He heard no disruption; bodies weren’t flying and people weren’t screaming. It couldn’t be Gaby.
Anyone other than her, he could handle.
Desiree said something to him that he missed, and then she stopped before a small, cloth-covered table that displayed an arrangement of colored pills, a few drinks, and a line of cocaine already cut on a mirror.
A tall, thin man with long dark hair and very pale blue eyes awaited them. Given the faint creases in his face and the cynicism in his gaze, Luther put him in his late forties, early fifties.
If his eerie watchfulness wasn’t enough, his age made him stand out in the young crowd.
He seemed displeased with, and somewhat wary of, Luther’s presence. Desiree moved forward, put her head to the table, a straw to her nose, and inhaled the coke. Giddy, she stepped back, wiped a dainty hand over her nostrils, and laughed.
In a too-polite, too-moderated voice that barely carried over the music filtering into the isolated room, the man asked, “Who is this?”
Now more vague than ever, Desiree stroked a small hand over Luther’s crotch. “This is all mine,” she taunted with a squeeze.
Revolted, Luther again removed her hand. “Not accurate at all.”
Undaunted, she clung to his arm. “We just wanted to get a good buzz going before we get . . . friendlier.”
The man’s gaze slid over Luther with the comfort of sticky oil. “He’s not your normal fare, now is he, Desiree?”
“He’s bigger,” she crooned, now sliding her hands everywhere. “And strong.”
Luther stood there, impassive and accepting, when he really wanted to strike out.
Blue eyes took his measure. “You look like a cop to me.”
“Maybe the shirt is misleading.”
He read the slogan and laughed. “What other license is there for killing, if not under police jurisdiction?”
“I have a hunting license.” Luther looked at young Desiree, now pressed to his leg. He levered her away with enough force to show his displeasure at her boldness. “And sometimes I like to hunt pretty women—but only when they know their place.”
The man smiled in understanding—but the edge of distrust remained both in his gaze and posture. “Far be it from me to interfere. I’m not a drug user myself, and I have no idea where these came from, but I’m not the moral police, so carry on as you please.”
“I’ll pass,” Luther said. No way in hell was he ingesting anything from this place.
Desiree eagerly took the instruction to heart and again groped Luther’s crotch.
Just as the older man started to walk away, something crashed behind Luther. He froze. The man froze. The woman continued to fondle him—until a slender hand reached around Luther, caught her long hair in a fist, and yanked her off her high-heeled sandals.
Desiree screamed as she hit the ground. The man stiffened in affront.
And Luther, throbbing with dread, slowly pivoted to confront the interference.
Eyes bright with fury, Gaby smiled, and it was a chilling sight. “There you are.”
Her gaze went past Luther to the man. With that maniacal smile still in place, she drifted closer, put her nose out, and sniffed. “Ah. I knew I’d find you eventually.”
Awareness rocked Luther’s very foundation, making it difficult for him to tamp down his heightened sense of alarm.
Gaby had smelled the man, the same way she’d sniffed those mutilated, corpse-filled garbage bags.
And now she claimed to know him?
Was Gaby telling him that they’d just found their cannibal? If so, that left him in one hell of a predicament. Though he trusted her, he needed more than Gaby’s word on something so monumental.
He needed actual proof.
Fury burned through Gaby’s veins, so hot that it even blurred her vision—but thankfully not her aggrandized sense of smell. The commingling of jealousy toward a vapid tramp, and hatred at malignant turpitude, had her muscles clamping and flexing with the compulsion to strike out.
It wasn’t easy to stay contained, to keep from rampaging. But she wasn’t a fool. She understood that this was Luther’s work.
She would never ruin that.
Later she might maim him for leaving her behind, but she had other things to do first.
Leveling her discontent on the downed girl, Gaby curled her lip. “Get up.”
Heart hammering with fear, eyes wide and dazed with drugs, Desiree stared at her.
Impatience detonated. Reaching down, Gaby grabbed her upper arm and hauled her to her unsteady feet. “How old are you?”
“T- . . . t- . . . twenty-three.”
Stupid fool. “You act like you’re fifteen.” Gaby kept her grip tight enough to leave bruises on Desiree’s pale flesh. “Find a shirt, cover yourself, and then leave. Don’t let me see you at a rave ever again.”
The girl looked to Luther, then to the other man. “She can’t—”
Gaby shook her hard.
When the girl started a high-pitched protest, Gaby smacked her.
Big tears sprung to her eyes and a red palm print rose up on her cheek. Around gurgling sobs and sloppy tears, she wailed, “That’s . . . that’s assault!”
Closing in, Gaby exposed her true intent and fundamental nature. When she slid her knife from the sheath, she felt Luther stir beside her—and didn’t give a damn.
A lot depended on her scaring the girl enough to make an impression. Gaby sensed that if she didn’t change her ways, quickly, she’d end up dead.
She couldn’t just let that happen. Not if she could alter events.
And if Luther actually believed that she’d hurt an innocent girl . . . well then, he didn’t know her that well after all.
Holding the edge of the blade just beneath the girl’s heaving left breast, Gaby whispered, “You stupid, fucking little slut, I will carve out your heart. Do you understand me? I will dice you up in little pieces and not lose a second of sleep over it.”
When Desiree looked around for help, Luther made a point of offering none.
Knowing he wouldn’t have done that if he’d believed, even for a single second, that she’d hurt the girl, Gaby felt emotion course through her. Later, when the time was right, she’d tell Luther how much she appreciated his faith.
For now, she had a point to make, so she let the knife slice through Desiree’s net cover. It just pierced her skin, sending a bead of blood to well up.
“No one can stop me, little girl, so don’t bother trying to find a way out of this. You put yourself in this situation, didn’t you? You knew what could happen. You knew you could get raped, killed, or in my case”—Gaby tightened her mouth into the semblance of a grim smile—“worse.”
Face going pale, the girl almost fainted.
Gaby jerked her back to attention. “Go home to your mommy and daddy. Find a safe job in a safe neighborhood. Dress with some pride and don’t ever again shove shit up your nose. Got me?”
“Y- . . . yes.”
Disgusted that a young lady would sink so low, Gaby removed temptation by returning her knife to the sheath at her back. She watched as the fool raced to the corner, found a jacket and small purse, and, sniffling and weeping, tried to dress herself.
To Luther, Gaby asked, “Is she straight enough to get herself home?”
“How the fuck should I know?”
So he was still undercover—and indulging his own bad mood. Tough tittie. She didn’t have time to indulge his mood swings. “Call her a cab.”
Jaw clenching in feigned affront, Luther withdrew his cell phone and put in the call, yelling to be heard.
Gaby snagged the girl before she could slink away into the crowd. “You’re going to park your skinny ass out front on the curb and wait for a cab. If I find out you didn’t, you won’t like the consequences. Got it?”
Fat tears tracked down her pale, still-red cheek, mixing with inky makeup. She nodded.