“I know.” He touched her cheek with a heartbreaking intimacy. “I’m determined to do my best to figure this out, and fast. Until then, please be careful.”
If he didn’t stop fretting over her, she was going to start liking it. And then where would she be? “I keep telling you, cop, you don’t have to worry about me.”
He pulled her in for one more taste, and Gaby’s toes curled inside her boots. “I’m trying.”
“Breakfast,” she reminded him, just to change the subject. “I’ll see you then.”
Gaby left the car and strode up to the building. Dawn would break all too soon, and still a few women stood outside, washed out, tired, and working toward their quota.
By way of a greeting, they made a few lewd comments about Luther. Amused, Gaby looked back, and Luther still waited, wanting to see her inside.
Bizarre.
Unnecessary.
But damn if it didn’t rekindle that odd tingling deep in her belly.
Anticipating breakfast with him in the morning, she went up the stairs—and then it struck her what an idiotic fool she’d become.
For whatever anomaly of circumstances might exist, being with Luther had always desensitized her faculties, depriving her awareness of a necessary superiority. For a single moment of time, Gaby gave in to cowardly panic, wondering if, in fact, Bliss was safe, or if Luther’s presence had blunted her ability to know the truth.
Opening locks with haste, she went into her apartment and to the window to look out.
Luther was gone—and still she felt no discernment of foul play. Her relief, on top of so much expended emotion, left her exhausted.
Following her basic evening ritual, Gaby cleaned her teeth and stripped off her clothes. Left in her plain, colorless panties, she again thought of Luther, of what he’d done, what she’d enjoyed.
Insane.
Wonderful.
After double-checking her locks, she fell into her bed.
Oppressive evening air engulfed her body. No breeze stirred through the open window; only cries and crashes and other emblematic sounds of the neighboring slums filtered through.
Flat on her back, her arms folded over her middle, Gaby stared at the stained and crumbling ceiling—and pondered Luther: his hands, his mouth, his warmth and caring.
She was about to doze off when the verisimilitude of the ravaged corpse, discolored, swelled with river water, skulked past her exhaustion to disrupt her thoughts. The images integrated with those of Bliss’s pale face, her tangible trepidation.
For one of the few times in her life, Gaby craved something other than a normal life.
She craved Luther.
But duty demanded she defend Bliss, and that meant she’d have to cool things with Luther in order to keep her God-given advantage.
Being near him meant she risked a loss of her remarkable acumen toward evil, evil that meant to harm Bliss.
There’d be no restful breakfast for them.
For now, until she destroyed the wickedness, she couldn’t let Luther drown her in that prodigious pleasure.
Her duty was a burden, but she wouldn’t forsake it.
Somehow, all wants and needs aside, she had to accomplish the impossible—again.
Chapter 9
In a world-class mood of surliness, Gaby raged at the locked door to Mort’s apartment building.
Okay, so she knew Mort had started locking the doors under her edict to provide an inviolable sanctuary. But damn it, she didn’t mean to lock her out. She wanted to talk to him, to clear the way before she brought Bliss to him.
Her fist battered the door until it opened with a jerk.
“What?” demanded a slim, blond, and very beautiful woman barely wrapped in a morning robe.
Shock took Gaby back and she almost fell off the front steps: Ann Kennedy, the cop who worked with Luther, a woman better suited to him.
A woman who instilled jealousy when jealousy didn’t make a damned bit of sense.
Even with her hair all frothy, her makeup faded, and her clothes missing, Gaby recognized her. So where the hell was Mort? Had something happened to him?
“Gaby,” Ann said. “I wasn’t . . . that is, I didn’t expect you.” She started messing with her hair, gave up on that and tightened her robe around her.
“What are you doing here?” Filled with suspicion, Gaby peered around her. “Where’s Mort?”
“He’s in the shower.” Ann held the door wider by way of invitation. “Would you like to come in?”
In the shower, huh? And with Ann barely clothed.
In delayed reaction, the pieces clicked together.
They’d spent the night together. Holy shit. That constituted more than mere dating. Gaby stepped inside and said, albeit with a lot of skepticism, “You and Mort are that serious, huh?”
“Yes.” Ann laughed. “I’m afraid so.”
Mort’s apartment caused as much consternation as Ann’s presence. It was the same, but a whole lot tidier, and brighter with fresh shades on the windows and a few plants on the tables. He even had colorful throw pillows on the sofa. “Wow. He’s cleaned it up.”
“And replaced some things.”
“Your influence?” Gaby wasn’t at all sure how she felt about that. Ann must carry a lot of sway over him, and maybe that was fine and dandy. Gaby only knew that she didn’t want to see Mort hurt.
Propping herself on the arm of a chair, Ann shook her head. “More your influence, I’d say.”
“Mine?” How dumb. She didn’t give a shit about home decorating. Never had and never would.
Probably.
Ann smiled. “You’ve had an incredible impact on him, or so he tells me. He claims that before you, he barely existed. Now he’s more aware of everything and everyone and, Gaby, he’s a lot happier.”
Huh. Gaby didn’t know what to say to that. She didn’t want the responsibility for Mort’s happiness, but how could she deny what she didn’t understand?
Being tongue-tied was a first for her, and she didn’t like it.
“Come on.” Ann headed for the kitchen. “Let’s sit down and get comfortable. We can talk. Would you like some coffee? Mort and I have only been up a few minutes, so it’s fresh.”
“Yeah, sure.” Making note of the sway in Ann’s hips, and a faint, delicate fragrance left in her wake, Gaby trailed her. In a state of dishabille on the proverbial morning after, Ann exuded fundamental, salacious femininity.
And yet, Gaby noticed, she was nothing like the prostitutes who used their sexuality to draw business. Somehow, Ann was far more provocative.
For Mort. That really bent her mind. She’d need some time to get used to the idea of Mort as a sexual being, especially when the thought sort of gagged her.
“Cream and sugar?” Ann asked.
“Sure, whatever.” Gaby pulled out a chair. “So you and Mort are screwing?”
Ann nearly dropped the sugar bowl. In obvious offense, she pivoted to face Gaby in high dudgeon. “That’s none of your business.”
“So?” Gaby shrugged. “That’s never stopped me before.” Seeing hot color slash Ann’s face, she sprawled back. “Never mind. I’ll ask Mort.”
Snapping a spoon down onto the counter, Ann said, “That’s no better. You’d still be intruding.”
“Mort won’t mind. At least, he never has before.” But then, Mort didn’t have Ann before, so he’d been more than anxious to talk to Gaby for any reason. Well, for most reasons. She recalled asking him specifics on sex, and getting nowhere.
Gaby shook her head. “There have been times when he’s stammered on his words, turned redder than you are now, and refused to explain.”
Searching her face, Ann relented and finished the coffee preparations. As she handed Gaby a cup, she visibly formed her thoughts into words. “Mort told me you had an eccentric background.”
“Master of understatement, that’s our Mort.” Gaby sipped the coffee. “If you’re going to hang around, you might as well know that I’m a first-class freak.”