She’d sat in a dusty corner, eyes unfocused, pulse racing. Fear held her as securely as the chains held their victim.
Even like this, in a state of sheer panic, she remained untouchable by most. Ann had tried to speak with her, but got no response. Only when he could put aside his duty and touch her did she show any sign of comprehension.
How someone could live with such a debilitating fear, he couldn’t imagine. For someone of Gaby’s dominating character, it’d be the worst of handicaps. She was a doer, someone who wanted and needed to help others. When fear held her back, it would be unbearable.
Was her phobia of storms due in part to her many years under foster care? Not that Luther could entirely blame people who’d only wanted to help a little girl and instead had gotten a preternatural child with immeasurable abilities few would ever understand or accept.
Seeing the barren perception in her eyes twisted Luther’s heart. Only the very certain belief that Gaby would resent herself more if he hadn’t done his job had kept him from removing her from the scene earlier. But he had fulfilled his duty as a detective and now he wanted to concentrate on her.
When they were both safely ensconced in his car, he kicked on the heater and rubbed her thigh. “Gaby? We’re going home now.”
Her throat moved as she swallowed, but she didn’t reply.
He drove away from the scene. Rain drenched her clothes and he realized he needed to get her warm and dry. She shivered in misery—and so much more.
“The guy we found . . . he was as close to death as I’ve ever seen anyone.” Why he kept talking, Luther wasn’t sure, but he wanted her to know how she’d helped. “Thank you for leading me to him.”
A shiver ran through her, but she didn’t reply.
“He’s lost a lot of blood,” Luther said, “so I don’t know if he’ll make it. But if he does, he has you to thank.”
Gaby frowned a little, either in disagreement, or in surprise that she’d heard him, that his voice had registered beyond her palpitating despair.
Understanding Gaby as he did now, he could easily guess how she’d hate her inability to act. He felt a desperate need to reassure her. “I know how hard this is for you. But you got him help, Gaby. You pushed past the fear and made sure we knew about him.”
Her lashes fluttered, her mouth tightened the tiniest bit.
“You’re the most courageous person I know, and that’s saying a lot, given the honorable men I’ve worked with.” He glanced at her, rubbed her leg again while steering one-handed. “I don’t know if we got to him in time, though. I’ve never seen anyone so white or weak. Another hour and he’d have been dead.”
He took her left hand, lifted it to his mouth and let his warm breath soothe the iciness away. He saw her eyelashes flicker again, and her tongue came out to moisten her bottom lip.
That encouraged Luther. “He’s an addict, Gaby, like the other, with plenty of track marks. But I saw nothing to say he’d been deliberately bled.”
Her struggle to focus left her voice raw and deep. “He was.”
“Okay.” Thrilled to hear her voice, Luther squeezed her fingers. “I believe you.”
The car grew almost uncomfortably warm, but he didn’t turn down the blower. The fact that she’d spoken proved that some of her abyssal terror had waned. “Once the doctors have looked him over, they’ll call me. We can confirm things then.”
“They won’t know where to look.” Her expression pinched in pain, and she closed her eyes a moment to concentrate. “You’ll have to insist.”
Again he said, “Okay.” He couldn’t help but smile a little, mostly with relief. Bossiness crept back into her manner, reassuring him that she’d be her old self in no time.
With her free hand, she toyed with the choker he’d bought her, the choker she never removed. “I fucking hate storms.”
“I noticed.” Her grumbling delighted him; her acceptance of his gift thrilled him more. The choker was the only jewelry she ever wore. “It’s better now that we’re in the car, out of it?”
She nodded, and turned her face away.
Though she remained too tense, and far too pale, Luther let it go, content to touch her as he drove cautiously along the roads until he finally turned into his driveway. “Want me to pull into the garage?” He usually didn’t, but if it’d make things easier for Gaby, he didn’t mind.
She stared out the window, filled her lungs with a very deep, fortifying breath, and—without replying—opened her door and got out.
A gigantic lightning bolt ripped apart the sky and crackled along the ground. Deafening thunder shook the air around them.
Gaby froze again.
“Damn it.” Luther rushed around to her, gathered her close, and led her inside. She’d again retreated into herself, into some safe haven where he couldn’t reach her. Luther wanted to howl at the storm for doing this to her, and he wanted to go back into her past and find everyone responsible for ever hurting her.
“Come here, Gaby. Let me help you.”
When he tugged on her arms, she moved as directed, but with a zombielike void of comprehension. On the tile entry, they both dripped puddles. Luther locked the door and turned to her. Her colorless lips trembled.
A tidal wave of emotion rose to choke him.
Luther hugged her close, rubbed her chilled arms, and kissed her throat. She didn’t thaw at all. He needed to get her warm, and fast, but he couldn’t. Not while she wore cold, rain-soaked clothes.
Kissing her made him feel better, and even now, with her being so emotionally wounded, the taste of her satisfied something deep inside him, something he’d never experienced with any other woman.
Though Luther’s ardor grew, Gaby didn’t make a single sound, and he hated that. “To hell with it.” He knew what he wanted to do, knew the best way to reach her.
Leaving her for only a moment, he went to the adjacent living room and closed the drapes, and then turned on the television. Maybe if she couldn’t see and hear the storm, it wouldn’t bother her so deeply.
Gaby stood frozen where he’d left her as he went down the hall to the guest bathroom to gather up a few towels. When he returned to her he smoothed her dark hair away from her face. With his heart pounding, he kissed her mouth and, little by little, her icy lips thawed.
“Gaby.” His mouth still touching hers, he looked at her, and then covered her left breast with his palm.
Her eyelashes fluttered, so he kissed her again, deeper this time, as he cuddled her breast.
It appalled Luther that he was turned on while she stood paralyzed by terror. Maybe it was seeing her quiescent for a change instead of defiant, maybe it was that for once she didn’t scald him with her acerbic disdain.
Whatever logic he applied, he shook with wanting her. Lust roughened his voice as he spoke. “Let’s get you out of these wet clothes and warmed up.”
For most women, what he was about to do would be unethical in the extreme, even illegal. But for Gaby, it was the only way he knew to help her.
Her shirt stuck to her skin as he wrestled it up and over her head. It hit the tiled foyer with a sodden plop. Luther looked at her, at her small breasts and her nipples drawn tight by cold, and knew he was a goner.
Using one of the towels, he squeezed excess water from her hair and then dried her torso. And because he couldn’t help himself, he kissed her again, on her soft, pale lips, her nose, her chin.
“I’ll have you warm soon, I promise.”
The waistband of her loose, worn jeans curled outward from her thin frame, exposing her narrow hip bones and a tantalizing navel within a concave belly. Around her waist, Luther saw the thin leather belt that held her lethal blade in a sheath concealed at the small of her back. The stark reminder of who Gaby was, and what she did, didn’t faze him. He knew her, and he accepted her.