The Awakening

Chapter Five

Hours later, after darkness had fallen, Gaby scripted an ornate The End onto the page. Only one lamp, aimed at her desktop, lit the room. Shadows crawled and shifted around her, over the floor and up the wall. Wind pushed against the loose windowpanes.

Leaning back on her stool, Gaby studied the images of Detective Luther Cross. Somehow, they had encroached into her story.

Disgusted with herself, she closed her eyes and released a humid, pent-up breath. She hadn't planned to write in Cross. It had just sort of happened. In her memories, in the phenomenon of her anguished life, he was there, now a part of it all.

She'd drawn him larger than life, big and hulking with a firm but gentle hand, and kind but perceptive eyes. He looked like a pure angel, ready to stand beside her…

Jesus.

She had to stay away from him. She hated to contemplate new change, but maybe it was time to move on. She need to be well out of Cross's realm.

Too antsy to stay still, and dying for something to eat, Gaby stacked the pages all together and secured them in a large padded envelope. She'd mail them first thing in the morning, as long as no other summons came.

Sliding her feet into her flip-flops, she checked the clock, saw it was nearing ten, and headed out. Even from the stairs, she could see a light shining from beneath Morty's door. She didn't want a repeat of their earlier awkwardness, so she crept past, using an inborn stealth that came in handy even when she didn't need to kill someone.

Oppressive air washed over her skin as she stepped out into the sultry night. Keeping her head down, Gaby ignored her surroundings and made her way to a joint that served what she liked to think of as real food. No preformed burgers or frozen salads. Chuck's Grill dished up chili or soup, subs or sandwiches, or a hearty breakfast—made fresh each day. At Chuck's she didn't have to worry about eating a random cockroach or catching a nasty disease from the filth.

This time of night, only his outside window remained open for service. Gaby stepped up and tapped on the glass. The youthful worker glanced up, nodded to acknowledge her, and indicated he'd be right with her.

In no hurry, Gaby tucked her hands into her pockets and lounged back on the stone face of the restaurant. Colored strobe lights from a nearby bar blinked and hiccupped, sending random, diffused light around the area. Vehicles passed, their tires hissing on the steamy pavement. An unsettled, angry breeze continued to stir the night air.

To Gaby's right, a couple of sleazy hookers touted their wares with halfhearted enthusiasm. To her left, a group of knuckleheaded kids with absurdly colored hair and more piercings than she could count tried to act tough. She doubted they fooled anyone but themselves.

On the opposite side of the street, a blue car eased up to the curb and a gangly young man, so dark that he blended in with the night, emerged from a shadowed doorway to make a drug deal. The whores called out to the driver, trying to entice him over to them. The dealer shook a mean fist toward them, making a valid threat in the coarsest terms. The punkers cracked up, laughing too loud and too long.

This was her life, each thing familiar and mundane and easy to ignore. She blended in here.

"What can I getcha?"

Gaby turned. The waiter looked nice enough, if a little worn down. "BLT, heavy on the B. A few pickle spears and chips on the side. And a Coke."

"Got it. Be about five minutes."

"Thanks."

He had no sooner shut the window than a deep belch of thunder rambled through the night sky. Gaby shivered with dread. Maybe it was a remnant from the way her mother died that made her dread storms so much.

Whatever the cause, she detested them, not that she ever expected to admit it to anyone.

Since no one else even bothered to look up at the black, starless sky, she couldn't very well cancel her order and scurry home in a frightened rush. Besides, she was depleted and needed food. She had to—

Her reasoning failed when lightning slashed through the atmosphere, raising the fine hairs on her nape. Through sheer reaction, Gaby flattened herself to the wall. When the accompanying thunder crashed, louder this time, her heart tried to punch out of her chest.

"That'll be eight forty-eight," the worker said, and Gaby nearly jumped out of her skin.

Her face might've been blue from holding her breath when she turned to him, because he tilted his head and asked, "You okay?"

Even though prayers seldom gave the answers she wanted, they tripped through her mind. "Yeah," She took one breath, forced the scowl off her face. "I'm dandy." She pushed a ten through the window. "Keep the change."

