Homely little thing, with ruined makeup smeared everywhere and a red, snotty nose. “How old are you?”

  Her lips quivered. “Twenty.”

  “Liar.” She looked to be in her midteens, maybe seventeen on a stretch. “Go home.”

  “I…I can’t.”

  Of course not. If she could, she wouldn’t be here now, tonight, in this hopeless place. The futility of it all settled in once again, evaporating the elation of triumph. “Then at least get away from here.”

  The girl nodded, lumbered to her feet, and wiped her mouth. More tears leaked out. She pushed hair away from her bruised and dirty face. “Thank you so much.”

  Fingers curling around her knife hilt, Gaby snarled, “I was too late. He’d already used you.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “You wasn’t too late. He wasn’t done with me. He would have…he woulda done more. Worse stuff. He told me so. So, thank you.”

  Hoping she had made a difference, Gaby nodded.

  Waiting until after the girl had run off, Gaby dropped to one knee by the man.

  Mort panicked again. “What are you doing?”

  “Well I’m not going to stick him again, if that’s what you’re thinking. What would be the point?” She set her knife to the side. “I’m seeing if he has a cell phone.”

  “But…why?”

  “So we can get him some help.” She found a phone in his loose, drooping pants pocket, but had to wipe the blood away before she could see the numbers. “Like you said, Mort. I don’t need his death on my hands. Not if I can help it.”

  Holding the phone away from her face, Gaby called 911 and calmly gave the address and situation.

  “The cops’ll get you, bitch,” the man muttered in faint aggression. He barely kept himself sitting upright and kept swaying as if ready to topple. One arm hung useless at his side, his hand in his lap over his crotch, and with the opposite hand he tried to stem the sluggish flow of blood from his shoulder.

  “Shut up, stupid. You’re almost dead, and the cops would be more interested in arresting you than me.” She withdrew his wallet and read his name, his address. She leaned down and held the open wallet in front of his face. “Besides, I know you now, who you are and where you live. If you rat me out, or even try to rat me out, you’ll regret it. I can promise you that.”

  New fear smothered his hostility and rendered him mute.

  Attention darting this way and that, Mort wrung his hands over Gaby until she’d again wiped the phone—this time to remove her prints—and shoved it back in the man’s pocket.

  “All right, Mort.” Against the man’s hair, she wiped the blood from her knife and returned it to its sheath. “Let’s go.”

  Mort hurried after her. “You’re okay now?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Better than fine.” Damn it, she felt good. Strong. Altruistic. She’d stopped a crime and, maybe, hadn’t killed anyone. Until an ambulance reached that clown, she wouldn’t place any bets, though. Not that she’d waste pity or regret on any man who’d rape a woman in any way.

  Her stride longer and more sure, she headed for the apartment building. “Mort?”

  He hustled along beside her, breathing fast from exertion. “Yeah?”

  “I get the overall picture, but specifically, what was he doing to her?”

  Mort stumbled over his own feet and then had to rush to catch back up with her. “You’re kidding.”

  “No. I mean, I get that it was sexual. But I’m not sure I understand. Spell it out for me, okay?”

  “Oh God.” He shook his head hard. “Gaby, please, don’t ask me stuff like that.”

  She slanted him a glance. He looked…ill. More so than usual. “Why not?”

  “Because I can’t answer you, that’s why!”

  His raised voice was enough to alert the National Guard. “There’s no reason to get hysterical about it.”

  “Hysterical? Of course I’m hysterical! You’ve got the blood of three people on you. I can hear the sirens of at least two different police cars. We left a man half dead back there.” He put both hands in his hair. “I’ve got good reason to be hysterical.”

  “Shhh. Calm down, Mort. I’ll clean up and it’ll all be okay.”

  “Clean up? Have you looked at yourself?” He took his hands out of his hair so he could wring them together. “You’re a mess.”

  “Peroxide gets blood out, and even if it doesn’t, we had animal blood in the stairs today. Anyone will believe it’s from that.”

