The Acceptance

Chapter 2

The memories sent a shaft of pain slicing through Gaby. She pressed a hand to her gut, and glanced at Luther for a needed distraction. “That boy didn’t belong here.”

Eyes keen and wary, Luther watched her. “It’s a free country, Gaby.”

“No, it isn’t, not really.” A rusted can blocked her path; she crushed it with her heel. “But either way, it doesn’t change the fact that he was here for some reason, and he shouldn’t have been.”

“He looked around twelve or so. A kid. And a scrawny kid at that. Surely you don’t consider him a threat to your hookers?”

“My hookers?” That made her roll her eyes. “I don’t claim ownership to the ladies.”

He pressed her. “You consider yourself their protector.”

Rolling one shoulder, she said, “It’s a purpose. That’s all.”

“And you need one?”

“Don’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“Isn’t that why you’re a cop?” Even as he annoyed her with his persistence, she felt the encroachment of that odd comfort that always ameliorated her edge when she was in Luther’s close proximity. She sneered, “You want to accomplish things, make a difference?”

He strolled beside her in silence. “You say that like it isn’t possible.”

It wasn’t. But she wouldn’t burst his insulating bubble by telling him so. Not that he’d believe her anyway. Luther was special, but he was also blind to the true depravity of evil.

When she didn’t reply, he finally said, “It’s dangerous for you to hang out with whores, Gaby. Some of them have pimps—”

“Who get real mean on occasion. I know. I’ve seen it. And more.” God hadn’t asked for her intervention with the abusive johns. But she’d given it anyway—and enjoyed herself.

That was something she’d learned since meeting Luther, that righting wrongs—even those simple, quotidian deeds of inhumanity—gave her a great sense of satisfaction, and the feeling that she had some control over her own destiny. She didn’t have to base her every act on God’s demand.

She, Gabrielle Cody, could sometimes act on her own.

Slanting another glance at Luther, she admired the strong lines of his nose, chin, and jaw, the way an evening breeze disrupted his trimmed blond hair—and she found him so visually pleasing, she wished she never had to look away. “I have an understanding with the men who do claim ownership of the ladies.”

Luther muttered a rank curse under his breath, tightened even more, and asked, “Let’s hear it.”

“Not much to hear.” Gaby forced her gaze back to the long stretch of road before them. Haggard vagrants curled in empty doorways; shadowy dealings took place in darkened parked cars; nightlife scurried about, committing conventional crimes and atrocities unworthy of opposition. “They rule the roost, as the ladies allow, but when they cross the line too much . . .” She let her voice fade off, and shrugged. “Shit happens.”

“Shit?”

Satiety unfurled lazily inside her. “In the dark,” she whispered, “where it’s impossible to distinguish a face, things can happen. Things like the slice of a knife where men hope no blade will ever venture.” Her palms tingled in memory of that first, light slice—shallow, superficial, and all the more terrifying for it. She could almost smell the fear of her targets, the memory of it pleasantly scorched into her brain. “It’s effective.”

Luther came to a dead halt. “Jesus, Gaby.”

Facing him, she crossed her arms and cocked out one hip. “When I met you, I was pretty damn stupid about all things sexual.”

Every muscle in his body tensed. “You were innocent, not stupid.”

She shook her head. “No, never.”

“Yes.” He stepped closer. “There’s a difference, Gaby, and I’m well aware of it.”

Fool. Luther might not realize it, but she wasn’t even innocent at birth. She didn’t know what it would be like to have innocence. “I just hadn’t much thought about sex, and I had zero action.” She looked at his throat, at the open collar of his shirt, and her heartbeat grew heavy. “After you, well, I thought about it a lot.” Her gaze came back to his. “The ladies taught me things.”

He stared, fascinated, horrified. Mute.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, cop!” She reached out and shoved him from his stupor. “I don’t mean that I did anything with them.”

He rocked back on his heels. “Thank God.”

“Yeah, He wouldn’t have liked it, that’s for sure.”

“He?”

She shook her head, unwilling to go into her most personal relationship. “I witnessed a lot of stuff. And I had all these questions—”

Luther pokered right back up again. “You asked hookers to educate you on sex?”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to announce it to the whole street.”

He grabbed her arm and drew her toward the closest building. It didn’t offer much privacy, but at least they weren’t in the middle of the walkway.

