Gaby felt it, the charge in the air, the smothering of young laughter, the halting apprehension. The kids fell silent, and Dacia went pale with dread.
This was what had brought her here.
Without looking behind her, Gaby said to Dacia, “I will handle it. Do you believe me?”
Dacia blinked away much of her fear, and proved her incredible trust.
“Yes.” She licked her lips, nodded, and said, “Thank you.”
Before succumbing to her injuries and loss of blood, the victim had given Luther the name of a street, and a grisly account of her harsh captivity.
Speeding, with lights flashing atop his car, he drove hell-bent for the scene. He’d called ahead, giving strict instructions for cops in the area to gather quietly, to contain the scene—but not to intrude.
Yet.
If he could apprehend someone still at the house, get a match on the teeth marks left on the victim, maybe some DNA . . . it’d be perfect, a real break in the case. And God knew they needed a break. The bodies were piling up.
Beside him, Ann held herself in brooding silence, no doubt wracked from seeing the shape that poor woman was in. But hell, he didn’t blame her; it shook him, too.
To think of someone going through what she had, and then to be chained to a wall to be available for future abuse . . . His muscles constricted with the need for physical violence.
Nasty bite marks, most of which had viciously pierced skin and torn flesh, marred her body. She’d been so bloodless that, other than swollen bruises, her skin looked translucent, ghostly blue. Wild-eyed but frail, she’d whispered of atrocities too horrific to imagine—and then she’d given them the name of a street, and died.
Voice trembling, Ann whispered, “I want to kill him, Luther.”
“Me, too.” He felt no shame in admitting that.
He heard Ann breathing, and then: “I almost . . . almost want to turn Gaby loose on him.”
“No!” Hands squeezing the steering wheel, Luther said again, more calmly this time, “No. Not that.”
Ann put her head back on the seat and closed her eyes. After a time, she agreed. “Of course not. It’s unthinkable.” She rolled her head to look at Luther. “For Gaby, as much as the matter of the law.”
“More for Gaby.” At times like this, Luther teetered toward the attitude of “fuck the law.” Some people, some monstrosities in the guise of human beings, didn’t deserve the benefit of societal rules. The savage who had cut up those people, who’d gnawed on that poor woman, fell into that category.
But he wanted Gaby removed from it, both physically and emotionally. The toll it took on her was not worth the end result, not to him.
If it came to it . . . He flexed his hands on the steering wheel, and admitted the truth. If it came down to it, he’d protect Gaby by killing the bastard himself.
Maybe that’s why he felt such an affinity to her. He understood Gaby and the demons that drove her to slaughter the most abject evil.
Ann’s silence wore on him, forcing Luther to explanations. “Understand, Ann. Gaby suffers for what she does.”
“I think I’ve seen that suffering.” She let out a staggered breath. “So why does she do it?”
“Because she suffers even more if she doesn’t.” Ann had seen small glimpses of Gaby’s torment, but she didn’t know the depths of that agony. And Luther couldn’t tell her without betraying Gaby.
They turned down the street and Luther saw the blackened ruins of a house. “No.”
Ann sat up, and groaned. “Maybe it’s not the house we’re looking for.”
No other home appeared in the area. “And maybe the bastard will turn himself in if we go back to the office and wait.” Luther brought the car to a jarring halt and sat there, staring at the carnage. Little remained of the house. Even the surrounding grounds were scorched and brittle. “Fuck!”
“I’ll say.” Furious, Ann yanked open her car door, got out, and started over to the uniformed cops who milled around their cruisers in confusion.
It didn’t make any sense, but Luther needed to talk to Gaby. He pulled out the cell phone and punched in her number.
She answered on the fourth ring, surprise in her voice. “Hello?”
“It’s Luther.”
“Oh, right. Bad timing, Luther, sorry.” And she hung up on him.
Stunned, Luther stared at the phone as fury boiled up. He dialed her right back.
This time she answered on the first ring.
He ground his teeth together. “Do not. Hang up. On me.”
She huffed. “Fine. Then talk quick.”
In his current state of mind, her insults pricked more than usual. “What are you doing that’s so damned important you can’t talk to me?” Through the windshield, he saw Ann give him an incredulous look, throw up her hands, and go to the house on her own.
“Actually,” Gaby said, “I’m pondering whether or not to beat the shit out of some asshole, if you want the truth.”
What else had he expected? Luther straightened in the car seat. “I vote no.”
“You’re not here and you don’t know the situation, so you don’t get a vote. Hang on.”
Feeling absurdly impotent, Luther listened through the phone as a scuffle ensued, followed by a grunt, a low curse, and then Gaby came back.
“Where was I?” She sounded calm, almost bored. “Oh yeah. I’ll try to walk away, Luther, but I can’t make any promises. He’s not making it easy.”
Luther’s blood pressure went sky-high. “He who?”
“Bogg’s brother, I think.” She said to someone else, “You are Bogg’s asshole brother, right?”
Luther heard more cursing, another crack or two, and Gaby said, “I really do need to go, Luther.”
He closed his eyes, but nothing brilliant came to him. “Is anyone shooting at you?”
“No.”
“How many are there?”
“Just two.”
The odds weren’t bad at all—unless he thought of the odds of the two guys surviving. It was a long shot, but he offered, “I’ll send a beat unit your way. They could be there in two minutes.”
“No, don’t do that.” Her voice lowered. “Seriously, Luther, that’d be a bad move.”
Frustration crawled over him, sent his temper through the roof, then settled in as resignation. He knew Gaby would be tough to deal with.
“All right.” What choice did he have? Luther knew that even if he had the time to race to her side, she’d have the conflict resolved one way or another long before then. “But promise me that you won’t dismember, incapacitate, or otherwise paralyze anyone if you can help it. Promise me, Gaby.”
“Party pooper.”
Jesus. “And if you get into any real trouble, call me so I can help. Promise me.”
“All right. I promise.”
“Thank you.” Marginally relieved, Luther started to disconnect the call, then thought to add, just to devil her in return, “Gaby? I really do care for you, honey. Remember that.”
She went silent, then let out an exaggerated sigh. “You fight dirty, cop.”
When the line went dead, Luther realized he was smiling. She’d turned him into a half-wit; nothing else explained the ability for humor during such an awful time.
He stuck the phone back in his pocket and got out of the car.
The rancid stench of burned wood, plastic, and fabric, along with something more noxious, still hung in the air. Staked police tape warned off curious spectators. Ann ensured that no one from their station compromised the crime scene—what was left of it.
She’d backed everyone away from the area, and given strict orders that nothing was to be touched, not even a singed gum wrapper on the ground.
She didn’t mention Luther’s delay in joining her, but instead launched into business. “The boys said it’s the
