Page 23 of Devoted

Silvana texts back. "This might help with direct evidence. I've only seen him in pictures but something tells me you'd know his face, even atten."

I think about that statement. As high as I was when I with him, I'd know him anywhere and at any age. "Yes. I would." I textback.

Silvana sends a link back with a message. "I'm sure Vossnik's kid would have had his whole past scrubbed clean for his safety. It wasn't easy to find but someone discovered this picture somewhere along theway."

I click on the link. Uncle Nate's wifi is not exactly terrific and the download takes a fewminutes.

"Well," Silvana's text comesthrough.

"I'm at Uncle Nate's remote beach hut,remember?"

He sends back a smiley face. The download opens. It's a grainy picture of a town picnic, a three legged race starting line, it seems. There are four dads standing with their sons, legs tied in the middle for the race. My eyes go straight to Paul Vossnik. Considering the poor quality photo in the newspaper article, I'm surprised how easy he is to pick out of the group. He looks like a perfectly unremarkable man, a hard-working member of the community, a local carpenter who is hiding a horrible, terrible secret. After a mental pep talk, I let my eyes drop to the boy with his leg tied to the serial killer. I could look at a picture with a million pairs of blue eyes and still pick out Kane's. Or in this case, Turner's. He's not more than nine or ten in the picture. The photo is flat and slightly faded but the intensity is there. It's the pain, the harrowing reality he had to keep sealed inside. I can see it in the picture because I've seen it many times in the man. There, in the nostalgic town picnic photo is a boy, a striking, beautiful, genius boy who is living in hell. He's standing amongst neighbors and friends who are smiling and laughing and no one sees it. No one sees his terror or pain. No one sees that he is standing next to a monster. Not just any monster but one who terrorized the same neighbors and friends for a three yearspan.

Silvana's text startles me and I drop the phone. "Did itdownload?"

"Yes," I text back. "Yes, it'shim."

"How are you doing?" he asks as if he can sense my anguish through the phone. "Should I comeby?"

"I'm fine. I think I'll take a break from this tonight. Lots to absorb. Goodnight."

"Good night, Ten. Call if you needme."

I put the phone down and close the laptop. Uncle Nate's wonderful blanket curls around me as I draw my arms across my body. I close my eyes in my cozy, self-made cocoon. I try to clear my head but it's impossible. Unbidden, the memory of the day my dad died surfaces. I told him I hated him. He'd done nothing more than critique my performance at a track meet, ignoring my wins and, as usual, going straight to the events I lost. And I told him I hatedhim.

Tears fill my eyes. Dad would have shaken his head and clucked his tongue at the sight of them. But he's not here to look askance. He's gone forever. But he wasn't a monster. I didn't live with a crazy man who slashed women like they were paperdolls.

I hug myself tighter, wanting to wash away everything I learned tonight. Wanting to wash away the past few months. If I didn't know Kane, the boy in the picture would just be some poor kid who lived through a terriblenightmare.

A knock on the door startles me sending my pulse into a fast drumbeat. A text follows. "Guess I should have sent the text first. I'm at thedoor."

I'm still shaken from the night's revelations. Suddenly, knowing that Maddox is standing just behind the front door makes me crumble. Tears are falling as I crawl out of my blanket and head to the door. It swings open before I reachit.

His tall, broad shouldered silhouette fills the doorway. "Hope it's all right." His deep voice is the soothing elixir I need. "I needed to see you." He shuts the door and steps into the house. The dim lights in the kitchen illuminate his incredible face. His gaze locks with mine. It's a short distance but I run toward him as if I have miles tocover.

I throw my arms around hisneck.

I can see in his eyes that he's upset about something. He starts to speak, but I press my finger against his mouth and shake my head to let him know that it can wait. He notices for the first time that I've been crying. I slam my mouth against his before he canask.

I blindly reach for the hem of his shirt and manage to push it up and off of him with our mouths hardly parting. He pushes my sweatshirt off my shoulders and yanks off my shirt. My legs are shaking with wanting him. I push off my sweatpants and the panties drop withthem.

The green of his eyes darkens with hunger as he glances down at my naked body. "Fuck, Ten," he groans as he reaches for me. I throw my arms around his neck and wrap my legs around his waist. Our mouths slam together as he carries me down the narrow hallway to the bedroom. He kicks open the door. The bed is in the center of the room but we never make it there. Maddox spins around. I gasp as my bare skin touches the cold plasterwall.

I cling to him like there is no other person on earth. It's more true than I'd like to admit. For me there has only ever been one person. He manages to push his pants down without parting from thekiss.

"Yes," I whisper. "Yes."

I moan against his mouth as he slides his cock into me. All the daydreams, all the fantasies about James Maddox holding me, kissing me, fucking me . . . "At last," I mewl against hismouth.

15

Maddox

Ten stretchesjust enough to lift her naked breasts above the edge of the covers. I can't stop myself from kissing them. She reaches up and presses her palm against the side of my face. I'm knocked breathless at the impact one tender touch of her hand has on me. I decide not to bring up the tears I saw when I walked inside the house. Things are fragile enough without me asking her questions. If she wants to tell me she will. I need to give her space. I guess theexpertsareright.

Her hand runs along my shoulder and down my chest. "So this is what all the hoopla is about with that hunky Detective Maddox," shesays.

I drop my head back on the pillow. "Yep, this is the truth behind the hoopla. James Maddox fucks just like everybodyelse."

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