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.”