"Hey, thanks." He handed over a white bag and a Coke. "Looks like rain, huh?"

With her thoughts on avoiding that rain, she didn't bother to answer him. She couldn't get out of there quick enough. Driven by hunger. Gaby unwrapped the sandwich and took a huge bite. Holding the bag of chips under one arm, she popped the tab on the Coke. It wasn't fun, but she intended to scarf her food as she made haste right back the way she'd come.

With her concentration on the impending storm, she almost missed the burn of intense scrutiny. But once she felt it, it sank into her bones, assuring her that someone had her in his sights.

Slowing her pace, Gaby mentally sought out the direction of her stalker.

A car pulled alongside her. Gaby glanced at the driver, but dismissed him. He wasn't a threat. Shoving another big bite in her mouth, she surreptitiously took note of her surroundings, studying everything and everyone to her left and right in quick but thorough glimpses.

She saw only stark buildings, dark shadows, familiar denizens, and empty alleys.

"Hey darlin'," the driver called out hopefully. "Where ya headed?"

"Away from you, jerk. Get lost."

"Bitch." The car sped off, leaving the scent of burned rubber behind.

An amused laugh sounded behind her.

Stopping dead in her tracks, Gaby went rigid. It might have been any number of people who'd laughed. The streets this time of night crawled with perverted souls who found humor in the most morbid things.

But somehow, she knew that laugh.

Detective Luther Cross sidled up beside her and eyed her food. "This gives new meaning to carryout."

Slowly, filled with a mystifying dread, Gaby turned her head and looked at him.

It annoyed her to realize that she hadn't done him justice in her novel. He was even bigger than she remembered.

He'd changed into jeans and a printed T-shirt that read SECRET SERVICE, and in smaller print beneath that, Your boyfriend never needs to know. The soft cotton hugged his biceps and chest, making her heart beat a little too fast in an atypical way, sort of like anxiety but not as unpleasant.

The wind had played with his blond hair, leaving it disheveled. His slow smile teased, but his dark eyes saw everything.

And something inside Gaby churned in the most erratic, unnerving way.

Too bold for his own good, he chucked her chin. "Cat got your tongue?"

Sucking in air too fast, Gaby inhaled a piece of food and started choking. To her mortification, chewed bits of bacon and toast sprayed out of her mouth to land on his shirt.

Calm personified, Cross relieved her of the food bag and coke, setting it all on the sidewalk so he could tap her between her shoulder blades. "Easy now. Small breaths."

Wheezing, Gaby snarled, "Fuck off."

"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

Pain clenched around her heart. She got hold of herself, curled her lip, and whispered, "My mother died birthing me, asshole. Thanks for the memory."

And she stormed off, completely forgetting her food, praying he wouldn't follow.

As usual, her prayers went unanswered.

Or the answer was no. Whatever.

She had nearly reached the vacant playground near her apartment when Cross caught up with her. He kept pace at her side, carrying her food.

He peered down at her, looked away. Sighed. "I'm sorry."

Gaby had nothing more to say to him.

Three long strides later, he added, "I didn't know."

Bastard. "You don't need to know." She lengthened her stride, all but running.

He easily matched his gait to hers. "But I'd like to."

No, and no again! "My life is none of your damn business." she exploded. "Now get lost." She started away, thinking it was no wonder she'd felt stalked. How long had Cross been observing her, and why the hell did he bother?

He stayed right with her. Humor sounded in his tone when he said, "I'm not as easy to scare off as that driver." Bordering on cheerful, he strode along with her as if invited. "Besides, I do know some things about you already."

Gaby's heart tripped, then thumped so loud in her ears it nearly drowned out the rattling thunder. Leaves and litter scuttled across the roadway, carried by the approaching storm. She kept going, one foot after the other.

But he was there, and she knew it down to the marrow of her bones. Doing her damnedest to ignore her unreasonable weather-related fears, she muttered, "You don't know shit."

"I know you have a foul mouth."

"Wow, you are astute, aren't you?" God, Gaby. Just shut up. Don't reply to him. Don't give him reason to keep replying to you.

