Poor Luther.
He said he trusted her, but he didn’t.
He said he believed in her ability, but how could any sane man believe what she did?
She’d convinced herself of many far-fetched dreams, and now the demiurgeous intrusions of her life brought reality crashing in.
Knowing Luther would feel betrayed, Gaby couldn’t make herself go. She adjusted the window so it appeared shut. Resting against the brick walls of the alley, she fought with her conscience, hopeful of Luther saying anything to belie the urgency for her escape.
In the next second, she heard Luther barge into the room with Bliss. “Where is she?”
In a teeny, frightened voice, Bliss said, “She’s gone.”
Two heartbeats later, he exploded. “God damn it.”
Ann’s much calmer voice chastised his language. “Luther. Bliss is upset.”
“Where is she going, Bliss?”
“I don’t know. Really I don’t.”
To Ann, Luther said, “I guess this is all the proof I needed, huh?”
“Proof of what?” Mort demanded.
Trying to soothe him, Ann said, “We just got a call about a murder victim, a man mutilated much like Lucy, except his heart and testicles were removed.”
Oh shit. Gaby knew it was the same man, the one she’d threatened with just that retribution. Someone had heard, and was setting her up.
Mort now matched Luther’s outrage. “You think Gaby was involved?”
“She split, didn’t she?” Luther shot right back.
Bliss started crying again. “She went because of you, Luther.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Rage vibrated in his every word.
Hiccupping, Bliss said, “She knows you’re in trouble and I guess she knew about the dead guy—”
“Of course she did.”
“—and she said she can’t keep you safe if you arrest her.”
“Perfect. Just fucking perfect.” Luther laughed without an ounce of humor. “God save me from Gaby’s half-witted delusions of grandeur.”
An anvil of hurt crushed Gaby’s chest. She gasped with the pain of it, the humiliation. Slumping against the wall, she almost crumbled.
But she couldn’t be weak.
No matter what Luther thought of her, he was in trouble. She believed Bliss, believed the authenticity of her portent.
Trying to contain the hurt, Gaby pressed a fist to her heart and staggered away from the alley.
Half-witted, he’d called her. Delusional.
That’s what Luther really thought of her, and it mattered, when she’d never before cared what anyone thought.
Or so she’d convinced herself.
Now, she had to admit to her own vulnerability. She’d trusted Luther. Against a lifetime of learned response, she’d opened her soul to him.
God, she was stupid. And delusional. He had that right. Only a half-witted fool would believe the two of them had any sort of future.
At a corner pay phone, in plain sight should Luther leave the apartment, she called him.
He answered on the first ring. “Damn you, Gaby, where are you?”
Unemotional, barren of feeling, she said, “Nowhere that you’ll ever find me.”
“You have to go back to your apartment sometime.”
“For what? I don’t have a life, Luther. You know that.” She didn’t explain to him that she could get in and out of her place—and would—with the expertise of a wraith. Luther would never see her. No one would. From now on, she’d be invisible.
“Gaby, you have friends . . .”
“Who think I’m delusional with visions of grandeur. Yeah, I know.”
He went silent, then she heard his footsteps as he rushed through the apartment with the realization that she’d overheard him. “Where are you? We can talk. Let me explain—”
“I’m gone, Luther. Stop chasing shadows and listen to me.” She drew a pained breath. “It doesn’t matter what you think of me. Not anymore.”
“You have no idea what I really think.”
“Yeah well, like I said. It doesn’t matter now. So listen up. I’m only going to say this once. You have to be careful.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“You sound like me.” A small, poignant smile teased her before Gaby realized it and wiped the expression away. “If you hear from anyone who wants to meet you, possibly an anonymous source, you can’t go alone. No matter what he says. Do you understand?”
“If you know something I should know—”
“I know a lot of things you should know, but we’re no longer cohorts. I’ll be in touch.” She hung up and faded back into the alley. For tonight at least, Luther had Ann with him. He’d be safe.
Probably.
But as Gaby went through the alley and over a broken wall to cut back to the street, doubts gnawed on her peace of mind. She hadn’t made a conscious decision to follow Luther until she found herself near her car with the need for haste prodding her.
It proved a simple thing to drive back to Mort’s, wait near the curb, and follow Luther when he left. Gaby kept a distance so he wouldn’t notice her, but she never let him out of her sights. He stopped at a grocery store, went inside for about ten minutes, and exited with a bag of items. Next he stopped to put gas in his car.
Impatient, Gaby hung back, watching, noticing the limpness of his clothes, his posture. Frustration and tiredness etched every line of his big, muscular body.
Before an ominous moon, evening breezes scuttled shadows and disrupted Luther’s dark blond hair. With one hand he held the gas nozzle to his car, and with the other he tugged at his tie.
She’d wanted to know him—in every way.
She’d wanted to touch him—everywhere.
And he’d ridiculed her to her friends.
Little by little, grating outrage shoved aside the anesthetizing hurt.
How dare he accuse her of insanity?
Gaby snorted to herself. She wished her only issue was a little lunacy. Her life as a crazy person would be much, much easier than that of a paladin.
Luther got back in his car and pulled out to the road.
At a discreet distance, Gaby followed.
No, she wouldn’t let anyone hurt him. But she made no promises about what she’d do.
Before long, impecunious surroundings gave way to bourgeois dwellings; tidy homes with immaculate lawns lined the streets, enhanced by compact cars in the driveways and landscaping of flowers and shrubs.
Gaby slowed to a crawl when Luther’s turn signal came on. He pulled into a driveway and his car lights went off. Seconds later, she heard the closing of his garage door. A streetlamp illuminated him as he hauled out his grocery bag and strode to the front door of a small Cape-style home.
Keys in hand, he unlocked a wooden door, went inside, and the porch light went on. The door closed.
Gaby sat back and studied his house. Showing his bachelor status, Luther had a well-kept lawn, but lacked flowers of any kind. A tall oak tree grew in the front. A stone walkway led to the porch. At the right side of the house, a tall brick chimney climbed to the top of the roof.
Colonial blue wood siding and cottage windows with black shutters added agrestic charm.
It was a beautiful home. A real home.
Longing and regret lacerated the last fragile thread of Gaby’s temper. As silent as the breeze, she opened her car door and slunk out.
She’d peer in the windows, that’s all. Nothing more. Not right now.
Avoiding the streetlamp’s glow, she dashed across the street and onto the cushiony lawn. Thanks to the settling of dew, she could smell the friggin’ grass.
Starved for any taste of normalcy, she paused to stroke the rough bark of the towering tree and let her lungs drink in the fresh air. Somewhere nearby, a cricket chirped.