least as much of the world as his small shop could reach.
“It’s you, isn’t it?”
Her hands flexed over her knees. “And you. And everyone I’ve met. Everyone I’ve . . . eliminated.” She glanced up at him. “Usually I use the writing and artwork as a way to exorcise the ugliness of what I’ve done, what has to be done.”
“It’s cathartic to get it out on paper?”
She nodded. “But on occasion, when I’m working, things show up that I didn’t yet know. Clues to the future, direction on what to look for.”
“Me?”
She smirked. “No way, cop. You came with no warning. If I’d had even a clue how much you’d invade my life, I’d have steered clear for sure.”
“As I recall, you tried to do just that.”
Her mouth twisted. “Yeah. A lot of good it did me, huh? You’re not very good at accepting rejection.”
“About as good as you are at accepting affection.” Luther scooted around to sit next to her, letting their shoulders bump, their hips touch. “So what in the manuscript makes you think a child will be a victim?”
“The little girl is an
Peering from behind a dark-skinned woman in the throes of consummate terror, Luther saw the child’s face. The woman had already been attacked, but the child appeared unharmed.
“It’s too late for the woman?”
Agitation took Gaby to her feet. “I don’t know.” She sliced a hand through the air. “Probably.”
Luther studied the incredible artwork with new attention to detail. Gaby possessed not only phenomenal physical ability, but astounding artistic talent. “Does Mort know that you’re the—”
“No.” Her shoulders bunched as she paced, not in dejection, but in profound thought. “Only you. And it better stay that way.”
“Because . . . ?” He wanted to hear her say that he mattered more than anyone else.
Instead, she shook her head. “Around you, especially whenever you touch me, I’m not as effective. Since I guess you’re not kicking me out . . . ” She paused, waiting for affirmation.
“Definitely not.”
“Then I guess we should try working together. When my elevated perception fails me—thanks to
“You’re serious?” For what seemed a lifetime, he’d been waiting for her to trust him enough to fully involve him in her life.
She gave a grudging nod. “Sure, why not? After all, you’re not entirely obtuse. You have pretty good instincts and adequate enough skills.”
From Gaby, compliments sounded closer to insults, but Luther knew that it wasn’t easy for her to admit them to him.
“Such high praise will make my head swell.” He looked back at the depictions. “From everything you’ve drawn here, the woman looks African-American, transient at best, an addict at worst.”
“I know. I think . . . I
Fascinated, he continued to peruse the pages. “Under those circumstances, and with nothing else to go on, finding her won’t be easy.”
Her gaze cut to his. “It never is. But she has to be somewhere close enough that I can get to her. I never get called for acts out of my reach. If we check all the slum areas . . . ” She started to say something more when suddenly her back snapped straight, so hard and fast that she bowed up onto her tiptoes with a painful gasp.
Luther was on his feet in an instant. “Gaby!”
“He’s here.” Her voice crooned with frigid intensity. “He’s close.” She dropped back to her feet with steely purpose and joyful anticipation. Chin tucking in, eyes brightening with morbid objective, she started out of the room.
Luther reached for her—and she jerked out of his reach.
“No! Don’t touch me.” Eyes unseeing and muscles clenched, she made ready to battle with him if he tried. “Don’t fuck with me, Luther. I mean it. I need to get him, and I can’t if you start hovering over me, dicking with my perception.”
“All right.” He held up his hands, showing that he respected her decision. “But I’m coming with you, no arguments.”
She said nothing. In less than a minute she had on jeans but no shoes. She’d buttoned the flannel shirt only enough to cover her breasts.
Luther had no choice but to follow her out into the cold, early morning obscurity wearing no more than unbuttoned jeans and carrying his gun in one hand, his cell phone in the other.
“No car,” she told him as she reached the sidewalk and launched into a flat-out run away from his home.
“Damn it.” Luther ran as hard as he could, but the icy walkway numbed his feet and each pounding footfall sent pain radiating up his shins. He hadn’t run barefoot on concrete since he was a young boy. He blocked the discomfort to push himself, and still he couldn’t keep up with Gaby.
He’d almost lost sight of her when, for no apparent reason, she came to a dead stop.
At the end of a driveway, near bagged refuse ready for pickup, she turned a full circle, scanning the area, hunting for something.
Or someone.
He’d gotten to within forty feet of her when her face tightened and she took two hard steps toward a cross street—only to draw up short as an idling car a block down the road, hidden by the darkness, suddenly gunned the engine and sped away.
Gaby didn’t chase after it, thank God. But her eyes narrowed with a transcendent apperception that Luther couldn’t comprehend.
Even as the car passed beneath a streetlamp, thick fog made it impossible to see the license plate, or even identify the make and model, especially since the car kept the headlights off.
Why wasn’t Gaby upset at losing her quarry?
“We’re not going after him?” Feeling like the wimp she often accused him of being, Luther bent, hands on his knees, and tried to regain his breath.
“No.” Gaby wasn’t breathing hard, but he could barely draw enough air into his laboring lungs. “There’s no need, not right now.”
She continued to stare in the direction the car had fled until the sound of the engine faded into nothingness.
Almost to herself, she mused aloud, “I couldn’t see him, but he couldn’t see us either. I’d say that’s a fair trade-off.”
“Who?”
“Not sure yet, but I’ll figure it out.” Gaby put her nose in the air, inhaled deeply, and closed her eyes with a fervid satisfaction that altered her expression. “Oh yeah. I have him now.”
“What is it, Gaby?” Luther straightened as he watched her. What did she know that he didn’t?
“I smell it.”
Dread knotted inside him. She smelled . . . human remains? He looked at the garbage bags. “Oh fuck.”
He started to reach for one, and Gaby grabbed his wrist in an unbreakable hold.
“No.” Her gaze was truculent, almost . . . inhuman.
It reassured him. This was Gaby at her best, and knowing she had a handle on things meant fewer people would die.
“Call it in,” she ordered. “Have them get forensics here or whatever you cop-type people do.”
“Okay.” He covered the hand she’d placed on his wrist and pried it loose. Flexing his fingers to restore the blood flow, he asked, “On what grounds? Unlike you, Gaby, I can’t claim a sixth sense. I have to give them something more solid to go on.”