“I thought we agreed you’d come to me.”

Snorting, she said, “I’d figured on never seeing you again, remember?”

Through his teeth, he said, “It’s not like I could forget.”

Ignoring his ire, Gaby added, “Besides, the ladies proved to be real candid about stuff. Way more so than you or Morty ever were.”

Tilting his head back, Luther groaned to the starry sky.

“Stop dying on me, will you? I’m just saying, now I have a better understanding on what all the hoopla is about—not that the ladies think sex is all that great. For them, it’s a messy chore, but hey, it pays the bills, right?”

Leaning back on the building, his jaw clenched and his eyes zeroed in on her, Luther said, “Selling sex and sharing it with someone special are two different things.”

“Even though it sounds pretty complicated and verging on gross, I think I agree with you. What I felt with you and what I felt when I watched the women—”

“You watched the hookers servicing johns?”

Did he have to keep sounding so appalled? “A few times, yeah. Occasionally some perverted creeps will visit, and I need to keep close, for protective reasons, you know. But my point is—”

“I do not want you watching that warped shit!”

Damn it, now she forgot her point. “Well, Daddy, it’s not up to you, is it?”

He loomed over her. “Do not push me, Gaby.”

“Or what?” she asked, very deliberately giving him a good hard push.

Silence stretched out while he mentally chewed on his response. “I haven’t forgiven you yet for disappearing on me.” He brought his nose to hers. “And I’m still suspicious of every damn move you make.”

That sobered her and sucked the anger out of her veins. Crestfallen, doused in icy reality, she nodded. “I know.”

Her meekness only ripened his fury. “If you force my hand, I swear to God I’ll handcuff you and drag your scrawny ass to the station where we can sort things out at my leisure.”

She wouldn’t—couldn’t—let him do that. If he ever got her locked away, he might not let her loose again, and that was a risk she couldn’t take.

Without the ability to follow God’s summons, the pain would destroy her. She knew it, she accepted it.

“I believe you, cop, I really do.” Turning away, she said, “And that’s why sex can’t ever happen between us, never mind my moment of— What did you call it? Insanity? That fits.” Strolling off, she added, “You do make me insane.”

In a roar loud enough to disrupt the dead, Luther demanded, “Where are you going?”

“To see Mort.” At least that’d take her a good distance from Luther, and she needed the separation before she got melancholy, or worse, before she broke his jaw. “Is that allowed, cop, or will visiting a friend put me in jeopardy of being arrested?”

In the time that she’d been away from him, Gaby had forgotten the soundless way he moved. Suddenly his hand clamped around her upper arm and he drew her to an uncompromising, but gentle halt.

She didn’t turn to face him.

He didn’t insist.

Leaning down, his mouth almost touching her ear, he whispered, “Seeing Mort tonight is fine—as long as I know where to find you tomorrow.”

“Why would you want to?” she asked, hoping he had a good reason that would miraculously lift the smothering desolation now cloaking her.

Fingertips grazed her skin as he lifted aside her hair and then . . . his mouth touched her throat just above the choker she wore. Damp. Warm. Tingling and exciting. Her heart threatened to escape the bony confines of her chest. Low in her belly, some insidious warmth writhed and wriggled.

Her eyes closed. “Luther . . .”

“When you’re like this, Gaby, you’re far more likable.” He stepped away, met her incredulous, wide-eyed gaze, and smiled. “Meet me here, tomorrow, at seven. It’s important.”

“Bastard,” she hissed.

He looked down at her tightened nipples, lifted a taunting eyebrow, and insisted, “I need your promise, Gaby.”

Slow and exact, she crowded toward him. “I can promise to make you a fucking choirboy if you ever again pull a stunt like—”

In a cheerful mood directly opposite of hers, he laughed, yanked her in for a fast smooch on her mouth, and released her again. “Heard it, and heard it again. But wouldn’t it be easier to just promise me?”

God, he was dangerous to her state of mind. Grudgingly, she said, “I’ll be here.”

“Be careful tonight.”

“Fuck you.”

A shake of his head showed his disapproval. “Same old Gaby—except with new clothes and hair.”

Self-consciousness crept in. “That’s the ladies’ doing.”

“The hookers?”

