An alien sensation unfurled in her belly. It left her unsettled, even a little shaken. She slapped his hand away. “Keep your mitts to yourself, cop.”

  Rather than take offense, he smiled. “I gather the subject of sex is over.”

  “You got another subject?” Night air settled over her, cooling her overheated skin. In the playground behind them, the crickets came out to sing in tandem with other insects. The night should have been peaceful, but Gaby knew too much to ever be fooled. “Because if not, I should get going.”

  “Where?”

  She had no idea. “Away from you.” That’d be the first priority.

  “Fine.” He let out an aggrieved breath and, all business, settled back into the bench. “What do you know about cancer?”

  The question hit Gaby like a cruel blow, deadening her wits.

  “Well, well,” Luther murmured, “there’s an honest reaction for a change. I take it you’ve known someone with cancer?”

  For lack of a better response, she said, “What’s it to you?”

  “The man who was murdered—”

  “Yeah, you told me.” She didn’t want or need to hear the lurid details again. “He had cancer.”

  “He more than had it. He was eaten up with it.”

  Gaby eyed him. “Listen, Detective. I’ll admit the whole sex talk thing was interesting. Maybe even a little educational. But now you’re just boring me.” She did not want to talk about cancer.

  “Boring or not, I expect an answer.”

  She could see that he did. Even a good guy like Luther Cross couldn’t be dissuaded from his course, especially not when he thought he had just cause for an interrogation. What that cause might be, Gaby couldn’t guess.

  Deciding it’d be best for her to give him what he wanted so she could then seek solace away from him, she nodded. “Sure. I know cancer.”

  Brows coming together, Luther frowned at her. “You say that like it’s a living thing, an acquaintance you’ve made.”

  “And you think it isn’t? Trust me, cancer is very alive—alive enough to massacre without mercy.”

  Laying his arm along the back of the bench, Luther studied her for several terse moments before drawing some conclusion. “Convince me that it’s alive.”

  “Do your own damn research.”

  “I’d rather get your perceptions. Or can’t you back up that statement with explanations?”

  Gaby snorted at the challenge, but she wouldn’t back down. She finished off her Coke, crushed the can in one fist, and tossed it a few feet away to an overflowing trash receptacle.

  “Good shot.”

  “Thanks.” She sprawled out further. “The docs have fancier names for it, but when you break it all down, cancer is nothing more than rebel cells. Real ass-kickers with the ability to populate out of control.”

  “Metastasize.”

  She shrugged. “Call it what you want. I call it a siege, a long-term, decimating invasion that lasts until death.”

  “Sounds right to me,” Luther agreed.

  In acknowledgment of the detestable topic, Gaby’s voice went low and cold. “Normal cells have a life span. The old die off to make room for the new. But cancer isn’t normal. It gets stronger, jacking up into great ranks, invading and wreaking havoc. Cancer’s a son of a bitch, robbing from normal tissue until body parts, and eventually the body, dies from deprivation.”

  Luther kept a close watch on her as she spoke.

  “Occasionally cancer shows mercy and snuffs away life before people realize what’s happened. It spares them the excruciating, violent process.” Her muscles tightened. “But most times it lacks any humanity at all, slowly and methodically eating away at sanity and strength.”

  Luther stroked her hair, the side of her throat. She flinched away, but of course that didn’t stop him.

  Memories had her breathing hard and fast even as they dropped her voice to near nonexistence. “Cancer rots organs and bores holes in the brain until disillusionment takes over. Where a good soul used to be, cancer leaves behind a shell.”

  In the far reaches of her consciousness, she felt Luther’s caring touch. “You’ve put an awful lot of study into this, Gaby Cody.”

  “No,” she whispered back. “I haven’t studied it.” She fixed her gaze on him instead of the abominable images from the past. “I lived it.”

  Apprehension cleared his face of all other expressions. “You’ve had cancer?”

  Misleading him hadn’t been her intent. “Worse.” It would have been so much easier if she’d been the one wasting away. And more appropriate. “He was a very good man who I cared about.”

  “A friend?”

  “Sort of.” They hadn’t been friendly in the typical way. They didn’t share chitchat or have dinner out. Father had been a mentor, guiding and counseling her, often serving as her conscience, her parental influence, and her only confessor.