You don't want to have to kill him.

She clamped her lips together.

"I know that you live in a dump. That you have the oddest landlord I've ever met and that you have a penchant to talk with your fists."

She tamped down the urge to tell him a few things—with her fists.

"I know you don't frighten easily, either."

No, she didn't. Despite what she'd just told herself, she heard herself say, "Huh. You learn those awesome profiling skills in fancy detective school?"

The sarcasm didn't faze him. A hand appeared in front of her, offering her the sandwich. "Take it. I know you're hungry."

True enough. Because it was her food and she'd paid for it, Gaby snatched it from him and bit in. Talking with her mouth full, she said, "Know this: I don't like pushy cops who grill my landlord and stalk me."

"Stalk you? Acquit me of that much, at least. I was just cruising the area, and you showed up."

"Right." She'd felt him watching her. Or… did she still feel someone watching her? Maybe. But damn it, his presence messed with her perception, and she couldn't be sure of jack shit.

"I have an idea."

With her gaze straight ahead and a one-finger salute, she told him what he could do with his ideas.

He paid her suggestion no mind at all. "Let's sit on the bench over there at the playground while you finish eating, and I can ask you a few questions."

She stopped so abruptly, he passed her by and had to turn back around. When she leveled her outraged stare at him, he sighed, then moved to lean back against the chain-link fence, her can of Coke in one hand, the white bag in the other. Standing six feet from her. he looked expectant, as if he assumed that she would agree when she had no intention of doing any such thing.

Gaby opened her mouth to blast him—and evil sank its claws into her.

She had no further doubts that someone watched her, someone vile and cruel.

Not Cross, no way.

This was that same teeming malevolence she'd experienced earlier by the hospital. As substantial, thick, and dark as a mudslide, it clogged the air around her.

Tensing, Gaby perceived rather than heard the chuckle as someone or something scrutinized her reaction, toying with her, testing her.

The power of it was unbelievable.

Until his strong hands wrapped around her upper arms, she almost forgot about Cross.

"What's wrong?" he demanded.

This didn't make sense. She stalked evil, not the other way around. When summoned, she had all the control. But… not this time. She felt like a puppet on very short strings.

Unacceptable.

Utilizing all her concentration, Gaby focused herself.

Cross took her face in his hands, speaking urgently to her. What the hell was he trying to do? She didn't have time to be coddled.

She pushed him away, and to her surprise, he allowed the distance. He even stepped back to give her room. "What is it?" he asked again.

"Something's wrong."

"Okay." Taking her at her word, he turned a full circle, searching the area. He held his body in the deceptively relaxed pose of someone who knew how to kick serious ass.

Gaby blinked at that. Later, she'd muse over his quick and easy acceptance, which was something she'd only ever gotten from Father. For now, she needed to get a handle on things.

Moderating her strained breathing, keeping her thoughts calm and free, Gaby took her time scanning the area. She detected the commonplace turbulence of humans out on this muggy, electric night—but not the red-hot evil she sought…

Until she again faced Cross.

It lurked behind him, in the playground.

Gotcha.

Stepping around the detective, Gaby strode determinedly toward the evil. She put her hands on the fence, ready to vault over it—and she sensed it taking flight, evading her, running from her.

Body braced to leap the fence, Gaby paused. Like a candle, once snuffed, only a wisp of smoke remained as a reminder of the flame. She wanted to follow, to hunt the malignant corruption and chase it to ground, but damn it, Cross stood there, watching her, waiting.

If she went, he'd follow. She knew that.

Damn him. Because she couldn't risk him or her secrets, she couldn't proceed, and that pissed her off so much that she cast him a quelling glare.

"Fascinating," he said, without a speck of humor. "Now tell me what the hell is going on."

Like hell. "Nothing."

"Baloney."

Baloney? Would he say "golly-gee" next? What a putz. A big, powerful putz, but still…

Affecting her most antagonistic expression, Gaby growled, "'You calling me a liar, cop?" and figured that ought to get him out of her face.