“They said if I was going to hang around, I needed to fit in.” Truthfully, she’d enjoyed their efforts. They’d painted her hair, and she’d grilled them on the how and why of sexual variations. Not a terrible trade-off.

“I like it. But then, I liked you before, too.” He touched her chin, looked at the choker he’d bought her, still around her throat, and then left.

Gaby stood there until he’d rounded the corner. Since he headed toward the building where she now lived, she would have been worried—except if he knew where she lived, he wouldn’t have exacted a promise from her to meet him on the street.

Right?

She started to follow him, just to make sure, but changed her mind. Seeing Mort was more important.

Tomorrow she’d deal with Luther.

Luther waited around the corner until Gaby had time to leave. When he checked, he saw her walking away, her stride cocky, her presence commanding. His gaze stayed glued to her narrow hips until she faded into the darkness.

Until recently—until knowing Gabrielle Cody—the protector in him would never have allowed a woman to wander the drug- and crime-ravaged area alone. During the day, the neighborhood was a cesspool of corruption where fights broke out every hour, flesh was traded, and drugs were purchased.

At night, the lowest kind of miscreants crawled out, willing to snuff life for a smoke, or sometimes, just for the pleasure of it.

Gaby could care for herself though. She’d proven that time and again.

Still, Luther took out his cell and called Morty Vance, Gaby’s old landlord.

He answered on the second ring.

“ ’Lo?”

“It’s Luther.”

“Hi, Luther. What’s up?”

Cutting to the chase, Luther said, “I found Gaby.”

Silence. And then: “You found her? How is she? Is she okay?”

“She’s the same, Mort.” Well, not really, but he didn’t have time to go into it. “She’s on her way to see you. She should be there soon. If she doesn’t make it, let me know.”

“She’s coming here alone?”

Guilt nudged in, but Luther snuffed it beneath other priorities. “I couldn’t go with her. I have things to do.” Important things. Urgent things. “She’ll be fine.”

“Shit. Which way is she coming? I’ll meet her halfway.”

Bemused, because a near-death experience had neatly matured Morty into a man almost overnight, Luther told him her direction. “You be careful, too, Mort. Stay in the light.”

He laughed. “I’d never find Gaby if I did. She’s a woman who clings to shadows. But yeah, I’ll be careful. Thanks, Luther.” The call disconnected.

A woman who clings to shadows.

Didn’t he know it? When she chose to be, Gaby was an adumbration of humanity, every bit as obscure and hazy as the shifting shadow of a half-moon. Gaby could be there one minute, and if he dared to blink, she disappeared. Part of Luther believed she’d wanted him to find her; if not, he probably never would have. Gaby had many talents, among them the ability to blend into nothingness, to be no one, to . . . not exist.

Putting the phone back in his pocket, Luther headed toward the motel where he’d bet Gaby lived. It was an eyesore, a den of iniquity, but unless summoned, the police turned a blind eye to the crimes committed there.

He’d deceived Gaby on purpose, pretending he had no clue where she resided. For that he wouldn’t feel a single iota of guilt. He didn’t trust her.

He couldn’t.

If he got a chance to talk to the call girls, maybe the manager of the motel, without Gaby aware of it, he might get some new insight on her.

At least, that was the plan.

The building sat close to the street with only a broken, littered walkway separating it from the curb. Most of the windows were painted black or shielded with dark coverings. The red paint on the front door peeled away like blistering skin from a harsh sunburn.

In raunchy poses that exposed overused body parts, three women lounged around. As Luther approached, they sized him up with guarded cynicism—and intuitively recognized him as a cop.

That didn’t convince them to close their legs or their mouths. Lewd comments, void of any real offering, would have brought a blush to a man unaccustomed to such human dreariness.

Luther stopped in front of a redhead wearing layered makeup and smoking a cigarette with ravenous appetite. “I have some questions.”

After blowing smoke in his face, she grinned wide enough to show two missing side teeth. “This ain’t the information desk, sugar.”

“Is the manager inside?”

She laughed. “Now, sugar, you know he ain’t gonna talk to you neither.”

Looking up three stories, Luther guessed that Gaby would be up top somewhere. “I’m looking for Gabrielle Cody’s room.”

“Yeah?” She took another hungry drag on her cigarette. “Who’s that?”

Luther could be patient when need be. “Tall, thin girl. Quiet. Deadly.”

