“Not anymore.” She wouldn’t let him do this to her. It’d taken two years to deal with the past, and she couldn’t face the pain again. No matter how lost he looked, or how lonely she was. “We’re over.”
“Who are you dating, Josie?” As usual, Shane ignored her words and narrowed his focus to what he deemed important.
“We do need to know, Mrs. Dean,” Detective Malloy cut in before she could tell Shane to go to hell. “Just to clear the suspect list, if nothing else.”
She sighed. “I’m not dating anybody.”
“Someone popped into your mind,” Shane said softly. Too softly.
Icy fingers traced her spine, and her heart rate picked up. She shrugged off the sensation. The cop narrowed his eyes. Both men waited.
She took a deep breath, pulling calmness in. “I’m not dating anyone, but I do spend time with Tom Marsh. He’s in construction, and the last thing he’d ever do would be to mug somebody. And we’re just friends.”
“What kind of friends?” Shane kept his focus solely on her as if the cop wasn’t in the room.
“None of your business.” The panic that rushed through her veins ticked her off.
He grabbed a crumpled shirt off the flattened pillow and yanked it over his head, grimacing as he tugged down the worn cotton. He pushed off the bed—toward her. “Does Marsh know you’re taken?”
Awareness slammed into her abdomen as Shane’s unique scent of heated cedar and rough male washed over her. How could she have forgotten how big he was? How much taller than her own five-foot-two? She tilted her head to meet his eyes. “Tom knows I’m about to be divorced.”
“You sure about that?” Shane grasped her arm, his focus on the detective. “Malloy, you have my contact information while I’m in town. I’ll be staying with my wife. Call if you hear anything.”
The firm hand around her bicep—so warm, so familiar—sent a wave of thrilling awareness through her veins. The one touch could set her back months, maybe more. The man had always been unreal and larger than life. Wanting him had nearly destroyed her once. Never again. She sucked in a breath. “Did the doctors release you?”
“Yes. I have a concussion, and once it’s healed, my memory should be restored. Though”—his voice dropped to a rumble—“you’ll need to awaken me every two hours tonight, darlin’.”
The twang. That Southern twang that escaped when he was either tired or aroused—an idiosyncrasy he normally managed to camouflage. The mere sound of it ignited memories of heated nights and soft whispers from her brain straight to her core. It was an intimacy most people didn’t know about him, and learning about it made her feel special. Her mouth went dry.
A visible tic set up underneath the detective’s left eye. “You’re not free to leave, Major Dean.”
Shane smiled.
The air rushed out of Josie’s lungs. She knew that smile. The detective didn’t stand a chance.
Neither did she.
Shane lowered his voice to a purely pleasant tone that wouldn’t fool anybody with half a brain. “Malloy, I was attacked and have cooperated with you. I unfortunately have no new information, nor am I under arrest. Thus, I’m going home with my wife. Call me if you have questions.”
The twang was gone.
Malloy tapped his pen. “I could hold you as a material witness.”
“Try me.” Somehow the tone became even more pleasant.
Josie fought a shiver.
Malloy, to his credit, ignored the threat and turned bloodshot brown eyes on her. “Is there anyone who’d want to hurt you, Mrs. Dean?”
Josie sucked in air. “You think he was injured because of me?”
The detective shrugged. “I don’t know. This might’ve been a random mugging, but we need to explore all possibilities.”
She hadn’t seen her husband in two years. No way was the mugging connected to her. “Nobody wants to hurt me. Besides, most of my friends don’t know I’m married.” Next to her, Shane stiffened, and her breath quickened in response.
The detective nodded, his gaze taking in them both. “Are you sure you want him with you?”
No. Though it was time to finish this. “Sure. We need to talk, and I have papers for Shane to sign. Thank you for your concern.” Not for one second did she think Shane would stay away at this point.
“Are you sure you’re safe? He may be dangerous.” The detective appraised them both without expression. Cop face… soldier face. She’d seen it on her husband.
“Shane’s dangerous as hell.” He’d saved her from an obnoxious jackass the first day they’d met, his combat training obvious. She allowed herself a wry grin. “But he would never hurt me.” Physically anyway.
Malloy cleared his throat. “Major Dean, what about your safety?”
Shane blinked twice and then chuckled. “Ah. You mean from the deadly pixie doll standing next to me?”