  “Not if they do all that fancy forensics stuff—”

  Dolt. Not that she could blame him for being unfamiliar with police priorities. “The guy in the alley will say he was jumped, and that he doesn’t know who did it.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “What else can he say? That he was raping a minor and someone defended her?” Gaby snorted. “But even if he didn’t, it won’t matter. Contrary to popular fiction, the cops don’t pull out the expensive tests for every crime going. Not unless they have a murder victim, and reasonable suspicion on someone, and a lot of other stuff. And before you tell me they’ll have a murder victim, let’s wait to borrow trouble, okay? Those creatures in the alley might be written off as lunatics or something, and that other jerk might live.”

  “Three bodies. Three. Oh God.” He appeared ready to cry. “We have to hurry.”

  His attitude nettled. That last thing they did…well, that was right and proper, what any good citizen should do.

  Wasn’t it?

  And just what the hell did she know about good citizens, being a freak and all?

  Sullen now, thanks to Mort, Gaby said, “I told you not to get involved.”

  “It’s too late for that, so save it.”

  A command from Mort?

  For her?

  Miffed, Gaby stopped at the apartment entrance and leveled a mean look on Mort. He stared back, defiant and nervous, and oddly protective.

  Damn it, for such a weaselly little creep, he really got to her sometimes. “All right, Mort. Make yourself useful. Go get me a towel. I’ll head straight to the basement and throw my stuff in the laundry. Bring any peroxide you might have. I’ll wash up down there, then go upstairs to dress again.”

  With something constructive to do, Mort was motivated. “Right. Got it. Let’s go.”

  To see Mort like this, almost as a sidekick, as a…friend, left her soft inside. He could be a pain in the ass, but right now, she was glad she had him.

  Luther, on the other hand…well, she didn’t know what to think about Luther.

  Was he, like Mort, an ally, a person she could trust, maybe even confide in?

  Or would Detective Luther Cross be the man who finally brought her to an end?

  Chapter 11

  Luther lay in the hospital bed, his head pounding, his eyes red, and his thoughts churning.

  The past few hours were there, but they lacked clarity. It was after he’d left Gaby at the apartment with Mort that things got cloudy. He remembered heading to the butcher’s. Then he’d heard a sound, had surely investigated. He recalled a deformed person, so pathetic and sad that shame smothered him whenever he recalled his reaction to…it.

  For the life of him, he still couldn’t say if the person had been female or male.

  In the deepest recesses of his mind, another vague memory stirred.

  Gaby’s voice.

  And Mort’s.

  But he couldn’t get a grasp on it, and when he tried to explain his vague perceptions of violence and retribution, the other detectives looked at him like he was nuts. Or delirious. Or suffering something worse than a concussion.

  Where the hell were the docs? He wanted to go home.

  He wanted to check on Gaby. To ask her…what? If she’d been nearby when a grossly disfigured asexual being attacked him, and then disappeared?

  Luther could easily imagine her reaction to that.

  As if he’d summoned her, she stuck her head around the curtain. Their gazes met, his shocked at her appearance, hers challenging, and then she came on around, full of bravado and that habitual mordancy.

  “Just as I figured. You’re lying in here faking it, soaking up all the attention, huh?”

  “Do you see anyone doting on me?”

  Gaby didn’t smile. No, never that. But she shrugged and dropped her skinny ass onto the side of his bed. “You probably chased everyone off with your piss-into-the-wind attitude.”

  Damn, it was good to see her, to know she was okay and as ornery as ever. She smelled fresh, as if she’d just showered. Her cheeks were rosy, her dark hair glossy and sleek. “Is it necessary for me to point out that your insult is somewhat like the pot calling the kettle black?”

  “Maybe.” She looked him over, her gaze lingering on the bandage around his head until her brows pinched together. “Don’t you think you should get back out there on the streets and figure out who waylaid you?”

  Suspicion blunted his pleasure at seeing her, but he kept his tone even with mere curiosity. “What makes you think anyone waylaid me?”

