The Acceptance

Chapter 14

Edginess had been creeping in on her for days. Not the feverish diminution of strength and thought that usually accompanied a true calling, but a more frenetic sensation that left her discomforted, antsy.

Something had happened—but what?

Everyone she cared about was safe; she trusted in that. If any of them, any innocent person, was in great peril, she’d know.

Bliss droned on in great reluctance, schooling Gaby on patent costs for various deals of prostitution. Blowjobs, hand-jobs, visuals, and extra participation . . . it all sounded repulsive and far-fetched. But to catch her guy—

A disturbing premonition of dread invaded Gaby’s thoughts. Bellicose urgency brought her to her feet, but unlike her other episodes, this impending doom affected her differently.

This had to do with Luther, not evil incarnate.

“Oh fuck.”

Bliss grabbed her hand. “Gaby, wait.”

“Can’t. I need to get out of here. Now.” Gaby jogged to the front of the house and caught Mort just as he started to unlock the door to Ann and Luther. “Don’t.”

He turned to her in surprise. “It’s okay. It’s Ann—”

“I know who it is.” Pulling him away from the door, Gaby studied his face, praying for the support she desperately needed right now. “Mort, you know me, you trust me.”

His earnest gaze never faltered. “One hundred and fifty percent.”

“Well, Ann and Luther don’t.”

Sympathy darkened his features. “Gaby . . .”

“They don’t know me, and they sure as hell don’t trust me.”

Luther’s fist rattled the door. “Mort! Open up.”

After glancing at the door with nervousness, Mort put his shoulders back. “What do you need me to do?”

Thank God for friends. Gaby headed for the steps. “Stall them while I sneak out through the basement.”

“I changed that window, Gaby.” Mort turned her around. “Go out through the kitchen door and into my shop. In the backroom there’s a window you’ll fit through. It’ll put you in the alley.”

How had she gotten so lucky? “You’re my hero, Mort.” Changing routes, Gaby rushed through the house.

Bliss stayed hot on her heels. “Gaby, wait. I have to tell you something.”

“Not now.”

In an uncharacteristic display of backbone, Bliss smacked Gaby’s shoulder. “Yes. Now.”

Caught in a quandary, Gaby nodded. “Fine. Follow me and talk along the way.”

They both heard the front door open, and Luther’s voice questioning Mort. She didn’t have much time.

Holding a finger to her lips, Gaby held open the door leading into the graphic novel shop connected to Mort’s living quarters. Bliss went through, and Gaby closed it again with a quiet snick of the latch. “Come on.”

Unlike the dusty, disheveled shop of old, Mort’s establishment was now well-organized, colorful, but at this time of early evening, empty of customers. The front shades were lowered, leaving the interior in deep shadow.

Gaby made her way to the back of the shop, through a door to a private office complete with desk, phone, fax, and other business devices. “Huh. Mort’s really stepped up in the world.”

Pulling over a chair to enable her to reach the locked window, Gaby started to climb.

“Luther’s in trouble.”

Sharp fingers of dread yanked Gaby back. She spun to face Bliss. “What are you talking about?”

Bliss rubbed her temples. “I’m sorry I ain’t more clear, Gaby. But everythin’ is jumbling around in my brain.”

“Just tell me what you see.”

Nodding, Bliss looked up, bit her lip. “I see Luther in that awful room.”

Gaby’s heart stuttered, and she reached for the chair-back for support. “The room where Lucy was tortured?”

Tears tracked Bliss’s cheeks. “And Gaby? I see you there, too.”

Contrary to Bliss’s reaction, that relieved Gaby so much that her knees almost gave out. “I’m with him? You’re sure?”

“That’s what I keep seeing, yeah.”

Glancing heavenward, Gaby whispered, “Thank you, God.” If she was there, she could keep Luther from harm. What happened to her didn’t matter so much. “I have to go.”

Openly crying now, Bliss clung to her shirt. “But why do you have to go? I’m scared.”

Gaby disengaged her fingers. “A man was killed. I don’t know why I didn’t know that sooner. Maybe because I really hated him and didn’t care if he died.”

“Who?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. The problem is that Luther will think I’m involved, which means he’ll be honorbound to take me in for questioning—or more.”

Bliss shook her head hard. “No. Luther cares about you. He’s a good man.”

“I know he is, and that’s why he’d arrest me.” The need to see her safe, even if behind bars, would motivate Luther as much as suspicion on her involvement. “But, Bliss, I can’t protect him if I’m under arrest.”

Angry footsteps sounded in the hallway, spurring Bliss to panic. “Okay, okay, get on your way then. Hurry.”

“Go back into the next room so Luther doesn’t immediately know how I left.” After a quick hug, Gaby waited for Bliss to exit the office.

