Sins Brothers [1] Forgotten Sins by Rebecca Zanetti Page A

knew how to type and rather quickly. He didn’t know the name of the computer program, but he knew how to use it. Several codes led him to a screen that listed all new admittances. Two pages into the database, and Shane found his man.
    The world centered again. He felt nothing. Odd and creepy talent, that.
    Quiet reigned along the corridor as he strode out of the computer room, peering inside supply closets until he found a light blue hospital gown and some bandages. Concentrating, he forced the millions of sounds that whirled in his head into a blur of white noise that wouldn’t disturb him. Grabbing what he needed, he hurried out of the staff area and past the emergency room, riding the elevator up to the correct floor. Disembarking, he found a restroom and hustled inside to change into the gown.
    The cool breeze filtered across his butt when he stepped outside. Shane fought a growl.
    An empty room contained a half-filled IV of saline, and he grabbed the piping, taping the cord to his wrist. Then he walked the hall. Room 700 soon came into view. The cop dozing outside the door may have been on the lookout for a guy in scrubs. Or a doctor’s uniform.
    But not a patient.
    Not a bruised, lurching, wounded patient in battered slippers tugging his IV cart behind him. As Shane limped by, the cop looked up, giving him a nod. Shane grimaced and kept walking. He lapped the entire floor, and this time when he drew near, the cop’s chin rested on his chest, his snores echoing across the hall.
    Shane slid inside the room. The door clicked shut behind him. The patient lay in a neat hospital bed, much cleaner than the one that recently flared through Shane’s memory.
    He ditched the IV cart and stalked toward the bed, flipping over the guy’s chart. His name was Ray. Shane’s kick to the gut had broken five ribs; one rib had pierced a lung. Ouch. Shane scratched his head. He could decipher doctor’s notes. But something told him he wasn’t a doctor.
    Ray filled out the bed at probably six foot, two-fifty. Matted black hair pressed to his head. Dark circles slashed under his eyes. Surgery had probably been a bitch. Shane pressed his hand over the patient’s mouth. Ray started, his eyes flying open. He struggled, then stilled.
    Shane smiled. “Sorry about the ribs.”
    No response.
    “So. You understand I could kill you in seconds?”
    A nod.
    “Good.” Shane removed his hand. “Why?”
    Ray’s forehead wrinkled. “Why what?” He whispered, a good sign.
    “Why did you try to kill me?”
    Ray shrugged. “The job paid good. We were supposed to knock you both out and start the house on fire. I got alimony to pay—”
    “I don’t care.” Shane eyed the slow breathing. The guy was drugged. “Were you watching me from a blue van the other day?”
    “Yeah. We were supposed to watch you—well, until the order came in to kill you.”
    “Who hired you?”
    “Denny hired me.” Ray’s blue eyes hardened. “He’s the guy you stabbed to death.”
    “I didn’t stab him. I sliced his jugular.” A significant difference. The fact that dumbass Ray didn’t know that showed he was just hired muscle. A moron. Certainly not trained well enough to go up against a killer. Shane might have no clue as to his identity, but something told him his enemies knew exactly who he was. Shouldn’t they have sent someone better? “Who hired Denny?”
    “No fucking clue, man. Paid ten large for each of us.”
    Ten grand. Josie’s life was worth less than ten grand to this asshole. Something must’ve shown on his face because Ray shrank back, jaw quivering. Shane pierced him with a glare. “You’re going to give me more than that, Ray. Because I really want to kill you right now—with a lot of pain.”
    Fear widened Ray’s eyes. “Okay, I mean, okay. Denny said we had to make sure everyone in the house died, and that the whole thing burned to the ground.”
    So they couldn’t be identified? Who wanted him wiped from the earth?