made it clear that sex wasn’t an option. Hell, you cursed me for making you want sex.”
“I have a good memory, and you’re saying
Gently, he turned her to face him. “Just moments ago, you told me it would never happen.”
“And it won’t.”
It was his turn to smile, halfheartedly, crookedly. It made him look so appealing. “I already promised you that it will. But not in a moment of insanity where you might regret it later.” Both hands cupped her face. “When I get on top of you, and I will, we won’t be in a dirty alley, or in a hurry, and we’ll both be clear about what we want.”
Those words affected her so deeply that she hid her response. “Whatever. You done with me?”
“No, I’m not. Not by a long shot.” With a hand at her back, he started her walking out of the alley toward the street where lamps filtered through a growing fog. “Tell me why you chased that boy. And no bullshit about not knowing why. You always know what you do. You’re a very decisive woman.”
Okay, so maybe she did know. Something about the kid had . . . reminded her of herself. Oh, he was better dressed than she’d ever been, clean and fresh and healthy. He had normal weight, where she’d always been frail. His eyes were bright instead of sunken with depression and pain.
But something about him, some ethereal aura showed his confusion about his purpose in life.
She was good at reading auras.
It was a talent, not unlike her talent in destroying rancorous evil.
As a child, she’d been adrift in incomprehensible pain and confused direction. The more she fought against it, the worse it got. At times, the pain would ease, but it never completely left her.
That is, not until she accepted her insights, and exterminatedthe immoral malevolence surrounding her. Then, and only then, could she draw an easy breath.
The blind, the unknowing, summoned doctors for a cure, but they couldn’t name the ailment.
Authorities refused to acknowledge it as real.
The foster families who occasionally allowed her into their homes thought her a fraud, a faker, and they punished for the pain.
No one understood, and no one knew how she escaped the agony—no one, except Father Mullond. And that good man encouraged her, coached her, helped her gain direction to her purpose and deception to cover her tracks.
As a man of God, he understood her duty more than she ever could have. He made it crystal clear that if anyone found out, she’d be labeled a murderer, and the rest of her days would be spent in prison, or an asylum— where the pain would gnaw on her all the rest of her days.
And so they’d worked together, Father Mullond and her, an odd pair matched by God. Gaby told Father of her auras, shared with him the first niggling of discomfort, and he, through the confessions of a priest, learned the truths behind her visions.
And ultimately, he gave his blessing to each and every slaughter.
Father had changed her life with his understanding, his guidance.
Then he’d changed it again—with his death.
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?”
“
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. “
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.”