Not the least bit intimidated, he said, "Absolutely. The way you looked—"

A furious bolt of lightning fractured the night sky, cutting him off. Electricity snapped through the air just as a cackling clap of thunder sent a violent tremble over the ground beneath her.

In the next instant, the skies opened up to dump a deluge of icy rain. Cursing, the detective bolted for the safety of an overhang.

Gaby couldn't move.

Irrational, deep-rooted fear kept her grounded to the spot, her limbs useless, her mind a frozen quagmire. From far away came a voice. She wanted to focus on it, but she couldn't.

How long she stayed like that, Gaby didn't know. A couple of times during her life, she'd been caught in storms. It was never pleasant, but other than her lacerated pride, she always survived.

Surely, she'd survive this time, too.

An eternity later, the panic waned beneath an onslaught of fragrant warmth and obscure security.

She was… Tight.

Safe.

And for that reason more than any other, Gaby refused to relax, to succumb to temptation.

She couldn't be that weak, couldn't let down her guard. Not for a single second.

So lethargic that it took major concentration, Gaby got her eyes opened and, with some confusion, studied the warm skin in front of her. A throat. A man's throat.

Oh shit. "Cross?"

"The storm spooked you." His hand cupped the back of her head. "Why?"

If only she'd had her faculties about her, she'd have thought of a great rejoinder, a witty reply. But nothing felt familiar right now. She couldn't match wits with him, not like this, and so, in a toneless whisper, she said, "I'm told my mother died from a lightning strike. It brought on her labor, killed her moments later, and I was born an orphan."

At her admission, a great stillness fell around them. She felt something she hadn't felt often—sympathy. From Cross.

The bastard.

His big hands began coasting up and down her back, urging her closer. She had no memory of ever being touched so tenderly…

A nose nuzzled against her temple. "I'm sorry."

Gaby stiffened.

He said, "Shhh. It's all right, now."

No, it was not all right. Far from it. But what to do?

"Your food's ruined. Washed away. I forgot all about it when you went into shock on me."

He thought she'd gone into shock? Well, good. That explanation worked better than anything she could have come up with.

Peering around, Gaby saw that they stood in the recessed doorframe of a nine-to-five business. The storm had chased everyone inside, leaving her alone with Cross on the flooding street. Illumination from other establishments shone in the windows, but didn't quite reach them.

In a quiet, lulling rhythm, the rain continued.

"I don't remember coming here," Gaby said with accusation. Had he dragged her?

"You were pretty much out of it." He pushed back to see her face, and as if he'd read her thoughts, he added, "You don't weigh much."

He kept looking at her mouth, disconcerting her. Did she have bacon left in her teeth? Anger roiled. "You carried me?"

One big shoulder lifted in a halfhearted admission. "Yeah, so? You needed help, so I helped you. Is that so odd?"

It was fucking absurd.

While Gaby contemplated ways to kill him, he brushed wet hair away from her face, then cupped her cheek—and scared the hell out of her.

Apparently, big beautiful cops ran neck and neck with thunderstorms, as far as how they affected her yellow streak.

"Get. Off."

"Don't panic on me again," he soothed.

"I'm not panicking!" But she was. In a very big way. "It's just…"

He waited, his gaze warm and filled with curiosity.

She shook her head. Soaked through to her skin, her hair sopping wet and dripping down her neck, she still felt more comfortable than she could ever remember. It was an alien thing for her. Not even with Father had she experienced anything like this, because he always plotted on how to make use of her talent, how to do God's work.

Father was kind, but single-minded in his pursuit of justice, not in the least demonstrative with his affections. She couldn't recall him ever touching her affectionately.

Expression bordering on tender, Cross said, "It's all right, Gaby."

Her alarm—and rage—escalated. In a lethal whisper, she asked, "You know my name?"

"Your landlord told me."

Of course, he had. Poor, dumb Mort. He didn't have the mental equipment to deal with someone like the detective. "You had no business grilling him."

"I didn't."

She snorted.

Cross looked at her mouth again, his expression so intent that she rolled in her lips and glared at him.

His gaze lifted to hers, and she could have sworn his eyes were smiling. "Come on, let's get you home."

She yanked her arm away from his grasp. "Let's don't."