  Strangers strolled by, rambunctious with too much drink. A woman’s stagnant perfume hung in the air, and a man laughed too loudly at nothing at all.

  “He was a very good person.” Gaby waited until the strangers had passed. “Cancer killed him.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Why? You didn’t even know him.”

  Again, Luther teased his fingers through her hair. “I get the feeling there haven’t been many people you’ve cared about. Losing someone is always hard, but doubly so if you don’t have anyone else.”

  Like a scalding cauldron, emotions tried to bubble up and over. But therein lay weakness and lack of caution. Careful, Gaby, she warned herself. Don’t let a simple dose of concern turn you all mushy and talkative.

  To free her hair from Luther’s fingers, she slouched sideways into her seat and turned her face away. “Anyway,” she said, “cancer’s not contagious, but it sure as hell affects everyone who comes into contact with it. I was just one of millions who got to know it on an intimate level.”

  The silence that fell between them helped amplify the night sounds. Somewhere down the street, a fight broke out. A bottle broke. Loud music competed with rank cursing. Running footsteps retreated.

  Into the stillness came the rustle of Luther moving closer. “You cut your hair, didn’t you?”

  At a loss how to deal with him, Gaby chose mockery. “Now see how observant you are? Nothing gets by you.”

  “It’s a lot shorter and not all that even. Anyone could figure out that you cut it yourself.”

  “Few enough people even look at me, Detective, and no one else would pay any attention to my stupid hair.” She barely paid any attention to it.

  “Why did you cut it?”

  “Would you want long hair hanging down your neck and getting in your face with the temps we’ve had?”

  His gaze slipped over her, warm and tactile. A second later, his thumb followed the same path. “That blood I saw on you…you have a mark here now.” His thumb brushed the spot. “It wasn’t there before. Is that from the cut that made you bleed?”

  “Jut a nick from my hair-cutting efforts.”

  “You hair wasn’t cut then.”

  He really was attentive to details. “I’d damn near slit my throat. I decided I should wait till morning.” And other things had taken precedence.

  “So instead of a trim, you chose to thump on me?”

  Sitting still for so long didn’t suit Gaby, not like this.

  Not with a man.

  Out in the open.

  Pulling her legs up to sit Indian style, she struggled to get comfortable. “You got in my way that day. That’s all.”

  “A deadly bad mistake, apparently.”

  His humor proved nearly as addictive as his kindness. “Anything else, detective?”

  “Yeah, one more thing. But I doubt you’ll want to cooperate, so I want your promise up front that you won’t resort to violence.”

  “I make no promises.” Gaby stared at him, waiting.

  “Such a tough nut.”

  He didn’t show any real concern for bodily injury, but he did hesitate, giving Gaby an unspoken warning that she wouldn’t like his new subject matter.

  “You told me your mother died birthing you. That lightning struck her.”

  “God Almighty.” Before he could even think about stopping her, Gaby surged from the bench. “Are all cops as freakin’ hard-hearted and intrusive as you?”

  Uncaring whether he liked it or not, she began striding away.

  But she couldn’t stop the flow of words spurred on by ire. “Isn’t anything sacred to you?”

  “Gaby, wait.”

  “Fuck you, cop.”

  “I said wait, damn it.”

  “Why?” Walking backward allowed her to sneer at his face as she withdrew. “You want to dig up any other unpleasantness for me? Wanna talk about my years in foster homes, or how the other kids all hated me and called me a freak?”

  “No.” He looked annoyed with her.

  “Why the hell don’t you just poke me with a stick, you coldhearted bastard? What gives you the right to dig into my life anyway?” Because he was getting closer, she turned back around and lengthened her stride. “It’s no wonder this town is in such sad shape, when the cops waste time—”

  A hand on her arm snatched her around. Luther had caught up quicker than she’d realized. She collided hard against his big, solid body.

  Chapter 9

  “Why won’t that cop just go away?”

  The frustrated voice carried on the wind, but no one was around in the darkness to overhear. The cop and the very strange woman were several yards away, on the other side of the fenced playground, well out of range.

  Almost impossible to see.

  Even with the streetlamps shining down and a fat moon overhead, the night remained pitch black around every corner, behind every building and down every alley.

  The hour grew late. The watchdogs grew tired.

  This would be the perfect time to accomplish a great deal. There were things to be done, things with the failed test subjects.

