The bolt in the ceiling popped free.
Going with the momentum and using her hold on the chain, she wielded it like a medieval mace. With Mali in range, the aim was close. She utilized extra care, swinging hard and fast, and the heaviest part of the restraint missed Mali, but struck Fabian’s temple.
The sick thud of impact rebounded in the small room.
As blood gushed from Fabian’s head he went stumbling backward, releasing his hold on the girl. Mali raced back to her sister.
Fabian’s lips pulled back from his terrifying, sharp-edged teeth and he fell, dropping the gun.
Gaby eased the corpse down into the bath of her own blood. Evil or not, this pathetic girl hadn’t deserved such a death.
Luther fetched Fabian’s gun and held the other three at bay, not that they’d posed much threat. Without Fabian directing their every move, they caved to their own cowardly natures, behaving like the cattle Fabian thought them to be.
Looking around, Gaby tried to decide what to do next.
Bliss looked to be in shock, white-faced and too still.
The girls were huddled together, bawling their eyes out, sobbing so pitifully that Gaby couldn’t swallow.
Mort knelt down and made soothing sounds, trying to reassure them.
They were all so scared, so wounded by what they’d just seen.
Gaby couldn’t go to them. Not like this, not covered in blood. What to do?
“Evil bitch.”
Gaby jerked around—and found Fabian propped up against a file cabinet, one drawer open, a smaller handgun held loosely in his fist. Fresh flowing blood filled his left eye, ran over his mouth and lips, along his jaw, and into the creases of his neck. He licked at it—and smiled, a smile so diseased that Gaby felt the short hairs on her neck stand on end.
“You won’t send me to jail,” he told her. His words slurred, and he wobbled. “I won’t waste away there among the servile scum of humanity’s mistakes.”
Blood and spittle punctuated each uttered word.
“You, you wicked bitch, are no daughter of mine. I disown you.” He spat toward her. “I curse you to everlasting hell.”
“But we were just getting to know each other.” Trying not to spook him, Gaby reached behind herself for her knife. Did he remember her blade?
A demonic light shifted in Fabian’s eyes, glittered with purpose. “You have to pay.” He tried and failed to lift the gun.
“Everyone pays, eventually,” Gaby agreed. As unsteady as he was, she didn’t think he had it in him to shoot her. She could just as easily—
“Goddamn you,” he swore. “I will kill you.” He used the cabinet for leverage, almost fell, and tried again. The gun lifted . . .
A blast sounded.
Gaby jerked, stunned that he’d gotten a shot off. But she hadn’t felt a thing.
And then she saw the blossom of blood on Fabian’s forehead. In an anticlimactic finish, he slumped back to the floor. His head drooped to his shoulder, and his life ended.
Gaby spun around. Luther stood there with the gun in his hand, his expression set, defiant, and satisfied.
“You didn’t have to kill him.” But it was one hell of a good shot.
“I love you, Gabrielle Cody.”
Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. He’d shot Fabian. For her?
Luther Cross, by-the-book super-cop, had put a bullet in her father’s brain. “You could have . . . could have overpowered him.”
“I love you,” he said again. “Now. Always.”
Well, crap. She had friends waiting for her to finish this, to ease them, reassure them. She couldn’t go all mushy emotional. Not right now.
“Gaby?” This time Luther’s voice was softer. “Baby, I love you.”
Gaby nodded. She looked at Fabian, gone forever from her life, and the greatest relief washed over her. “He needed killing.”
“I know. But not by your hand.”
Luther had spared her. Because he . . . loved her. Wow.
Gaby looked at Luther again, but he had turned away to remove Mort’s gag and untie his hands, while still keeping the gun trained on the three stooges who were lost without Fabian’s leadership.
Causing additional commotion, Ann charged in, gun drawn, shouting for Luther and Mort. She saw the blood everywhere and drew up short. “Dear God.” Looking around in horror, she spotted Mort, and quickly got it together. “I called it in,” she assured Luther. “Units are on their way.”
Still speechless, Gaby stood there, ineffectual, uncertain. She looked again at her father, and thanked God that the man had never sought her out. Her life had been twisted enough without him being involved.
Then something hit her around her legs and she realized that Ann had untied Dacia and Mali. They clung to her like little spider monkeys. They didn’t care about the blood.
From the tightness of their holds, she could tell they wanted only to be comforted.
Sinking to her knees, Gaby gathered them close. She breathed out the scents of death and despair, and instead filled her lungs with the sweet scent of their acceptance.
Smoothing back Dacia’s hair, she asked, “You’re okay?”
“Yes.”
But tears tracked the girl’s face and marks from the gag still marred her jaw. Without thinking about it, Gaby kissed the injury, then turned and did the same for Mali.
Sirens sounded.
Over Dacia’s shoulder, Gaby said, “Bliss? Talk to me, please. I need to hear your voice.”
Luther helped Bliss to her feet. She swallowed, nodded. “I’m okay.”
But she wasn’t, and Gaby knew it.
Luther put an arm around her, but he had eyes only for Gaby.
Such beautiful eyes, so dark and sincere. Such a powerful, altruistic, amazing man.
As his aura of strength and protectiveness grew, spreading out to warm the room and chase away the gloom of depravity, Gaby saw herself.
Her aura twined with his, and in doing so, looked brighter, clearer, than she’d ever thought possible.
Her breath caught. “Bliss? You were right.”
Some of the shock waned and color seeped back into Bliss’s face. “I was?”
“Oh yeah, my friend. You were very, very right.”
Cops swarmed in and quickly cuffed the now-cowering woman and her two male cohorts. Ann stood with Mort, touching his face, fussing over him. He had an arm around Bliss, hugging her to share his warmth.
Luther spoke briefly to the one in charge, then he came to Gaby.
He held a hand out to her, and when she took it, he hauled her to her feet. “Let’s get these kids out of here, okay?”
“All right.”
He lifted Mali into his arms, took Dacia’s hand, and together they stepped outside to a full moon, a brisk, cool breeze, and fabulous possibilities for the future.
Epilogue
Luther woke to an empty bed. He sat up, immediately concerned until he saw the faint light beneath the closed bedroom door.
Slipping from the room, he went down the hall to the spare bedroom Gaby liked to use.
He found her on the floor, dressed only in one of his T-shirts, a box pulled out from beneath the bed. A gun had been tossed atop the guest bed, unneeded, out of the way. Papers were everywhere.
So Gaby had been hard at work on her Servant series. He should have known.
Beneath the overhead light, her dark hair shone and her lashes left shadows on her soft cheeks. She had papers spread out around her, ink in hand as she drew with a fevered intensity.
Contentment settled over Luther and he leaned into the doorframe. For a long time he watched her.
Finally Gaby paused, studied her finished drawing, and without looking up, said, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I don’t mind.” Of course she’d known he was there. She had tempered the prodigious paladin inside her, but her acute perceptions remained—and he was glad.