The whore shrugged. “Don’t ring no bells.”

“What’s your name?”

She eyed him. “Betty.”

“Well, Betty.” Luther pulled out his badge, and finished by saying, “Either you start talking, or I bust all three of you.”

Flicking away the cigarette and straightening with apprehension, she demanded, “For what?”

Using the edge of his badge, Luther tapped the inside of Betty’s fleshy thigh. “Indecent exposure, for starters. You’ll probably be held up for hours—and that’ll make it tough to reach your quota for the day, now won’t it?”

In rapid succession, sounding like a pack of pissed off banshees, the women told him to fuck himself in ways unimaginable, and surely impossible.

“Fine.” Luther pulled out his radio. “Have it your way.”

From behind him, a man said, “Hold up, cop.”

Luther turned, found a tall, lean, and muscled man behind him. Given certain traits, he likely had a mixed racial background. Given his clothes and attitude, Luther knew he was a pimp.

“And you are?”

Through narrowed eyes partially concealed by blue-tinted sunglasses, the fellow watched him. “An innocent bystander.” He grinned to show off a gold tooth. “What do you want with the girl?”

Sensing an ally, Luther moved closer. “Actually, Ms. Cody is a friend more than anything. I want to know what she’s up to, that’s all.”

Luther stiffened when the man withdrew a knife from his back pocket, but he only flicked it open to clean his nails. “Tell you what, cop. If you’ll get her out of my hair, I’ll help however I can.”

Viewing his assistance as traitorous, the women started grumbling and grousing to themselves. The man shouted, “Shut the fuck up! Get off your lazy asses and head up the street a ways.”

“I was taking my break,” Betty protested.

Jaw locked, the man took a threatening step toward her. “You want a break, bitch?”

“No, Jimbo.” She ducked, covering her head until she realized he had stopped short of reaching her. Then she hurried away.

“Stupid bitches,” Jimbo spat as he moved back to rest his spine on a lamppost. “Lazy sluts, every fucking one of them.”

Rage simmered inside Luther. He detested men like Jimbo, men who abused those smaller or weaker than himself. “Just so you know,” Luther told him, “I wouldn’t have let you touch her.”

They stared at each other until Jimbo grinned.

“Don’t need to knock Betty around much. She knows her place.” He examined the knife blade. “The bitch you’re talking about don’t, though. She’s fucking psychotic.”

The rage threatened to boil over, but Luther kept his tone calm. “Why do you say that?”

“She bought a shitload of stuff to barricade her room. Got reinforced locks on everything—and that was before I said shit to her.”

“Before?” If Jimbo had given Gaby one second of grief, Luther would take him apart. Oozing menace, disregarding the knife, he crowded into Jimbo’s space. “What exactly did you say to her?”

Jimbo sized him up, and saw more than Luther meant to share. “I only asked her what she was thinking, moving into a whorehouse. But she don’t say much. And when she does, she wants to talk with her fists.”

“She fought you?” God almighty, Luther would kill her himself.

Jimbo laughed. “Nah, man, I don’t fight with the bitches. Besides, she doesn’t work for me.”

“If I thought she did,” Luther said quietly, “I’d kill you.”

Jimbo paused, rethought his position, and went back to his nails. “She moved in, took over, and turned that piss-hole she calls a room into a fortress.” He folded the knife and slid it back into his pocket. “Makes me wonder what kind of trouble she’s expecting—and how it might affect my working girls if it shows up.”

“Did you ask her about it?”

Scoffing, Jimbo said, “Prickly bitch don’t talk to me. She just looks at me like she’d like to skin me alive. But I know why she did it. She figures Carver will be after her, on account of the way she cut him up and all.”

Worse and worse. Just how much trouble had Gaby gotten into since Luther last saw her? With growing exasperation, he asked, “Carver?”

“Yeah. Raggedy-ass hillbilly punk used to work this corner.” He eyed Luther, looked around. “I don’t want trouble with Carver.”

“You should worry more about me, and less about him.”

“My man.” Jimbo grinned with amusement. “I’m not worried ’bout either of yas, but I’d sooner make money than have a hassle. And with you, I think we can work out a deal.”

“I don’t deal with the likes of you.”