  With a roll of her eyes, she ticked off reasons on her long, slender fingers. “You’re in a hospital. There’s a bandage around your head. You’re white faced. If I’m not missing my guess, you’re bare-assed beneath that ugly hospital gown, and—”

  “Soon as the doc releases me,” Luther cut in, “I’ll be out of here.” He wanted to take her hand, but didn’t dare. “How did you know to find me here, Gaby?”

  “The streets talk. Being a cop and all, you should know that.” She tilted her head, frowned again, then looked behind her. “Mort? Where did you go?”

  And around the curtain came Mort. “Hi, Luther.”

  “Mort. So Gaby dragged you along?”

  His thin shoulders rolled forward. “We were worried. Wanted to make sure you were okay.” He cleared his throat. “We heard someone jumped you?”

  “I assume so. I really don’t remember too much about it.”

  “Amnesia?” Mort shuffled closer. “No way. Really?”

  “Just a lack of clear details.” Luther looked at Gaby, but she avoided his gaze by peering at the blinking dials behind him.

  Mort again cleared his throat. “So…you got hurt and called your friends. Other cops, I mean. Did they catch anybody yet?”

  “No. It’s weird, but whoever was in the alley with me up and disappeared.”

  That got Gaby’s interest. “Disappeared? How?”

  “I have no idea. Thanks to a whack on the head, I was out of it. I didn’t come to until the ambulance got to me.” Thinking about it kicked up the throbbing of Luther’s headache another notch. “I’ve never been knocked out before.”

  “No wonder.” Gaby gave him the once-over. “You are a big cuss for anyone to mess with.”

  Defending himself, he explained, “I got hit from behind.” He put his fingers to the exact spot over the back of his skull where he now lacked a two-inch square of hair, but had gained several stitches. “Most people who get knocked out are only out for a few seconds, but the bastard really brained me.”

  “That’s why your sorry ass is still in bed?” Gaby asked. “The docs are worried about you being unconscious for too long?”

  “They took some tests, yeah.”

  Eyes dark with worry, she caught her lush bottom lip in sharp white teeth. Her voice lowered in commiseration. “Does it hurt?”

  His voice lowered, too—from awareness. “Yeah, like a son of a bitch.” Ignoring Mort’s fascinated presence, Luther added, “Wanna kiss it and make it better?”

  Just that easily, Gaby shook off her tenderness. “Hell no. But Mort might.” She turned to her landlord. “What about it, Mort? You feel like puckering up?”

  “Uh…No. That’s okay.”

  “Worried about diseases, huh? Not that I blame you. He’s mean enough to be rabid.”

  Luther chuckled—and paid for it with a lightning shaft of pain.

  Gaby lifted off the bed. “We should go and let you rest.”

  “Wait.” This time he went ahead and took her hand and if she didn’t like it, tough shit. That’s when he noticed the bandage around her arm. More suspicions crowded in, adding to the strain in his cranium. “What happened to you?”

  “A broken pipe bit me. But don’t worry about that now.”

  “What broken pipe?”

  Expression aggrieved, she said, “How about I share the whole sordid story with you when you’re up and about?”

  “I’ll be up as soon as the docs get back in here.”

  “Tomorrow then.”

  It’d be an excuse to see her. “You promise?”

  Her head tilted; mystifying emotion shone in her light blue eyes. “Yeah, cop. I promise.”

  Luther couldn’t put a name on it, but he felt that something monumental had just occurred between them. Gaby had committed to him somehow. She’d decided to trust him in some indefinable way.

  He felt like a newly appointed king. Like a triumphant warrior. He had to tamp down those bizarre emotions to deal with her here and now. “You said the streets talk.”

  “Chatter, chatter, chatter. It’s nonstop.”

  He looked from Gaby to Mort and back again. “So what did you hear?”

  Hedging, Mort shifted from foot to foot. “Um…”

  Gaby’s manner became impassive. “Give us a minute, Mort, okay?”

  “Sure.” With grateful haste, Mort darted back around the curtain.