The girl rushed out, inadvertently leaving the door ajar, and Gaby didn’t waste time closing it. She stepped up onto the chair, unlocked and opened the window, and hoisted herself out. She was just dropping down into the dark alley when she heard Luther’s booming voice calling her name.

Poor Luther.

He said he trusted her, but he didn’t.

He said he believed in her ability, but how could any sane man believe what she did?

She’d convinced herself of many far-fetched dreams, and now the demiurgeous intrusions of her life brought reality crashing in.

Knowing Luther would feel betrayed, Gaby couldn’t make herself go. She adjusted the window so it appeared shut. Resting against the brick walls of the alley, she fought with her conscience, hopeful of Luther saying anything to belie the urgency for her escape.

In the next second, she heard Luther barge into the room with Bliss. “Where is she?”

In a teeny, frightened voice, Bliss said, “She’s gone.”

Two heartbeats later, he exploded. “God damn it.”

Ann’s much calmer voice chastised his language. “Luther. Bliss is upset.”

“Where is she going, Bliss?”

“I don’t know. Really I don’t.”

To Ann, Luther said, “I guess this is all the proof I needed, huh?”

“Proof of what?” Mort demanded.

Trying to soothe him, Ann said, “We just got a call about a murder victim, a man mutilated much like Lucy, except his heart and testicles were removed.”

Oh shit. Gaby knew it was the same man, the one she’d threatened with just that retribution. Someone had heard, and was setting her up.

Mort now matched Luther’s outrage. “You think Gaby was involved?”

“She split, didn’t she?” Luther shot right back.

Bliss started crying again. “She went because of you, Luther.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Rage vibrated in his every word.

Hiccupping, Bliss said, “She knows you’re in trouble and I guess she knew about the dead guy—”

“Of course she did.”

“—and she said she can’t keep you safe if you arrest her.”

“Perfect. Just fucking perfect.” Luther laughed without an ounce of humor. “God save me from Gaby’s half-witted delusions of grandeur.”

An anvil of hurt crushed Gaby’s chest. She gasped with the pain of it, the humiliation. Slumping against the wall, she almost crumbled.

But she couldn’t be weak.

No matter what Luther thought of her, he was in trouble. She believed Bliss, believed the authenticity of her portent.

Trying to contain the hurt, Gaby pressed a fist to her heart and staggered away from the alley.

Half-witted, he’d called her. Delusional.

That’s what Luther really thought of her, and it mattered, when she’d never before cared what anyone thought.

Or so she’d convinced herself.

Now, she had to admit to her own vulnerability. She’d trusted Luther. Against a lifetime of learned response, she’d opened her soul to him.

God, she was stupid. And delusional. He had that right. Only a half-witted fool would believe the two of them had any sort of future.

At a corner pay phone, in plain sight should Luther leave the apartment, she called him.

He answered on the first ring. “Damn you, Gaby, where are you?”

Unemotional, barren of feeling, she said, “Nowhere that you’ll ever find me.”

“You have to go back to your apartment sometime.”

“For what? I don’t have a life, Luther. You know that.” She didn’t explain to him that she could get in and out of her place—and would—with the expertise of a wraith. Luther would never see her. No one would. From now on, she’d be invisible.

“Gaby, you have friends . . .”

“Who think I’m delusional with visions of grandeur. Yeah, I know.”

He went silent, then she heard his footsteps as he rushed through the apartment with the realization that she’d overheard him. “Where are you? We can talk. Let me explain—”

“I’m gone, Luther. Stop chasing shadows and listen to me.” She drew a pained breath. “It doesn’t matter what you think of me. Not anymore.”

“You have no idea what I really think.”

“Yeah well, like I said. It doesn’t matter now. So listen up. I’m only going to say this once. You have to be careful.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“You sound like me.” A small, poignant smile teased her before Gaby realized it and wiped the expression away. “If you hear from anyone who wants to meet you, possibly an anonymous source, you can’t go alone. No matter what he says. Do you understand?”

“If you know something I should know—”

“I know a lot of things you should know, but we’re no longer cohorts. I’ll be in touch.” She hung up and faded back into the alley. For tonight at least, Luther had Ann with him. He’d be safe.

Probably.

But as Gaby went through the alley and over a broken wall to cut back to the street, doubts gnawed on her peace of mind. She hadn’t made a conscious decision to follow Luther until she found herself near her car with the need for haste prodding her.

It proved a simple thing to drive back to Mort’s, wait near the curb, and follow Luther when he left. Gaby kept a distance so he wouldn’t notice her, but she never let him out of her sights. He stopped at a grocery store, went inside for about ten minutes, and exited with a bag of items. Next he stopped to put gas in his car.