“If you want to keep the bitch alive, you’re going to have to. Because it’s a fact, Carver will come looking for her. If we can work in harmony, then hey, I’ll drop you a line when I hear word of the plan. After that . . .” He shrugged. “It’ll be up to you if you wanna play her white knight.”

There was a plan. Jesus. “I’m listening.”

“I want Carver and the woman out of my hair. When he comes after her, you can catch him in the act and put him away for good.”

“Not a problem.” Anyone planning to hurt Gaby made his shit list real quick. “Anything else?”

“Yeah. You’ll get the woman off my corner for good.”

Luther asked, “What does it matter to you if she’s here or not?”

“She interferes with business and gives the whores uppity ideas. Right now, she’s only an annoyance, nothing more. I want her gone before she really starts to piss me off. Deal?”

Taking the time to breathe deep and long, Luther looked up at the sky, breathed in the humid night air and released it slowly. When he knew he could speak without ripping off Jimbo’s head, he faced him.

At six three and two hundred pounds, Luther was bigger than many men. His weight was all muscle; he stayed in shape and kept up with his defense training.

Against him, a jerk-off like Jimbo didn’t stand a chance.

The urge to destroy the psychopathic little cretin trickled ice through Luther’s veins, but he was a man of law, not a vigilante—and not a one-man defense for Gaby Cody’s twisted lifestyle.

The lecture of reason helped Luther to rein in the urge for destruction—but it didn’t stop him from planting a single vicious punch to Jimbo’s solar plexus.

As the smaller man doubled over, wheezing and heaving, Luther caught the front of his shirt and turned to slam him into the wall of the building. “Do I have your attention, Jimbo?”

When Jimbo only coughed and choked, Luther rattled him. “You miserable little bully, suck it up and listen to me.”

“Yeah, man,” Jimbo gasped. “Yeah. I hear ya.”

“I’ll gladly take care of Carver. In return, there better not be a single hair on Gaby’s head disturbed. If anyone touches her, if you let anyone get close enough to hurt her without telling me, I’ll make you the sorriest little shit this city has ever seen. Do I make myself clear?”

Arms folded around himself, Jimbo turned his head to the side and puked. Luther released him with alacrity. “Fuck.” Stepping back out of range, Luther fulminated against the injustice of abuse. “For a man who likes to threaten women, you sure can’t take a punch yourself.”

Jimbo dropped to his knees. He gagged again, but kept down the putrid remains of his gut. After a couple of seconds, he wiped a sleeve over his mouth, spat, and swallowed. “You didn’t need to do that.”

“No, probably not. But I wanted to.” Catching him by the shoulder, Luther pulled him back to his feet. “Now tell me about Carver and why he’d want to hurt Gaby.”

Jimbo nodded a little too quickly.

“Lie to me, and that last blow will seem like a lover’s tap.” Even as Luther hated himself for indulging a bully’s mentality, he gave a grim promise: “I’ll be sure to break no less than three ribs. Believe it, Jimbo.”

Shrugging off Luther’s hold, Jimbo said, “Yeah, got it, dude. Just give me a second.”

Checking his watch, Luther saw that Gaby should have reached Mort already. How long she’d remain there, he couldn’t guess. Her less favorable qualities included unpredictability.

Why he felt so drawn to her, Luther couldn’t say. But he’d laid eyes on her, and it had all been downhill since. There was some ethereal, elusive quality to Gaby that had him in a stranglehold. “I’m about out of time. Spit it out.”

Jimbo wiped his mouth again, looked around to ensure they hadn’t drawn notice, and stared up at Luther. “One of Carver’s whores gave him some lip, and he smacked her around some.”

“Gaby saw this?”

“Yeah.” Grinding pain strangled Jimbo’s laugh. “That psycho cunt didn’t like it one bit, I can tell you that. But she kept her trap shut, so Carver ignored her.”

Lingering on the periphery of an insane rage, Luther whispered, “You are dumber than you look, Jimbo, do you know that?”

“What? It’s the truth, I swear.”

Shaking his head, as much at himself and his absurd code of chivalry as Jimbo’s obtuse sense of propriety, Luther said, “Call her one more name, make one more slur, and I’ll—”

“God damn it, man, I can’t think with you threatening me!”

Luther fought for control. “Carver hurt the girl?”

“Broke her jaw, I think. It wasn’t real bad. I’ve seen worse beatings.”

