Malloy smoothed the photographs into a nice pile. “I have another call into Pendleton to find out more about the major.”
The smell of sweat, burnt coffee, and fear swirled around the freezing room. Josie fought a sneeze, glancing at the dingy wall. The idea of being stalked for so long made her feel small and vulnerable. “I still keep expecting a two-way mirror.” This time Malloy had brought her farther into the station, bypassing other detectives barking into phones and pecking at computers as they worked at their desks.
The corners of Malloy’s thin lips tipped up. “The two-way mirrors are usually only on television, Mrs. Dean.” He tapped his pen on his notebook. “Just like heroes protecting you for your own good and happily-ever-afters.”
“That’s true.” Even her eyes felt bruised. “This doesn’t make sense. Why would Shane stalk me? Then why leave me and come back?” Why pretend to love her? Why make her love him?
“I dunno. Maybe it’s all about the chase. I mean, maybe he likes the stalking, and since he succeeded so well last time, Dean wanted to try again.” Malloy shrugged. “I’m hoping we’ll get lucky and see his psych evaluation. Perhaps we’ll discover why he left the marines two years ago.”
“I’d like to hear the answer to that question.” She picked at a torn cuticle on her pinkie. “He’d never talk about his past, about his life before we met. All he’d say was that he was alone without a family.” She’d believed him. God, she’d been so stupid. “I figured he had a rough childhood and wanted the past left behind us. I could understand that.”
Malloy nodded. “Yet you found out he had brothers.”
“Yes.” She’d never forget that night. She’d met Shane at their cozy apartment after work for dinner and he’d been… different. Distant and almost cold. He wouldn’t meet her eyes. Yet when they went to bed, he’d all but burned her up with passion. So hard and fast. Almost desperate. The night had given her such hope that she was getting through to him… that he was opening up to her. That he was finally going to let her know him. “I woke up in the middle of the night, and Shane was screaming the name Jory.”
“Jory?”
“Yes.” She’d shaken Shane’s arm and he’d sat up, turning away from her and dropping his head into his hands with a low sob. She’d asked who Jory was, placing her hand tenderly against Shane’s heated back. Trying to offer comfort when none would be accepted.
Shane’s entire body had shuddered. “My brother. Jory was one of my brothers. He’s dead.”
Two years later, sitting in the cold conference room of the police station, Josie could still feel the vibrations of Shane’s pain as he’d said those words.
He’d left her the next day.
Malloy straightened his tie. “I’ll run the name Jory Dean, as well.”
Josie bit her lip. Did Jory even exist, or was it all some sort of bizarre trick? “None of this makes sense. I mean, say Shane has been stalking me, for whatever reason. What does that have to do with the guys found dead in the river? They had my picture.”
Mallow frowned. “I’d say your husband is involved in some pretty bad stuff. Somebody’s after him, and it appears they’re willing to go through you to get him.”
So now she had Shane and unknown killers after her. Her feet actually twitched with the need to flee. A shiver shook her shoulders, and goose bumps prickled her skin. She grabbed her purse from the floor, and a ball of yarn fell out. “Are we done here?”
Malloy exhaled. “What’s up with the yarn?”
“I knit.” She grabbed the ball and tossed it in the purse.
“Oh.” He rubbed his chin, his eyes warming. “My granny knitted.”
“It relaxes me.”
“You probably need to relax.” Standing, he stomped around the table and opened the door.
There wouldn’t be any relaxing until Shane was behind bars. She shot to her feet and into the hall, hustling through the surprisingly quiet station and into the lobby.
Tom tossed a magazine onto the center table and stretched to his feet and away from one of the hideous orange chairs lining the paneled wall. They were all empty save for him.
Relief flooded her. She’d called him earlier, hoping he’d pick her up. Thank God. She stepped into his arms. He’d come for her. She’d called, and he’d dropped everything to help her.
Tom engulfed her in a clean, masculine-scented hug. “Josie.” He leaned back, light brown eyes contrasting nicely with his worn blue flannel. “Never thought I’d be picking you up at the pokey.”