Page 32 of Devoted

18

Angie

It's a noise.Just a small one but it's unexpected enough to wake me from a deep, dreamless sleep. I stare into the dark room. The usual silhouettes of furniture and curtains come into focus. I don't move, listening for it again. It would sure be convenient if all the lofty people making decisions about my life would let me have back the weapon that I'm highly trained to use. Everyone keeps asking me about being a prisoner in Freestone's world, yet I've never felt as controlled and shackled as I have since I gotout.

A floor creak in the front room makes me bolt to sitting. I've walked and paced the tiny house enough to know exactly where the creak came from. It's the stretch of floor directly in front of the couch. My heart is racing as I search around the room for something to use as a weapon. My running shoes are about the most lethal thing I can find, which means I'm on myown.

Now that I'm fully awake and thinking clearly, relief washes through me as I convince myself it's Maddox. He has a key. He probably couldn't let go of the spanking idea and decided to risk his job for some fun. It was just likehim.

Still a little shaky from the initial scare, I flick on the hallway light and head to the frontroom.

"I think you're the one who needs a damn spanking," I say with a laugh. It's cut short with a gasp. I fall back several steps. My body taps the wall behind me. I lean against it forsupport.

The hallway light reflects off the blue of his eyes. For the first time, I'm looking at him a hundred percent sober. I still can't find the monster that everyone tells me exists. The alarm drains from my body. I'm not in danger. Kane would never hurt me. I can see it in hisface.

"A spanking,huh?"

"How did you get in?" I remain pressed against the wall. My legs are still wobbly from theshock.

Kane glances toward the sliding glass door. "It was easy to open. I thought they'd take better care of you than this. This shack is not evensecure."

"It's not a shack. It's charming. In fact, I'm growing to love thisplace."

"Do you ownit?"

"Ha. That's funny. Owning a California beach house on a detective's salary. That's a goodone."

I'm not particularly amazed at how easily we can converse. There was no way to deny that we grew close in the months underground. It's a reality that should haunt me more than it does. I formed a bond with the man I was trying to bring down. And in retrospect, I did just that. I brought him down. Only I'm not feeling particularly victorious. If anything, I feel guilty. Especially knowing what I donow.

"How did you find me? Or is that a silly questiontoo?"

He tilts his head. "It goes along with my comment on security. And again, I thought they'd take better care ofyou."

"Nah, I'm pretty disposable. Just a smart mouthed cop, who apparently has cost the department a lot of money and I never even handed them the badguy."

Kane grins faintly. He has ditched his usual business shirt for a black t-shirt and black jeans. The stern, chiseled expression he wore so often before has been softened. He's more relaxed. The fabric of his shirt strains across his broad shoulders as he reaches for something on the floor. A second of fear shoots through me, thinking he's come to take out his revenge on me. His hand emerges with what appears to be a very expensive bottle of wine. The scars on his arm twitch and slide back and forth as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a corkscrew. The scars look different to me now that I know what they stand for. They look so painful, I can almost feel them just by looking atthem.

I drag my eyes from the scars and force a smile. "Looks like you thought ofeverything."

"Not everything. Do you have some glasses in thischarmingcottage?"

I walk to the kitchen and am keenly aware that he's watching me. It was always like that with him. I was always hyper aware of the man's presence, of his attention onme.

I open the cupboard and grab out two juice glasses. "No stemware," I say on the way back to the couch. "Apparently, Uncle Nate is not a winedrinker."

"Who is UncleNate?"

I shake my head. "Just a friend." It's too early in the conversation to bring up the complex subject of James Maddox. But I have every intention of bringing him up soon. I have a million questions forKane.

"It'll taste the same in a juice glass." Kane's bicep tightens, stretching the sleeve of the t-shirt as he easily pops the cork. The wine is fragrant and a lush pink color as it fills the glass. He hands me it and lifts his to clink mine for a toast. "Here's to drinking wine in juiceglasses."

I pause before taking a sip. "I'm not supposed to have any drugs oralcohol."

"Says who?" He sits back and drapes his arm along the couch, revealing the tattoo of Einstein's quote about reality being an illusion. It's oddly familiar. Every curl of ink, the slant of the letters, they are etched in my mind along with the muscles running down hisforearm.

"It seems I was freed from you and dropped immediately into the control of a team of professionals. So-called experts who all know what's best for me. Not sure when I lost every shred of my independence. Actually, I am sure. It was the second I said yes—to you." My debriefing session has been coming back to me in short, humiliating spurts all day andnight.

"You weren't my prisoner. A prisoner hates their incarceration. I don't think you hated it. Unless you were just a really goodactress."

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