These guys could obtain information now, couldn’t they? “Yes. Tom had a gun pointed at Shane, so Shane defended himself. Now Tom has pressed charges.”
Nathan grinned. “Listen to you defending your man.”
“It’s the truth.” She wrinkled her nose at him. So familiar. Must be the resemblance to Shane. Her man. Temporarily at least.
“So. Do I flash my badge?” Nathan yanked a wallet out of his back pocket to flip open the top.
Was that an FBI badge?
“No.” Matt reached into a case sitting next to the couch that had been hidden by his long legs. He drew out a wallet, which he tossed to his brother. “You’re Nathan Jones, attorney at law. Congrats.”
Josie cleared her throat. “The FBI badge would work better. He could take Shane into federal custody.”
Nathan eyed her. “I like how you think… and you really do look like an angel.”
She stiffened. The nickname. Shane had discussed her with his brother. What had he said? “Thanks.”
Matt shook his head. “The badge is authentic. I’d rather not have the connection between Nathan and Shane on the record. Not yet, anyway.”
“Why not?” Her hand cramped around the gun. She should put the weapon in her purse, but that seemed unwise. Just in case.
Matt shrugged. Standing, he seemed even taller than Shane, who stood to six foot three.
She faced Nathan. “You’re really in the FBI?”
“No.” Nathan grabbed a California driver’s license out of the wallet and studied the plastic.
“I don’t understand. Why do you have so many fake credentials?” Unease began to make her head pound. Who were these guys?
Nathan yanked a large handgun from the back of his waistband and tossed the weapon to Matt. “I shouldn’t be armed.”
Matt placed it on the scarred table holding the rickety television. “We can’t really explain. Shane trusts you, so we’re letting you know this much. But the less you know, the safer Shane is.” He turned to Nathan. “Good luck.”
Nathan nodded. “I brought a suit—it’s in the car.” With a wink at Josie, he dodged out the door.
Silence. Alone with Matt, Josie turned to take him in. “So, you’re Mattie.”
He crossed his arms over a broad chest. “That’s me.”
“Does Shane love me, or what?”
*
The smell of the interrogation room set neurons firing in Shane’s brain. Antiseptic. Fear. Blood. He rested his elbows on the hard metal of the bolted-down table, his hands handcuffed before him. In less than a minute, he could have them off.
The dingy green walls closed in on him, and he again counted the rate of buzzing from the fluorescent light above him. Two cameras were hidden in the ceiling, also emitting a low frequency.
Memories.
A room like this. A large man, buzz cut, dead eyes. Telling him if he lost again, he’d go to the other camp. Disappear like those other kids.
A training field. Hard packed and dusty. Boys, his age, fighting hand to hand. With knives.
Barracks. Beds for growing boys. His brother Matt teaching him how to block a side attack.
The door banged open, ripping Shane back to the present. Malloy stepped inside, followed by another man wearing a navy blue suit and bold power tie.
Malloy tilted his head. “Your lawyer is here, Major Dean.”
Shane lifted an eyebrow, keeping his face blank. His stomach clenched hard. Memories shot like spikes of glass through his brain. His brother wasn’t a lawyer. But his brother was there.
His brother brushed past the detective, taking a seat next to Shane. “Whatever my client said without counsel is irrelevant.”
Malloy snorted, chomping his gum. He reached down and unlocked the cuffs, twirling them in the air. “No worries, counselor. Your client hasn’t uttered one peep since we brought him in three hours ago.” The door clanged shut as he stomped out.
Shane turned toward the man. The past slammed hard into his gut. His brother. Breathing hurt suddenly. “Nathan.”
Nathan nodded. “Yes. Nathan Jones, your attorney.” He peered closer. “Major Dean, how’s the head?”
Memories rippled through Shane’s brain—so many, so fast. Triggered by his brother. He swayed. “Great.” Nathan teaching him to pick a lock. Times they’d spent together growing up, the time he helped Nathan in a knife fight. Blood spraying. For one second Shane wondered if he could trust Nathan. Instinct and memories comingled into a desperate yes. His brothers were the only people he could trust.“Memories filtering in fast.”
Nathan’s eyes lightened. “Good. Good to know.” He eyed the ceiling. “So. I checked at the desk, and you haven’t been formally processed yet.”
Shane nodded. That was good considering they’d have to steal his prints back if he had been. His skull pounded as the dam holding his life back released. “I assume it’s a matter of time?”
“No.” Nathan flipped open a small smartphone to read the screen. “My firm is in touch with the prosecuting attorney’s office. They don’t have a case, and you should be let go soon.”