictures had been from before she’d even met him. Had he been stalking her? If so, why leave her for two years? He’d had her.
What kind of a crazy game had he been playing?
The heat snapped on in the small room, but it failed to penetrate her chilled skin.
Detective Malloy sat across the battered table of the interview room, the dark circles beneath his eyes widening as the day wore on. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Dean.” He tapped a photograph of her leaving a gym in California holding a rolled up yoga mat under her arm. “Since you’re ready to continue, let’s look at a few more photographs my men brought from the cottage where your husband apparently has been staying. Do you remember this picture?”
Considering she hadn’t realized the snapshot was being taken, no. “I haven’t seen this picture before.” She fought a shiver at the creepy fact that she’d been photographed without her knowledge. “Though I hadn’t met Shane when this shot was taken.”
“Are you sure?” Malloy’s gaze sharpened.
“Yes. My California yoga instructor opened her own place across town, and I followed her. I stopped going to this location at least a month before I met Shane.” She’d keep using his name. No way would she refer to Shane Dean as her husband. Never again.
Malloy scribbled in a notebook, sliding another photograph in front of her. “Your hair is longer in this one.”
“Yes.” Josie stared for a moment. The shot had captured her leaving her office building in California dressed in her favorite green silk suit. “This was taken even before the yoga one. I cut my hair shortly after this picture, I think.” Fear made her breath arrive in short bursts.
“You worked for Montgomery and Associates?”
“Yes. I moved to the local branch here when I, ah, left Shane.” Apparently her instincts were right for once.
“Why Snowville? I mean, your firm has branches all over the country.”
“I don’t know.” Josie rubbed her eyes. “Snowville is a decent-sized town, not a city, with four seasons, lakes, and mountains. Seemed like a good place to make a home.” And her one and only friend from childhood was buried in the local cemetery.
“Yeah. I like living here, too.” Malloy shook a picture out to the side. Dark dust flew from where the police had tried to fingerprint the paper. He slid the photo in front of her. “This was taken in front of your office building here in Snowville.”
“Yes.” Dread flipped her stomach over. The picture showed her smiling up at Tom, his hand at her elbow as they left at the end of the day. Probably before they went out to dinner, or to one of their homes, where they could cook and save money. She should warn Tom about Shane. “The coat I’m wearing in the picture—I bought it last week.”
Malloy made a notation. “What I find interesting is we couldn’t find one single fingerprint on these pictures. I have men going through the cottage now, and so far… nothing.”
“Shane took those.” The Guinness can, the rolled-up socks, the shirt smelling like him all proved Shane had been watching her. For years. Fear sharpened the room into clear focus. Where was he now? He’d taken her SUV and disappeared.