She had to get away.
Now.
The longer she stayed near him, the more disconcerted she got, and she never got disconcerted. She couldn't allow old-fashioned jitters to jeopardize what must be done. Enough time had passed to threaten the probability of the outcome.
Letting evil escape was not an option.
If she didn't get her ass in gear, some poor soul would suffer. She'd fail in her duty, and the awful pain would linger and burn until it almost drove her mad.
His knees bent, bringing his face level with hers. "Hey, anyone at home in there?"
Gaby narrowed her eyes, annoyed at his teasing. She'd never known a man to act so weird. She didn't like it. She sure as hell didn't understand it.
Forgoing a verbal reply, she stared down at first his left hand, then his right, both firmly latched onto her arms just above her elbows.
He released her and took a step back.
Without wasting another second, Gaby started around him.
This time he only caught her arm to regain her attention. Full of incredulity and dangerous antagonism, her fist cocked back, Gaby whirled to confront him. He dropped his hand. Again.
"I'm a cop." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a black wallet and flipped open a badge. "Detective Cross." He offered an encouraging smile. "Luther Cross."
The air squeezed out of her lungs so fast that dark spots danced in front of her eyes. She detested cops. They never understood. They couldn't.
By virtue of their chosen careers, they were diametrically opposed to her and to what God forced her to do.
After a quick glimpse at the badge, which looked real enough, she met his gaze with insult. "Good for you." Again, she turned—and again he caught her arm.
Snarling, Gaby jerked free. "Back off, shithead, all right?"
In the universal sign of surrender, he raised his hands. "I just want to make sure you're okay."
Right. So that must be altruism emanating from him in scorching waves, making her head swim and her belly flinch? Even if her mission hadn't heightened her sense of smell, she would have seen through the lie.
Suspicion filled his dark eyes.
Curiosity.
And something else, something she didn't dare ponder.
"Great. I'm fine." This time when she stalked away, he kept pace with her. Oh Christ. She could feel him there, big and hot and powerful—and somehow amused, though he showed no expression. She had to shake him off. No way in hell could she take care of business with him tagging along.
Cops weren't keen on seeing people slaughtered.
What to do?
Tom by duty and caution, and the new, alien edginess, Gaby halted with an unmistakable show of exasperation. "What?"
Those dark eyes grew more intense as he scrutinized her. Somehow, he managed to appear bigger. Taller. And mean.
Being physically ripped apart couldn't hurt this much.
He struck a concerned frown. "You're still shaken. Look at your hands."
Gaby glanced down and bit off a lurid curse at her white-knuckled fists. She closed her eyes, carefully opened her hands, stretched out her fingers, loosened them until she appeared relaxed.
"Better?" he whispered.
Fuck off. No, she better not say that. Pain shredded her nerves. His appeal nearly destroyed her. Together, the dual influences could do her in.
She gritted her teeth. "Just dandy."
He took a step closer. "Where're you headed?"
The pain amplified, signaling an urgency to the moment. His presence had at first blunted the pain, but now her time had run out. She all but panted to keep control. "And that's your business because… ?"
Something within him sharpened; she felt it like tiny pinpricks from a million needles. He kept his expression enigmatic, but the strength of his purpose enveloped her. "You assaulted a man."
Resisting the wild urge to run, Gaby rested her weight on one hip and crossed her arms over her chest. "Self-defense."
"Yeah?"
"He grabbed me."
Detective Cross agreed with a slow nod. "I saw. You acted like Satan himself had you."
Her chin shot up. For a minute there, she hadn't been sure.
A quirky smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "Bogeymen aren't real, but unfortunately jerks are."
Both she and God knew that he couldn't be more wrong. Bogeymen, demons, vile incarnations and perversions of the sickest kind… they walked the earth in greater might than all the jerks combined.
But she had neither the time nor the inclination to school him on reality. She'd amused him enough.
"So Where'd you learn to move like that? Most women would have slapped his face and started crying. You knocked him out." He snapped his fingers, "Just like that. You've had special training?"
If you could call God a Trainer.
But Gaby couldn't tell him that. The pain in her belly ruptured, boiling up her throat and into her lungs and heart. She had to go.
Arms curled around her middle, her back teeth sawing together, she sought coherent words. "Are you arresting me or what?"
His head tilted back and something flickered in his expression, as if he'd just noticed her discomfort. The seconds ticked by, driving her urgency, sharpening the mauling agony.
Very softly, with a tip of his head, he said, "Not."
She let out a broken breath. And this time when she strode away on stiff legs that made her gait awkward, he didn't follow.
But damn it, Gaby felt his gaze and couldn't resist the urge to look over her shoulder.
She wished she hadn't.
He stood there, staring after her, somehow dark and bright at the same time. He looked… speculative, and the last thing she needed was some damn nosy cop wondering about her.
Thank God, he hadn't asked for her ID or even her name. If she became known in the area, she'd have to move on.
Again.
Blaming him for the excess of her pain, Gaby glared, and he began walking backward, moving away from her while keeping her in his sights. Gaby watched, waiting for him to round the corner, to go about his business, whatever that business might be.
He didn't. When he reached the drunk still sprawled on the walkway, he stood over him a moment, then knelt down and helped him sit up. Gaby's eyes widened. Damn it, the scuffle in front of the bar was her business, and she wanted Detective Luther Cross's nose out of it.
The drunk's friends staggered forward, and with horrified realization, Gaby watched as the detective began to grill them all. Shüüt.
She didn't trust that cop, not even a little. She considered intervening, but…
With Detective Cross no longer a threat, the real menace throbbed throughout the air like a thundering heartbeat, consuming her. Had she missed her chance? Was she too late after all?
Would she have to carry the pain for days instead of a couple of hours?
No.
She couldn't bear that. She wouldn't bear it. Somehow, she'd make it on time.
No cop had ever succeeded in halting her activities. She'd be damned if she'd let one get in her way now.
Teeth clenched, Gaby replaced her glasses over her eyes and broke into a hobbled run. At first, the agony nearly crippled her, but exerting herself physically helped give the pain guidance into her legs and lungs. Her stride became more fluid, faster. Through a deeper precognition, she followed her way to the trigger much as a dog trailed a scent.
Without tiring, without bumping into people or hazarding traffic, Gaby ran the length of the narrow street.
She saw no one, felt nothing.
Noise surrounded her, but beyond the slapping of her flip-flops and her own coarse, grating breath, she didn't hear a thing.