Dropping the scissors into the sink, Gaby strode to the window and looked out. At late afternoon, the sun held high in the sky, casting tree shadows around the surrounding area. Kids of all ages scuttled around the playground, shrieking, jumping, creating a boisterous sonance of laughter and ephemeral happiness.
Gaby tuned them out to listen for other sounds, baser sounds. Besides the kids, nothing stirred, not even a breeze, and yet, she felt it. Hot.
Sticky.
Calculating.
Close to the innocent children. But uninterested in them.
By rote, Gaby reached behind her and fingered her knife, safe in its sheath beneath her baggy T-shirt. She inhaled slow and deep, once, again, a third time. Her senses sharpened, but not by God's will.
No, this was mere human instinct, pathetic in comparison, but all she had at her disposal.
So the evil didn't plan anything. Yet. It only watched her. But why?
And what difference did that make? One way or another, she had to destroy it. She felt it studying her so she knew it was close. She sensed it lurked just beyond the playground, so it had dared to come within reach. It wanted to hide, but that wouldn't do.
Gaby would go to it, force a confrontation, and then demolish it.
Turning away from the window, she strode to the side of her bed and slipped her feet into her flip-flops. Key in her pocket, she went out the door and rushed in silent haste down the steps.
Thankfully, Mort didn't appear. She didn't want any interruptions that might give the evil an opportunity to escape.
Keeping half her attention on avoiding Mort, Gaby shoved open the entry door—and almost Collided with Luther Cross.
They didn't make actual contact, so he had no reason to grasp her arms. But he did anyway.
'Well, well. Going out for another stroll. Gaby?'
Sensations exploded. Thoughts of Luther had plagued her all through the long, lonely nights, until she concluded that she'd have to get rid of him.
Permanently.
Other than the possession of her knife, he had no solid reason to suspect her of anything.
That meant, as aberrant as it might be, his interest came from a different source.
Strange bastard. Didn't he know that put him on a level with goofy Mort? Surely, he couldn't want that.
Cold with deliberate and somewhat feigned disdain, Gaby looked down at his hands on her arms. 'Let go.'
He stupidly ignored that. 'You're cut.' Using his hold, he tilted her to the side and examined the bead of blood on her pale skin. 'What happened?'
'I'm fine. Now let go.'
'Cut yourself shaving?'
His attempt at humor only incensed her further. 'I said. Let. Go.'
Dark lashes lowered over narrowed eyes. 'You're in one hell of a hurry, you look pissed, and you have blood on your neck. I think I have good cause to ask a few—'
This time Gaby gave him no warning, and for some odd reason, he wasn't as prepared as he'd been during their first scuffle. Her bony knee slugged hard against the inside of his thigh. She hit high up, close to his groin, hard enough to cause him to cringe not only with pain, but with inborn defense of his jewels.
When he lurched forward trying to cover himself, Gaby brought her elbow up and in, and then shot it back into his jaw in a clean strike. His head snapped back, his arms flailed, and his foot landed just beyond the top step. He tumbled backward in an awkward heap.
Gaby jumped down around him, sprinted across the street, and scaled the chain-link fence around the playground—all before Luther had picked himself up off the steps. After that one quick glance back, Gaby kept her attention focused forward. Somehow she knew he wouldn't follow her, but even if he did, once she'd wound her way in and out of alleys, he'd have a hell of a time finding her again.
The children at play paid her no attention at all. It would have been disgustingly easy for her to harm any of them—if she'd had that intent. Still at a fast pace, she went over the fence again, this time toward the back, then beyond the empty school.
When her lungs burned and sweat smothered her skin, Gaby drew to a pause. She'd allowed herself to run freely, trusting a sixth sense developed through pain and purpose, to guide her in pursuit of the archfiend haunting her.
When she perused her surroundings, she found herself in front of a hospital, facing the entrance for the emergency room.
Abhorrence overtook her. Her detestation of all things medical squeezed her throat in a viselike grip, making deep breaths problematic. Chills chased away the sweat. Revulsion churned in her belly.
She remembered being here—not at this specific hospital, but to her wounded psyche they were all the same. Misery hung heavy in the air. Fear, desolation, and anxiety wafted in and around the human cattle. As many security guards as medical personnel mingled through the masses.
Through constantly breached doors, Gaby detected the voices, elevated in both pain and anger. A hacking, wheezing body bumped her as it passed, making slow, stooped progress into the unit. Ambulances came and went; people of all sorts talked, ate chips or cookies, and swilled caffeinated adrenaline.
It should have been chaos, but to Gaby's jaundiced eye, it appeared more like frigid, choreographed efficiency.
She stood there, taking it all in, letting it stir her memories until it became a part of her.
And hurt her. Again.
Gathering her wits, she studied the ambulance drivers talking as they replaced a gurney, then the nurse in her tidy white uniform, sharing amicable conversation with a woman in a suit. Her impulses tightened. Her stomach knotted in dread. She curled her hands into fists.
Then she went in to find the fiend who'd led her here.
Chapter Seven
Angry black clouds filled his vision. When he got his hands on her, he'd throttle her. Twice.
Luther tried for a calming breath, but calm remained well out of reach. Gaby had done him in, and it hadn't even taken much effort on her part.
Where the hell was she going in such a hurry? And how had she gotten cut?
Cursing didn't make him feel any better, and in fact, it only served to bring Morty Vance scuttling out of his cubbyhole.
The scrawny landlord gaped down at Luther in disbelief. 'Detective Cross. What are you doing on my stoop?'
Luther sat up and dusted off his hands. His leg hurt. His head pounded. Trying not to growl, he said, 'Taking survey.'
Mort looked around the dark, deserted streets and along the dirty sidewalk in confusion. The baking sun amplified the rancid scents of God-knew-what. Discontent buzzed in the air. 'Survey of what?'
'My bones. I wouldn't swear to it, but I think they're all in one piece still.' Had Gaby missed his crotch on purpose, or did she have faulty aim? Somehow he doubted the gangling barbarian ever missed unless she meant to.
Luther worked his jaw, tamped down on his blistering temper, and got off his ass. 'Gaby leveled me.'
Mort's mouth drooped open, then snapped shut. 'She did what?'
Nodding toward the uneven doorframe where Mort hovered in trepidation, he said, 'She came barreling out of the building, damn near ran into me, then laid me low. All without so much as a how-do-you-do.'
'But…' As if seeking explanations, or looking for Gaby, Mort rubbernecked around. Finding nothing but the