Impatient, Gaby hung back, watching, noticing the limpness of his clothes, his posture. Frustration and tiredness etched every line of his big, muscular body.

Before an ominous moon, evening breezes scuttled shadows and disrupted Luther’s dark blond hair. With one hand he held the gas nozzle to his car, and with the other he tugged at his tie.

She’d wanted to know him—in every way.

She’d wanted to touch him—everywhere.

And he’d ridiculed her to her friends.

Little by little, grating outrage shoved aside the anesthetizing hurt.

How dare he accuse her of insanity?

Gaby snorted to herself. She wished her only issue was a little lunacy. Her life as a crazy person would be much, much easier than that of a paladin.

Luther got back in his car and pulled out to the road.

At a discreet distance, Gaby followed.

No, she wouldn’t let anyone hurt him. But she made no promises about what she’d do.

Before long, impecunious surroundings gave way to bourgeois dwellings; tidy homes with immaculate lawns lined the streets, enhanced by compact cars in the driveways and landscaping of flowers and shrubs.

Gaby slowed to a crawl when Luther’s turn signal came on. He pulled into a driveway and his car lights went off. Seconds later, she heard the closing of his garage door. A streetlamp illuminated him as he hauled out his grocery bag and strode to the front door of a small Cape-style home.

Keys in hand, he unlocked a wooden door, went inside, and the porch light went on. The door closed.

Gaby sat back and studied his house. Showing his bachelor status, Luther had a well-kept lawn, but lacked flowers of any kind. A tall oak tree grew in the front. A stone walkway led to the porch. At the right side of the house, a tall brick chimney climbed to the top of the roof.

Colonial blue wood siding and cottage windows with black shutters added agrestic charm.

It was a beautiful home. A real home.

Longing and regret lacerated the last fragile thread of Gaby’s temper. As silent as the breeze, she opened her car door and slunk out.

She’d peer in the windows, that’s all. Nothing more. Not right now.

Avoiding the streetlamp’s glow, she dashed across the street and onto the cushiony lawn. Thanks to the settling of dew, she could smell the friggin’ grass.

Starved for any taste of normalcy, she paused to stroke the rough bark of the towering tree and let her lungs drink in the fresh air. Somewhere nearby, a cricket chirped.

Her eyes closed, her heart ached—

“Spying on me?”

Gaby struck without thought. The heel of her palm came up with killing force. Quick reflexes saved Luther from a broken nose, or worse. Instead, her palm clipped his chin, snapping his head back.

Appalled, she stifled the next automatic move. “Luther!” Well damn. She was pissed, yeah, but she didn’t want to damage him.

He didn’t fall. He worked his jaw—and the next thing Gaby knew, he had tripped her and that dew-wet grass kissed all along her back. Luther’s crushing weight compressed her lungs.

Incensed, he breathed fire against her face, while at the same time, one of his legs shoved with brute force between both of hers.

She wasn’t moving much, either by way of objection or defense, but still he caught her wrists in an iron grip and wrested both of her hands high above her head.

His mouth almost touching hers, he said, “Answer me, damn it.”

For most people, her current position would be alarming. For Gaby, it didn’t matter. Not even a little. “You startled me.”

His whole big body vibrated with rage, and then he kissed her, hard enough that it wasn’t fun.

When he lifted his head, Gaby fried him with a glare. “I wouldn’t suggest you try that again.”

“Or you’ll do what? Stalk me?”

She head-butted him, and the solid thwack even made her see stars.

For a single instant, Luther loosened his grip and slumped over her, giving her the opportunity to twist out from under him.

She shot to her feet.

He rolled to his back, a hand to his forehead.

Now standing over his supine form, Gaby said, “I could destroy you, you arrogant bastard, and that is not delusions of grandeur. If you don’t believe me, then come on, big boy. Let’s go. Right here, right now.”

He lay there, a forearm covering his eyes. Even his breathing seemed to still.

Oh hell. “Luther?” Had she knocked him out?

Gaby nudged him with her foot. “Say something, damn it.”

He dropped his arm. “What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry? Fine.” His gaze bored into hers; his voice softened with rueful sincerity. “I’m sorry.”

No! She would not be drawn in so easily. “Get up, damn it.”

“To fight with you? No thanks.” At his leisure, he propped himself on an elbow. A swelling knot showed on his forehead.

“Why not? Chicken?”

His lips twitched. “You know, if you don’t lower your voice, my neighbors will call the police.” He looked struck with that possibility. “Or they might call me—since I am the police.”

Her heartache swelled to impossible proportion. “You think this is funny?”

“I think I’m bewitched. There’s a difference.” He patted the ground beside him. “Come here, Gaby.”

“No.”