When he took a stance, determined to have his way, she said, "It's right there," and pointed one block up and across the street. "I can damn well walk on my own."

"But I'm going to see you get there, so no, don't start going all scary on me again. I've already made up my mind."

Did he have to keep throwing her curve balls? "Scary? What the hell does that mean?"

"We'll talk on the way." He reached for her arm, caught her venomous look, and held up his hands instead. "Sorry."

At least he learned.

He gestured for her to precede him, and because she didn't really want to murder him, Gaby gave in.

They walked a few feet, stepping around puddles, ignoring the sprinkling rain that softened the night. Crickets sang out; the occasional owl hooted.

"Did you know your face contorts?"

Gaby stumbled over her own feet. "What?"

"Your face. At certain times, it sort of… morphs."

The very idea of it made her palms sweat. She was different from the creeps she removed from the earth. She had nothing in common with them. "You're wrong." He had to be.

The evil ones morphed; she did not.

He glanced down at her and shook his head. "No, not like that. That's just annoyance. And when the storm hit, you looked paralyzed, but not frightening. I'm talking about before that. When you said something was wrong. Your face was different. Somehow… I don't know. Unreal. Sharper."

Oh God, no. No way.

Never had Gaby heard such an idiotic accusation—but then, no one had ever been with her while she dealt with evil.

Sickness seeped through her guts. Did she turn as ugly and menacing as the targets she defeated?

"How?" Eyes burning, throat tight, she stared at Cross. "What did I look like?"

"I can't exactly explain it." He steered her around a dripping overhang. "It was strange."

The sickness squeezed up around her heart. "Strange?"

He shook that off. "More powerful. A little vague, as if you'd slipped your control. Not worldly." He chewed his upper lip, stared straight ahead, shrugged. "Sexier."

Her feet stopped moving, halting Gaby beneath a streetlight.

Sexier?

Not horrific. No. But…

Her brain felt Like a great void, no words coming to her, her thoughts tumbling.

Was he myopic?

Some sort of sick jokester?

He couldn't be that desperate. No normal man could be, and definitely not an attractive, powerful man like Luther Cross.

It wasn't true and she knew it. She stood tall and gangly, without curves but with stringy muscles. Her face was as average as it could get, her attitude antagonistic on good days, threatening on the rest.

Cross played her; that was the only thing to make sense. And God help her, she let him get to her.

She had to escape him. Right now. "I'm just across the street."

Detective Cross moved to stand over her, shadowing the light, so potent that she nearly choked on the air surrounding him. "I figured you must have an illness of some sort, but what? I've never heard of anything that alters your features that way. Is it some kind of seizure?"

She took a step back. "Leave me alone."

Apologetic, he said, "I can't do that."

Rage replaced other disturbing emotions. "You will."

"I've lived by my instincts, and every time I'm near you, warning bells go off."

She denied that possibility with a shake of her head. "Don't be idiotic."

"It's more than that, though." He put a hand to his chin, eyeing her up and down. "I feel drawn to you, Gaby. That's odd, isn't it?"

"Fucking insane."

His lips quirked. "Such a nasty mouth. I've never known a woman who talked like you."

He'd never known a woman like her, period.

"I can't decide if I like it or not."

"You don't. Trust me."

"You're probably right." Before she could accept that, he added, "But I'm intrigued."

She narrowed her eyes. "Then you should really seek some help. Tonight, Right now." She started to go around him.

"I mean, why would a woman like you—"

That halted her again, sending new ire to fuel her attitude. "Like me?"

"Smart. Capable. Strong. Why are you living in this hellhole? What do you do for a living? And why do you look so afraid of me, even when I'm not crowding you?"

Fury consumed her. "Don't delude yourself, detective. You don't scare me." But his perception of her did.

"I will have answers. Gaby."

She wished he'd quit calling her by name. "Here's an answer for you: Go fuck yourself." With that parting shot, she gave him her back.

"You don't want to leave yet."

She meant to keep walking, she really did. Glancing back, she sneered, "Wanna bet?"

He reached behind himself and produced her knife. "This is illegal, you know."