In a quiet, lulling rhythm, the rain continued.
"I don't remember coming here," Gaby said with accusation. Had he dragged her?
"You were pretty much out of it." He pushed back to see her face, and as if he'd read her thoughts, he added, "You don't weigh much."
He kept looking at her mouth, disconcerting her. Did she have bacon left in her teeth? Anger roiled. "You carried me?"
One big shoulder lifted in a halfhearted admission. "Yeah, so? You needed help, so I helped you. Is that so odd?"
It was fucking absurd.
While Gaby contemplated ways to kill him, he brushed wet hair away from her face, then cupped her cheek—and scared the hell out of her.
Apparently, big beautiful cops ran neck and neck with thunderstorms, as far as how they affected her yellow streak.
"Get. Off."
"Don't panic on me again," he soothed.
"I'm not panicking!" But she was. In a very big way. "It's just…"
He waited, his gaze warm and filled with curiosity.
She shook her head. Soaked through to her skin, her hair sopping wet and dripping down her neck, she still felt more comfortable than she could ever remember. It was an alien thing for her. Not even with Father had she experienced anything like this, because he always plotted on how to make use of her talent, how to do God's work.
Father was kind, but single-minded in his pursuit of justice, not in the least demonstrative with his affections. She couldn't recall him ever touching her affectionately.
Expression bordering on tender, Cross said, "It's all right, Gaby."
Her alarm—and rage—escalated. In a lethal whisper, she asked, "You know my name?"
"Your landlord told me."
Of course, he had. Poor, dumb Mort. He didn't have the mental equipment to deal with someone like the detective. "You had no business grilling him."
"I didn't."
She snorted.
Cross looked at her mouth again, his expression so intent that she rolled in her lips and glared at him.
His gaze lifted to hers, and she could have sworn his eyes were smiling. "Come on, let's get you home."
She yanked her arm away from his grasp. "Let's don't."
When he took a stance, determined to have his way, she said, "It's right there," and pointed one block up and across the street. "I can damn well walk on my own."
"But I'm going to see you get there, so no, don't start going all scary on me again. I've already made up my mind."
Did he have to keep throwing her curve balls? "Scary? What the hell does that mean?"
"We'll talk on the way." He reached for her arm, caught her venomous look, and held up his hands instead. "Sorry."
At least he learned.
He gestured for her to precede him, and because she didn't really want to murder him, Gaby gave in.
They walked a few feet, stepping around puddles, ignoring the sprinkling rain that softened the night. Crickets sang out; the occasional owl hooted.
"Did you know your face contorts?"
Gaby stumbled over her own feet. "What?"
"Your face. At certain times, it sort of… morphs."
The very idea of it made her palms sweat. She was different from the creeps she removed from the earth. She had nothing in common with them. "You're wrong." He had to be.
The evil ones morphed; she did not.
He glanced down at her and shook his head. "No, not like that. That's just annoyance. And when the storm hit, you looked paralyzed, but not frightening. I'm talking about before that. When you said something was wrong. Your face was different. Somehow… I don't know. Unreal. Sharper."
Oh God, no. No way.
Never had Gaby heard such an idiotic accusation—but then, no one had ever been with her while she dealt with evil.
Sickness seeped through her guts. Did she turn as ugly and menacing as the targets she defeated?
"How?" Eyes burning, throat tight, she stared at Cross. "What did I look like?"
"I can't exactly explain it." He steered her around a dripping overhang. "It was strange."
The sickness squeezed up around her heart. "Strange?"
He shook that off. "More powerful. A little vague, as if you'd slipped your control. Not worldly." He chewed his upper lip, stared straight ahead, shrugged. "Sexier."
Her feet stopped moving, halting Gaby beneath a streetlight.
Sexier?
Not horrific. No. But…
Her brain felt Like a great void, no words coming to her, her thoughts tumbling.
Was he myopic?
Some sort of sick jokester?
He couldn't be that desperate. No normal man could be, and definitely not an attractive, powerful man like Luther Cross.
It wasn't true and she knew it. She stood tall and gangly, without curves but with stringy muscles. Her face was as average as it could get, her attitude antagonistic on good days, threatening on the rest.
Cross played her; that was the only thing to make sense. And God help her, she let him get to her.
She had to escape him. Right now. "I'm just across the street."
Detective Cross moved to stand over her, shadowing the light, so potent that she nearly choked on the air surrounding him. "I figured you must have an illness of some sort, but what? I've never heard of anything that alters your features that way. Is it some kind of seizure?"
She took a step back. "Leave me alone."
Apologetic, he said, "I can't do that."
Rage replaced other disturbing emotions. "You will."
"I've lived by my instincts, and every time I'm near you, warning bells go off."
She denied that possibility with a shake of her head. "Don't be idiotic."
"It's more than that, though." He put a hand to his chin, eyeing her up and down. "I feel drawn to you, Gaby. That's odd, isn't it?"
"Fucking insane."
His lips quirked. "Such a nasty mouth. I've never known a woman who talked like you."
He'd never known a woman like her, period.
"I can't decide if I like it or not."
"You don't. Trust me."
"You're probably right." Before she could accept that, he added, "But I'm intrigued."
She narrowed her eyes. "Then you should really seek some help. Tonight, Right now." She started to go around him.
"I mean, why would a woman like you—"
That halted her again, sending new ire to fuel her attitude. "Like me?"
"Smart. Capable. Strong. Why are you living in this hellhole? What do you do for a living? And why do you look so afraid of me, even when I'm not crowding you?"
Fury consumed her. "Don't delude yourself, detective. You don't scare me." But his perception of her did.
"I will have answers. Gaby."
She wished he'd quit calling her by name. "Here's an answer for you: Go fuck yourself." With that parting shot, she gave him her back.
"You don't want to leave yet."
She meant to keep walking, she really did. Glancing back, she sneered, "Wanna bet?"
He reached behind himself and produced her knife. "This is illegal, you know."
Chapter Six
As Gaby eyed her knife in Cross's hand, her breath left her in a whoosh. No way. Disbelieving, she searched the small of her back and found the sheath… empty.
Rage brought out the worst in her.
Her teeth gnashed together.
Her muscles tightened.
Splashing muddy rainwater in a high arc, she again stormed across the space between them. "How the hell did you get that?"
Unfazed by her temper, Luther lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug. "When you were out of it, I picked you up and felt it there. To keep from stabbing either of us, I took it."