  Putting a hand on either side of his pillow, Gaby leaned down and loomed over him. She looked deadly serious, and so sweet that Luther wished he were up to snuff so he could haul her down and kiss her.

  He waited.

  She looked at his injury, at his mouth, and then finally into his eyes. “Just between us, okay?”

  Now that piqued his interest. “Okay.”

  “Your word, Luther?”

  God, he loved it when she broke down and said his name. He couldn’t define what it was about her, but each concession felt like a precious gift.

  Giving his word before he knew the details was risky, but curiosity got the better of him. “All right, Gaby. You have it.”

  “I think you were attacked by another of those cancerous things. Like the thing you were first investigating.”

  Thing? “You mean the filleted man from the other side of town?”

  “Yeah.” She nodded. “The cops didn’t find anyone there with you?”

  “No. They say I was alone.”

  “But you didn’t hit yourself in the head.”

  “No.”

  She considered that. “There was blood around the area, right?”

  “My own, yes. And there were scraps from the butcher that a stray dog had gotten into. Besides that, I don’t know. Blood darkens pretty quickly.” Luther watched her scowl and wondered why she didn’t have frown wrinkles, given all the stewing she did.

  “I guess if the cops found you alone, they figured you were just mugged or something, right? No reason to go over the area in detail, checking for forensics.”

  “That’s the assumption. Except nothing was taken off me. Not my wallet, my gun, my radio.”

  “Right.” As she pieced things together, her mouth pinched in displeasure at what she obviously considered a sign of ignorance. “So the next assumption is that backup came too quickly and the crime was thwarted.”

  Fascinating. “Something like that.”

  Her gaze locked on his. “The lock was broken on a window in Mort’s basement. It faces the back alley. I found it wide open. That’s probably how someone got in to hang that carcass, and again to dump the blood.”

  “I see.” He hadn’t even thought about windows in the basement. What the hell kind of detective was he?

  The kind thrown off-kilter by Gabrielle Cody, apparently.

  “It’s also how someone likely knew you’d be near the butcher’s. They could have overheard us talking.”

  She looked as simply dressed as ever in her loose dark T-shirt and worn jeans. But this close, Luther could see the blue striations in her irises and the way her long lashes left feathery shadows on her smooth cheeks. “Let me guess. You don’t want me to investigate the break-in?”

  “It’d be safer for Mort if you stop coming around his place so often.”

  As Luther studied her, he noted something in her expression, something close to honesty that proved she did worry for Mort. But something more, too, something vague and mysterious. “If I don’t come around, how will I get in touch with you?”

  The blue of her eyes darkened to midnight. “Why would you want to?”

  Luther said nothing.

  She already knew why.

  Ill grace accompanied her surrender. “All right, fine. Be a jerk. You can come one more time, and we’ll figure out how to stay in touch. But after that, you’ll have to stay away. You got me?”

  Instead of agreeing, he asked a question of his own. “Who do you think attacked me, Gaby?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Liar. “Take a guess.”

  “All right.” She leaned closer and her cool hair, even cut so short, brushed against his forehead in a teasing caress. “When I first met you, you said there weren’t any bogeymen.”

  “I remember.”

  Shocking Luther, her mouth touched his forehead, so gentle, barely there.

  A kiss of healing.

  To make it better.

  She sat up and away. “The bogeymen gotcha, Luther.” She stood, and nodded at his head. “You’ve got the proof on your noggin. It’s time to admit you’re wrong. That’s the only way you’ll ever be able to defeat them.”

  She started out of the room.

  “Gaby?”

  Pausing, she said, “Yeah?”

  “If you had to start looking for the bogeymen in one place, where would you start?”

  Keeping her back to him, her shoulders straight and proud, she said, “Where I’d start is my business, cop.” Over her shoulder, her blue-eyed gaze struck with laser accuracy. “But you should start in the hospital.”

  “This hospital?”

  “Yeah.” Her gaze never faltered. “Try the cancer ward and go from there.”

  Letting that go for now, he asked, “If bogeymen got me, then why aren’t I dead?”