“I take it you didn’t offer to help her?”

“Hell no, man. You don’t get between that shit. And I figured my girls could learn some from it, ya know? But sometime later that night, Carver was attacked.”

“By whom?”

Jimbo shook his head. “Carver ain’t sayin’, and the whore he was with didn’t see nothin’ before he kicked her out of his bed. Word on the street is that Carver was lying there, taking a snooze after a good plow, and boom!”

“Boom?”

Jimbo shrugged. “His girls found him tied to the bed, sliced up all over. Not deep cuts, but a pool of his own blood had soaked into the mattress. His face, his body, hell, even his dick was worked over.” As Jimbo spoke, an oily, nervous sweat showed on his brow. “That was some fucked-up shit, man.”

Luther had a hard time containing himself. He knew it was Gaby, had heard her practically admit as much. “He’s lucky that whoever it was didn’t kill him.”

Digging out a smoke, Jimbo said, “Lucky hell. It was a damn threat to everyone. I ain’t seen him, but I hear that Carver is still shook up. He’s lying low until he gets healed, and then he’ll want revenge.”

Against Gaby.

Grit scratched at Luther’s tired eyes and acid burned his stomach. Hoping for a convincing bluff, Luther asked, “What’s this have to do with Gabrielle Cody?”

Jimbo moved a few cautious steps away from Luther. “I don’t know what it is, but that girl has everyone spooked. She goes around like a fucking ghost, unafraid, silent in that damned eerie way of hers, and everyone assumes she had something to do with Carver’s attack. Some think she put a hex, or some shit, on him, and others think she hired someone to cut him up. All I know is, if you care about her, you ought to get her away from here before Carver does a number on her.”

If Luther tried to take Gaby away, what would she do? For certain she’d fight him. Independence was the strong-hold of her nature. “I told you what would happen to you, Jimbo, if anyone hurts her.”

“Hell, man, I’m leaving psycho chick alone.” With trembling hands, he lit the cigarette and sucked hard, making the tip glow hot. He relaxed on the tangible effects of smoke filling his lungs, nicotine polluting his system. “Look, cop, the woman . . . Gaby—”

“No,” Luther warned. “Don’t say her name. I like hearing it from your mouth even less than the insults.”

“What the fuck, man!” Jimbo exploded. “Do you want to hear this or not?”

“Finish.”

“She—that woman—keeps the johns from hurting my girls so they can keep working. Far as I’m concerned, if she hadn’t pissed off the wrong people, she could’ve hung around. But she’s made enemies and that means I have to look after things.”

A group of thugs came around the corner. They were still too far away to see much when Jimbo threw down the cigarette. “That’s my posse. I gotta split.”

Luther pulled out a business card and held it out to him. “Don’t forget what I said, Jimbo. If you hear anything at all about Carver, I want to know.”

“Yeah, right.” He snatched the card and slid it into his pocket. “If you want to check her room, it’s all the way at the top, in the attic.”

That prickly animosity resurfaced. “How is it you know that?”

“Fuck no, man, don’t make wrong assumptions. The bitches knock on her door sometimes, but I keep my distance.” Jimbo started away. “That attic wasn’t livable before she moved in. It sure as hell ain’t a place to visit now that she’s in there.”

Dismissing Jimbo from his thoughts, Luther turned and went into the building. Dim lighting left long shadows in the foyer. Two metal-legged chairs with cracked plastic seats sat at the bottom of a tall staircase. Under the front window sat a loveseat, and on that was a woman curled into the corner, sleeping soundly, her clothes as much off as on.

A wooden desk, rotted with age, carved with graffiti and sticky with unknown substances served as a check-in point. Behind it, keys on plastic rings hung from a pegboard on the wall. All but three keys were missing from their hooks.

No one sat at the front desk, and Luther didn’t bother ringing the bell. Taking the dark stairs two at a time, he went up. He heard coarse laughter, a few squeals, some crying. Bedsprings squeaked. The sound of a slap rang out.

His stomach cramped.

He didn’t want Gaby here.

But where else did she belong? He didn’t know her well enough to say.

At the top of three stories, only a narrow staircase remained. It led to the attic.

Gaby had chosen to be here. There had to be a reason.

This time, before she escaped him again, Luther would get some answers—one way or another.