Her eyes closed. “Luther . . .”
“When you’re like this, Gaby, you’re far more likable.” He stepped away, met her incredulous, wide-eyed gaze, and smiled. “Meet me here, tomorrow, at seven. It’s important.”
“Bastard,” she hissed.
He looked down at her tightened nipples, lifted a taunting eyebrow, and insisted, “I need your promise, Gaby.”
Slow and exact, she crowded toward him. “I can promise to make you a fucking choirboy if you ever again pull a stunt like—”
In a cheerful mood directly opposite of hers, he laughed, yanked her in for a fast smooch on her mouth, and released her again. “Heard it, and heard it again. But wouldn’t it be easier to just promise me?”
God, he was dangerous to her state of mind. Grudgingly, she said, “I’ll be here.”
“Be careful tonight.”
“Fuck you.”
A shake of his head showed his disapproval. “Same old Gaby—except with new clothes and hair.”
Self-consciousness crept in. “That’s the ladies’ doing.”
“The hookers?”
“They said if I was going to hang around, I needed to fit in.” Truthfully, she’d enjoyed their efforts. They’d painted her hair, and she’d grilled them on the how and why of sexual variations. Not a terrible trade-off.
“I like it. But then, I liked you before, too.” He touched her chin, looked at the choker he’d bought her, still around her throat, and then left.
Gaby stood there until he’d rounded the corner. Since he headed toward the building where she now lived, she would have been worried—except if he knew where she lived, he wouldn’t have exacted a promise from her to meet him on the street.
Right?
She started to follow him, just to make sure, but changed her mind. Seeing Mort was more important.
Tomorrow she’d deal with Luther.
Luther waited around the corner until Gaby had time to leave. When he checked, he saw her walking away, her stride cocky, her presence commanding. His gaze stayed glued to her narrow hips until she faded into the darkness.
Until recently—until knowing Gabrielle Cody—the protector in him would never have allowed a woman to wander the drug- and crime-ravaged area alone. During the day, the neighborhood was a cesspool of corruption where fights broke out every hour, flesh was traded, and drugs were purchased.
At night, the lowest kind of miscreants crawled out, willing to snuff life for a smoke, or sometimes, just for the pleasure of it.
Gaby could care for herself though. She’d proven that time and again.
Still, Luther took out his cell and called Morty Vance, Gaby’s old landlord.
He answered on the second ring.
“ ’Lo?”
“It’s Luther.”
“Hi, Luther. What’s up?”
Cutting to the chase, Luther said, “I found Gaby.”
Silence. And then: “You found her? How is she? Is she okay?”
“She’s the same, Mort.” Well, not really, but he didn’t have time to go into it. “She’s on her way to see you. She should be there soon. If she doesn’t make it, let me know.”
“She’s coming here alone?”
Guilt nudged in, but Luther snuffed it beneath other priorities. “I couldn’t go with her. I have things to do.” Important things. Urgent things. “She’ll be fine.”
“Shit. Which way is she coming? I’ll meet her halfway.”
Bemused, because a near-death experience had neatly matured Morty into a man almost overnight, Luther told him her direction. “You be careful, too, Mort. Stay in the light.”
He laughed. “I’d never find Gaby if I did. She’s a woman who clings to shadows. But yeah, I’ll be careful. Thanks, Luther.” The call disconnected.
A woman who clings to shadows.
Didn’t he know it? When she chose to be, Gaby was an adumbration of humanity, every bit as obscure and hazy as the shifting shadow of a half-moon. Gaby could be there one minute, and if he dared to blink, she disappeared. Part of Luther believed she’d wanted him to find her; if not, he probably never would have. Gaby had many talents, among them the ability to blend into nothingness, to be no one, to . . . not exist.
Putting the phone back in his pocket, Luther headed toward the motel where he’d bet Gaby lived. It was an eyesore, a den of iniquity, but unless summoned, the police turned a blind eye to the crimes committed there.
He’d deceived Gaby on purpose, pretending he had no clue where she resided. For that he wouldn’t feel a single iota of guilt. He didn’t trust her.
He couldn’t.
If he got a chance to talk to the call girls, maybe the manager of the motel, without Gaby aware of it, he might get some new insight on her.
At least, that was the plan.
The building sat close to the street with only a broken, littered walkway separating it from the curb. Most of the windows were painted black or shielded with dark coverings. The red paint on the front door peeled away like blistering skin from a harsh sunburn.
In raunchy poses that exposed overused body parts, three women lounged around. As Luther approached, they sized him up with guarded cynicism—and intuitively recognized him as a cop.
That didn’t convince them to close their legs or their mouths. Lewd comments, void of any real offering, would have brought a blush to a man unaccustomed to such human dreariness.
Luther stopped in front of a redhead wearing layered makeup and smoking a cigarette with ravenous appetite. “I have some questions.”
After blowing smoke in his face, she grinned wide enough to show two missing side teeth. “This ain’t the information desk, sugar.”
“Is the manager inside?”
She laughed. “Now, sugar, you know he ain’t gonna talk to you neither.”
Looking up three stories, Luther guessed that Gaby would be up top somewhere. “I’m looking for Gabrielle Cody’s room.”
“Yeah?” She took another hungry drag on her cigarette. “Who’s that?”
Luther could be patient when need be. “Tall, thin girl. Quiet. Deadly.”
The whore shrugged. “Don’t ring no bells.”
“What’s your name?”
She eyed him. “Betty.”
“Well, Betty.” Luther pulled out his badge, and finished by saying, “Either you start talking, or I bust all three of you.”
Flicking away the cigarette and straightening with apprehension, she demanded, “For what?”
Using the edge of his badge, Luther tapped the inside of Betty’s fleshy thigh. “Indecent exposure, for starters. You’ll probably be held up for hours—and that’ll make it tough to reach your quota for the day, now won’t it?”
In rapid succession, sounding like a pack of pissed off banshees, the women told him to fuck himself in ways unimaginable, and surely impossible.
“Fine.” Luther pulled out his radio. “Have it your way.”
From behind him, a man said, “Hold up, cop.”
Luther turned, found a tall, lean, and muscled man behind him. Given certain traits, he likely had a mixed racial background. Given his clothes and attitude, Luther knew he was a pimp.
“And you are?”
Through narrowed eyes partially concealed by blue-tinted sunglasses, the fellow watched him. “An innocent bystander.” He grinned to show off a gold tooth. “What do you want with the girl?”
Sensing an ally, Luther moved closer. “Actually, Ms. Cody is a friend more than anything. I want to know what she’s up to, that’s all.”
Luther stiffened when the man withdrew a knife from his back pocket, but he only flicked it open to clean his nails. “Tell you what, cop. If you’ll get her out of my hair, I’ll help however I can.”
Viewing his assistance as traitorous, the women started grumbling and grousing to themselves. The man shouted, “Shut the fuck up! Get off your lazy asses and head up the street a ways.”