“Why? You were enjoying the grass.” His expression remained impassive. “And the tree.”

Oh God. “How do you know that?”

“I could see it on your face.” His gaze ranged over her, head to toes and back again. “It’s not just danger, or evil, or . . . bad things that transform you. You’re like a chameleon, forever changing on me, always unpredictable.”

After many vicissitudes of disappointment, she’d had no choice but to change in order to survive. “That’s nonsense.”

“You’re a beautiful woman, Gaby. Not in the typical sense of shallow society standards. You’re more striking than that.”

“I must’ve hit your head too hard.”

“Even when you alter—”

“Morph?”

“Semantics. But even then, your looks are compelling. And sexy.” He patted the grass again. “Now don’t be cowardly. Accept the compliments as truth.”

“How can I when you’re delusional?”

“Possibly. But I’m trying hard to see things clearly. With you, that’s always a challenge.” He held up a hand. “Come down here so we can talk more comfortably.”

Instead, she took a step back. She didn’t trust him in this awkward, sensual mood. “What do we have to talk about anymore?” Far as she was concerned, it had all been said.

“Life,” he offered. “And possibilities—for the past and the present and the future—”

She almost kicked him. “There is no future.”

“For us, you mean? I think you’re wrong.”

That stymied her, so she addressed his most recent insult. “I am not a coward.”

“Not usually, no. But I scare you.”

He did. So much. Resistance fading, Gaby said, “The ground is wet.”

“And mosquitoes are likely feasting on me in hordes.” He sat up, brushed off his arms and the back of his head. “Okay. How about we just sit in the grass, then? You can lean against the tree. What do you think?”

Gaby couldn’t get herself to move. Filled with skepticism, she asked, “What are you sorry about?”

“A lot of things. Let’s start with I’m sorry for being a cop, and therefore being bound to certain types of conduct and practices.”

“Meaning the edicts that would have you arrest anyone suspicious.”

“Yes.”

“You think I’m suspicious.”

“Tell me what really happened, and then I’ll decide.”

Putting her chin in the air, she said, “Fine.” She dropped down to sit yoga-style and leaned her back against the tree. “I hear the insects.”

“They’re hungry little bastards.” One finger moved up her arm. “And you’re tasty.”

Gaby snatched her arm away. “Some deranged asshole hurt Marie.”

“But he wasn’t the guy we want?”

“No. Just a cretin with an abusive streak.”

Luther didn’t question her authority on that. “How badly did he hurt her?”

Feelings, visions, demitted her cloak of bravado. “It was awful, Luther,” she whispered. “He knocked out one of her teeth, beat on her, and . . .” Her throat hurt, and it seemed impossible to swallow. Gaby touched the choker Luther had given her, the choker she never removed, as if that could relieve the restriction. “He burned her with his cigarette. Twice.”

Comforting, lending strength, Luther’s hand rested on her thigh. “And you being a champion of all the little people, delivered your unique form of retribution?”

Her muscles tightened all over again. “Mock me all you want. I don’t care.”

“Actually, that was my asinine way of accepting you for who you are. You are a champion, Gaby. A defender. You know and care about Marie, but you’d have done the same for anyone you considered an underdog. I know that.”

“Well, whatever you want to call it, I pulverized him.”

“Describe pulverize, please.”

“His arm was broken beneath his elbow.”

“You’re sure?”

“The bone was sticking out.”

Luther made a face. “Definitely broken.”

“When I finished with him, he was pretty bloodied and battered. I only stopped because he couldn’t fight anymore. But before I left him, I told him that if he ever again hurt anyone to get his jollies, I’d cut out his heart and remove his balls.”

Luther winced. “But you didn’t kill him.”

“No, I didn’t.” She picked at a sweet blade of grass, brought it to her mouth. “There were a lot of people there. Jimbo, the hookers, shop owners, renters. Any spectacle is entertaining.”

“What happened to the guy?”

“Jimbo had a friend take him home where we both assumed he’d have someone take him to the hospital.”

“And you think it’s possible that our guy got to him instead, and killed him to set you up?”

Dropping back against the rough tree trunk, Gaby shook her head. “I think he killed him because he gets his rocks off that way. Setting me up is just a bonus.”

While contemplating that, Luther began stroking the bare skin of her leg, over her knee, higher on her thigh. “You’re especially sensitive about anyone hurting women, aren’t you?”

“Or kids.”

Using his hold on her knee for leverage, Luther sat up, moved closer. Whenever he touched her, the size of his hands struck her. He was a large man all over—a large, capable man who helped society without walking the fine line between corruption and morality.

He cupped her face, making her feel small, fragile.

“Tell me, Gaby. Is that because, at some point in your life, someone hurt you?”