before you tell me they'll have a murder victim, let's wait to borrow trouble, okay? Those creatures in the alley might be written off as lunatics or something, and that other jerk might live.'
'Three bodies. Three. Oh God.' He appeared ready to cry. 'We have to hurry.'
His attitude nettled. That last thing they did… well, that was right and proper, what any good citizen should do.
Wasn't it?
And just what the hell did she know about good citizens, being a freak and all?
Sullen now, thanks to Mort, Gaby said, 'I told you not to get involved.'
'It's too late for that, so save it.'
A command from Mort?
For her?
Miffed, Gaby stopped at the apartment entrance and leveled a mean look on Mort. He stared back, defiant and nervous, and oddly protective.
Damn it, for such a weaselly little creep, he really got to her sometimes. 'All right, Mort. Make yourself useful. Go get me a towel. I'll head straight to the basement and throw my stuff in the laundry. Bring any peroxide you might have. I'll wash up down there, then go upstairs to dress again.'
With something constructive to do, Mort motivated. 'Right. Got it. Let's go.'
To see Mort like this, almost as a sidekick, as a… friend, left her soft inside. He could be a pain in the ass, but right now, she was glad she had him.
Luther, on the other hand… well, she didn't know what to think about Luther.
Was he, like Mort, an ally, a person she could trust, maybe even confide in?
Or would Detective Luther Cross be the man who finally brought her to an end?
Chapter Eleven
Luther lay in the hospital bed, his head pounding, his eyes red, and his thoughts churning.
The past few hours were there, but they lacked clarity. It was after he'd left Gaby at the apartment with Mort that things got cloudy. He remembered heading to the butcher's. Then he'd heard a sound, had surely investigated. He recalled a deformed person, so pathetic and sad that shame smothered him whenever he recalled his reaction to… it.
For the life of him, he still couldn't say if the person had been female or male.
In the deepest recesses of his mind, another vague memory stirred.
Gaby's voice.
And Mort's.
But he couldn't get a grasp on it, and when he tried to explain his vague perceptions of violence and retribution, the other detectives looked at him like he was nuts. Or delirious. Or suffering something worse than a concussion.
Where the hell were the docs? He wanted to go home.
He wanted to check on Gaby. To ask her… what? If she'd been nearby when a grossly disfigured asexual being attacked him, and then disappeared?
Luther could easily imagine her reaction to that.
As if he'd summoned her, she stuck her head around the curtain. Their gazes met, his shocked at her appearance, hers challenging, and then she came on around, full of bravado and that habitual mordancy.
'Just as I figured. You're lying in here faking it, soaking up all the attention, huh?'
'Do you see anyone doting on me?'
Gaby didn't smile. No, never that. But she shrugged and dropped her skinny ass onto the side of his bed. 'You probably chased everyone off with your piss-into-the-wind attitude.'
Damn, it was good to see her, to know she was okay and as ornery as ever. She smelled fresh, as if she'd just showered. Her cheeks were rosy, her dark hair glossy and sleek. 'Is it necessary for me to point out that your insult is somewhat like the pot calling the kettle black?'
'Maybe.' She looked him over, her gaze lingering on the bandage around his head until her brows pinched together. 'Don't you think you should get back out there on the streets and figure out who waylaid you?'
Suspicion blunted his pleasure at seeing her, but he kept his tone even with mere curiosity. 'What makes you think anyone waylaid me?'
With a roll of her eyes, she ticked off reasons on her long, slender fingers. 'You're in a hospital. There's a bandage around your head. You're white faced. If I'm not missing my guess, you're bare-assed beneath that ugly hospital gown, and—'
''Soon as the doc releases me,' Luther cut in, 'I'll be out of here.' He wanted to take her hand, but didn't dare. 'How did you know to find me here, Gaby?'
'The streets talk. Being a cop and all, you should know that.' She tilted her head, frowned again, then looked behind her. 'Mort? Where did you go?'
And around the curtain came Mort. 'Hi, Luther.'
'Mort. So Gaby dragged you along?'
His thin shoulders rolled forward. 'We were worried. Wanted to make sure you were okay.' He cleared his throat. 'We heard someone jumped you?'
'I assume so, I really don't remember too much about it.'
'Amnesia?' Mort shuffled closer. 'No way. Really?'
'Just a lack of clear details.' Luther looked at Gaby, but she avoided his gaze by peering at the blinking dials behind him.
Mort again cleared his throat. 'So… you got hurt and called your friends. Other cops, I mean. Did they catch anybody yet?'
'No. It's weird, but whoever was in the alley with me up and disappeared.'
That got Gaby's interest. 'Disappeared? How?'
'I have no idea. Thanks to a whack on the head, I was out of it. I didn't come to until the ambulance got to me.' Thinking about it kicked up the throbbing of Luther's headache another notch. 'I've never been knocked out before.'
'No wonder.' Gaby gave him the once-over. 'You are a big cuss for anyone to mess with.'
Defending himself, he explained, 'I got hit from behind.' He put his fingers to the exact spot over the back of his skull where he now lacked a two-inch square of hair, but had gained several stitches. 'Most people who get knocked out are only out for a few seconds, but the bastard really brained me.'
'That's why your sorry ass is still in bed?' Gaby asked. 'The docs are worried about you being unconscious for too long?'
'They took some tests, yeah.'
Eyes dark with worry, she caught her lush bottom lip in sharp white teeth. Her voice lowered in commiseration. 'Does it hurt?'
His voice lowered, too—from awareness. 'Yeah, like a son of a bitch.' Ignoring Mort's fascinated presence, Luther added, 'Wanna kiss it and make it better?'
Just that easily, Gaby shook off her tenderness. 'Hell no. But Mort might.' She turned to her landlord. 'What about it, Mort? You feel like puckering up?'
'Uh… No. That's okay.'
'Worried about diseases, huh? Not that I blame you. He's mean enough to be rabid.'
Luther chuckled—and paid for it with a lightning shaft of pain.
Gaby lifted off the bed. 'We should go and let you rest.'
'Wait.' This time he went ahead and took her hand and if she didn't like it, tough shit. That's when he noticed the bandage around her arm. More suspicions crowded in, adding to the strain in his cranium. 'What happened to you?'
'A broken pipe bit me. But don't worry about that now.'