  And things with that girl.

  But not while a law official lurked nearby, causing complications. If the police got suspicious and started snooping around, they could ruin everything accomplished through careful research, great risk, and enormous sacrifice.

  Hopefully the girl would send the cop on his way, and soon. Burning the candle at both ends had a draining effect on even the most brilliant minds. Each day held so many responsibilities: working at the hospital, studying and tending the test subjects, getting rid of failed experiments, and following the girl.

  Something had to be forfeited.

  The girl, obviously, would have to go. Yet she was so fascinating…

  “Maybe, just maybe,” the doctor spoke aloud, “I need to get rid of the police officer first.” Yes, that plan made sense. With the detective gone, everything would go smoother.

  And that would leave the path wide open to get to the girl.

  But how to do it?

  Distracting the woman would be a problem, but thinking of the weaselly landlord…“Maybe it won’t be an insurmountable issue at all.” Everything needed was in quick supply, stored a short distance away—or right at hand.

  Smiling, the doctor tugged on the length of rope, and got a groan in return. “Yes, I know. Not much longer now. I’ve just thought of a brilliant way to make use of you one last time. Your death will not be in vain. You will have another opportunity to atone for past sins.”

  An odd noise echoed out around the area; it was the doctor’s laughter of eagerness and delight. But given the other night sounds, no one would pay any heed.

  There were benefits to hanging in the slums.

  The rope grew taut, then slack again with submission.

  No one cared what happened or to whom it happened, and that made medical experimentation so much easier.

  Before she could deck him, Luther said, “I’m sorry, Gaby.” And he meant it.

  But damn it, she tripped him up at every turn. What should have been simple became too complicated to unravel, especially when Gaby lost the belligerent aggression of a pit bull, and instead mirrored a small wounded female.

  Once again a pit bull, she shoved him back. “Keep your hands to yourself, will you already?”

  “Yes.” But he knew he wouldn’t. For whatever reason, he couldn’t. “Will you let me explain?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  He wanted to tell her that she did, but it’d be an outright lie. Much as he might sometimes dislike it, he was a detective, and that meant certain things had to be disclosed. “I’m trying to understand you, Gaby. Yes, out of personal interest, but also because, as a cop, I’ve lived by my gut instincts much of my life. And alarm bells clamor whenever I’m near you. Something isn’t right.”

  Her lip curled. “I told you. I’m a freak.”

  It wasn’t easy to draw a calming breath, to keep from berating her over such self-inflicted castigation. “I asked about the death of your mother because I think it might explain a few things.”

  “Like my life?”

  She was so hurt, so angry and antagonistic—and untouchable. The walls around Gaby weren’t just sturdy; they were all but impenetrable.

  As Luther was a male chauvinist of the first order, her barriers only made him more determined to get beyond them.

  “Your life, and how that life might play into my perceptions now. You see, I researched lightning strikes and—”

  Throwing up her arms, Gaby complained, “Oh God, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

  And oddly enough, it didn’t seem a mere expletive so much as a rebuke. At who? “Lightning can affect all organ systems, sometimes in long-term or even lifelong ways.”

  In a huff, she examined a fingernail. “Fascinating.”

  Luther locked his back teeth. “It can cause all kinds of problems.”

  “Yeah, uh-huh.”

  “Nerve disturbances. Movement disorders. Dementia. Decreased—or increased—reflexes.”

  Her gaze swung up to his and she pursed her mouth, maybe to keep from laughing. “I get it. You think the way my mother died somehow explains what you saw when I laid out the bums by the bar?”

  “How you move, yes. But also how antagonistic you often are, and why you looked…different when I first met you. The way your facial expressions, even your appearance, altered.” Because he couldn’t stop himself, Luther eased closer to her. “It seemed such a phenomenon, I figured there had to be a medical explanation, but I had no clue what it might be.”

  At the mention of her transforming countenance, Gaby froze up. “You’ve got a damn screw loose.” Pointing a finger at him, she said, “Leave me alone. I mean it.” And she turned to head back to her place.

  “I can’t do that, Gaby.” Once again, he found himself following close behind her.

  “Try.” Shoulders tense and tread stomping, she kept on going.

  Damned stubborn twit. “You’re just digging yourself into a deeper hole.”

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  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.