His patience wore thin. "Is foul language your answer for every damn thing?"
Vibrating with fury, she halted, then jerked around to square off with him. "No, asshole. I like to talk with my fists. I was making an exception for you because you're such a pretty boy. But since you refuse to back off…" She widened her stance and poised herself for combat.
Blood thrummed in Luther's veins. "Here we go again." He braced for her attack.
He anticipated grappling with her again. She wouldn't hold back, so by God, neither would he.
Then a bloodcurdling scream blasted from her building.
Their locked gazes afforded Luther a firsthand view of Gaby's singular reaction. She went still and calm, but alive with a flood of energy unlike anything he'd ever seen.
So fluid she nearly became a blur, she spun around and charged for the apartment building.
"Gaby, damn it, wait!" Who knew what she might run into? Luther's longer legs didn't help much in catching up to her, not with her unholy speed.
He drew out his gun and got up the front steps two paces behind her, just in time to see her open Mort's door and, without an ounce of caution, storm inside.
She had that razor-edged blade in her hand, and a look of anticipation that turned his blood cold.
"Mort!" Her voice rang out. "Mort, where the hell are you?"
Luther did a quick surveillance around the small apartment and saw nothing amiss.
He tried to get in front of Gaby, but after she scoured the rooms, she headed back to the foyer.
"Mort!" she bellowed again.
And they both heard the whimpers.
Gaby shoved Luther aside and went to the bottom of the stairwell. Almost at the top near to Gaby's rooms, Mort hunkered down.
On nearly every step beneath him, thick, sticky blood pooled and dripped.
"Shit." Gripping the handrail with one hand, Gaby levered herself up the stairs three at a time, avoiding the spill of blood as much as she could. At first, she went right past Mort and checked her door. When she found it still secured, she stowed her knife and came back to Morty. "Talk to me, Mort. Let me know you're okay."
White with shock, he stared at her and began to babble. "I was seeing if you were in. I wanted to tell you about the newest Servant manuscript I got, and how mind-blowing it is. But you didn't answer and then I thought I heard you come in, so I turned to call down to you, but… You weren't there. No one was there. It was just… all that blood."
"None of it is your blood?" Gaby knotted a hand in his spiky hair and worked his face this way and that, checking him for injuries.
Watching her, Luther sighed. She had a shitty bedside manner. And poor Mort looked ready to expire from her attendance.
"Come on, Florence Nightingale." He returned his gun to the concealed holster at his back. "I'll help you get him down from there, and then I'll call it in." Being as cautious as Gaby had been, Luther went up three steps and stretched out an arm.
"Butt out, cop." Ignoring his proffered hand, Gaby pulled Mort's limp arm over her bony shoulders, put her arm around his waist, and stood. "We don't need your kind of help."
Like acid through his veins, the rejection burned. Luther didn't move, didn't retract his offer or his arm. "You will take my hand right now, Gaby, or so help me you won't like the consequences."
Morty stirred from his horror-induced trance. Lips trembling, he whispered, "Thanks, Luther." And he reached out.
"Fine." Gaby let him go with a slight shove. "But try not to track it all over the place, will you. It's going to be a bitch to clean up."
Rather than pamper Mort, Luther did the expedient tiling and slung him over his shoulder, bounded down the remaining steps, and put him back on his feet. "You all light?"
Morty shuddered. "Just grossed out. I mean…" He spared one fitful, fleeting peek at the bloody stairwell. "There's so much of it, and there are chunks of things in it, too. And I can…" He gagged. "Smell it."
Frowning, Luther looked again at the blood.
Gaby crouched down on one of the steps and she, too, took a better study. "He's right. Looks like hunks of flesh and skin and stuff. Maybe some bone." She made a face. "And hair."
"This is too much." Luther pulled out his radio. "Try not to disturb things too much until the forensics guys can get here."
"No."
He stabbed a glare at Gaby. She leaned over the rail and slid down on her belly to keep her feet out of the blood. When she reached the bottom, Luther automatically helped her down around the broken wood finial at the front post.
Again, she brushed him off. "Put the radio away, Columbo. There's nothing here worth bothering the specialists."
She amazed him at every turn. "You don't think a gallon of blood warrants inspection?"
"Why? It's just another damned prank. Likely from a slaughtered pig. If you want to do some investigating, start at the butcher's around the block. You can find it by the raunchy stench."
Luther looked at the blood again. "You think that's from an animal?"
Her light blue eyes rolled up in annoyance. "No, it's from the president's wife."
Luther didn't appreciate her sarcasm.
"What? You thought it was human?"
"I don't know."
She shook her head, as positive as a person could be. But how? "It's not."
"No?"
"It's an animal. And unless you know something about cult worshipping and sacrifices taking place in the area, which wouldn't surprise me, it'd almost have to come from a place with lots of spare blood."
She held out her hands, encouraging him, and Luther dutifully replied, "The butcher."
"Exactly. If there was another murder, you'd already know about it, right? If anyone was slaughtering house pets, you'd probably know about that, too." She gave him a superior look. "Or am I wrong?"
If he replied to her at all, Luther knew he'd lose the fragile thread on his temper. He directed his questions at Mort. "Have you pissed off anyone lately?"
"I don't think so." Folding his arms around himself, Morty turned his back on the gore. "People come into the comic book store to sell stuff or buy stuff, and sometimes I don't need what they have, or don't have what they want. It makes people pissy, but I don't think I've made any real enemies because of it."
Gaby lounged back on the wall. "I bet I know what it is."
Both men looked at her.
"You." She held Luther in her pointed gaze. "Look around the neighborhood, Detective. This isn't Sesame Street. Around here, cops are the bad guys, especially the kind who wear suits instead of uniforms. And yet old Mort has played nicey-nice with you, chatting you up, inviting you in. That can't be good for his social standing." Her lip curled. "Do us both a favor and go solve some real crimes, will you?"
Shit. She could be right about that. He disregarded her last dose of disparagement and said, "So you think someone managed to throw in a bucket of pig's blood without Mort noticing?"
Gaby slanted her attention at Mort, who wore a blank, befuddled expression, then back to Luther. "Hardly seems possible, huh?"
Her wisecracking added to his tension. Luther rubbed the back of his neck, undecided. "Maybe. But I still need to have this checked out—"
"So you can get even more people hating Mort? Sure, why not. He's got that coming."
Morty started to panic. "Now wait a minute. I don't want more stuff like this to happen." He grabbed at Luther's sleeve. "C'mon. Luther. Do you really have to make a fuss about it? What if I promise to keep the entry doors locked from now on? Only Gaby and I will have keys. Will that be okay?"
Something in Gaby's expression convinced Luther. Though she tried to conceal it, and from most, she succeeded, he still saw that she didn't want the cops there.
In fact, she was outright rigid about it.
Somehow, Luther knew that if he pushed her, she'd disappear. He couldn't chance that. Not until he got everything neatly resolved.