the ground.”
He pulled her against him. “I understand one sicko running amok, wreaking havoc on innocent lives. But how the hell do these crazies find each other to conspire together?”
Closing her eyes and resting her head on Luther’s hard shoulder, Gaby recited something she’d read long ago while trying to understand her own predilection. “Bloodthirstiness can stay clandestine inside the most trustworthy people, and no one would ever know it’s there. Societal teachings and moral principles lock it down and keep it well hidden, but it smolders there, torpid, idle, until the right circumstances call forth the appetite—and serenity is forever shattered.”
Luther’s mouth touched her temple. “You are a fascinating woman, Gaby.”
She was a scared woman, a woman wanting things she was never meant to have. In a mere whisper of sound not intended for Luther’s ears, Gaby spoke her deepest thoughts. “If only I’d figured this out in time to save Lucy.”
Luther kissed her again. “You did your part, honey. Yours, and mine.”
Gaby’s eyes widened.
The sergeant stepped out of the house. “Sorry to have kept you waiting. My car’s right over here.”
Luther stood. “Come on, Gaby. We both have to get checked, repugnant as it seems, so we may as well get it over with.”
“I hate hospitals,” she told him as she tugged to her feet.
“But you’ll have me with you. And that, Gabrielle Cody, can make anything more bearable—if you’ll only let it.”
Two weeks had passed since Oren and his aunt and uncle were stopped in their deadly occupation of torture; two weeks of mundanity, the tedium melding one hour into another.
Gaby had a lot of decisions to make, but circumstances gave her time aplenty to make them.
Luther, her biggest decision of all, stayed busy with the details of the case, gathering information, and filling out reports.
Accolades for his work were pouring in. Jimbo read the papers daily—a shocking revelation for Gaby—and he kept her informed without being asked. So far the police chief and even the mayor were heralding Luther as a hero. They said his dedication, professionalism, and cool head under pressure had spared the community further, unspeakable crimes.
Cool head under pressure? Gaby snorted. Yeah, being threatened with prolonged torture would qualify as pressure, for sure.
Luckily Luther had endured a drugged sleep through it all.
And she . . . well, she’d only been pressured to dispatch the abominations without Luther being injured, and without him knowing. By all accounts, she’d succeeded.
And so went the banausic nature of her life.
During cooler nights and quiet days, Gaby completed her novel and mailed it anonymously to Mort. In less than a day he’d read it and now he enthused to any and all who’d listen that this was the best Servant graphic novel yet.
Gaby appreciated his praise, just as she appreciated the purgative effect of writing and illustrating this most recent harrowing segment of her duty.
The artistic nature of the work cleared her head, but not her conscience.
As her biggest fan, Morty now had Bliss reading the novels, when she’d never been much of a reader of any kind. There’d been many changes in Bliss’s life, and Gaby thought it was time for her to leave the streets. The girl needed a job that didn’t involve the flesh trade.
Jimbo wouldn’t like it, but she and Jimbo resided in strained, semi-respectful peace, and he wouldn’t want to disrupt that, not for one hooker.
Bored with herself, Gaby strode to her window and looked out at the night. In such a short time, the weather had changed. Heat still ruled the days, but evening temperatures were more comfortable.
Maybe tonight she’d sleep.
Maybe tonight she’d make a decision—the right decision— and remove herself from Luther’s life.
Turning away from the window, she went into her meager bathroom, washed up, and brushed her teeth. Wearing a tank top and panties, she headed for bed. She had one knee on the mattress when a disturbance erupted in the hall. Before she could reach her door, a fist pounded on it.
Outraged that anyone would dare, Gaby crossed the room with a stomping, barefoot stride. “Who is it?”
“Open up, Gaby.
Luther? Had something happened? Jerking the door open, and then seeing him whole and unharmed, Gaby prepared to blast him with her distemper.
Then she noted Bliss fretting behind him, and wide-eyed Mort behind her. Seeing her in her underwear, Mort gave her a surprised once-over. Bliss gave her a look of apology. For what?
“What the hell’s going on?”
Gaby gaped at him. He was . . . in her room!
No one got into her room. It was her private sanctum, the one place she could let down her defenses. Here, the signs of her extreme defense toward society, along with her aptitude for writing and illustrating, were evidenced.
In a near panic, Gaby scoured her room. The tools she used for her graphic novels were stored away. But the locks on her bathroom door were obvious to the naked eye. And if Luther looked, as detectives often did, he’d find not only her knife but a gun as well.
“What the hell is this door made of? Solid steel?” He lifted a hand to appraise her many locks.
Apprehension nearly took her breath, making speech strained. “What. Do you think. You’re doing?”
Giving up on the door, Luther transferred his scowl to her. “You’re thinking of running out on me again. And damn it, I’ve had enough of that.” His finger pointed, almost touching her chest. “I have my hands full wrapping up this case, fending off bloodthirsty reporters, and thanks to you, I’ve also got half the city wanting to pat me on the back.”
Feeling smaller, more vulnerable than she ever had in her life, Gaby backed up a step. She kept her gaze glued to Luther, unsure what he might he do, or when he might realize the scope of her anomalous existence. “Thanks to me?” Being surrounded by her own damning evidence left her near to panting. “What do I have to do with anything?”
Luther propped his hands on his hips and surveyed her with a critical eye. Voice less caustic, but still inflexible, he said, “This is unnecessary, you know.”
A knock sounded on her door, and he yelled, “Not now.”
Through the door, Bliss said, “But Luther—”
“I’m handling it.”
“It?” Gaby asked. And what was unnecessary?
“You.” Luther gestured at her room. “This.”
Her heart threatened to punch through her rib cage. “You should get out. Now. While you still can.”
He advanced on her, and by sheer instinct, Gaby reacted, throwing a kick that he blocked, an elbow that he dodged.
She found herself tumbled onto her bed, pinned down, and . . . kissed. And, oh God, she felt starved for it, for him— even knowing she should have already left the area.
She jerked her head to the side, and Luther brought it back around.
“Settle down, Gaby.” He touched his nose to hers. “I have something to tell you.”
Uh-oh. She didn’t like the sound of that at all. “What?”
“I’m going to keep your secret.”
Alarm skittered all along her nerve endings. “What secret?”
He ignored that to trace her choker with one finger. “You’re going to have to learn to trust me, you
