“That’s an easy one, cop. Someone saved you.”

  With that niggling memory of Gaby’s voice at the scene, Luther pushed up to one elbow. “You?”

  Pain marred her features before her countenance turned sardonic. “Yeah, right. That knock on the head really rattled what little brains you had, didn’t it?”

  Luther would not let her throw him off with insults. “I was the only one there when backup arrived.” He watched her closely. “Where did the bogeymen go?”

  Wearing no expression at all, she shrugged. “Where they all go, Luther.” She turned away, and he barely heard her whisper, “Straight to hell.”

  Before he could call her back, she was gone.

  Luther shoved the sheet aside. The pain in his head mushroomed, but he couldn’t stay idle in the bed while Gaby stuck her stubborn little nose into dangerous police business.

  If he didn’t find the bogeymen, she would. He knew it down deep in the pit of his soul.

  Five minutes later, when the doc walked in, Luther was dressed and anxious to be on his way. The attending physician tried to insist he couldn’t drive and shouldn’t be alone. Luther didn’t need to do either one. He had another officer who could pick him up, but in the meantime, trolling the halls of the hospital would keep him in plain view of plenty of people.

  He needed to follow what few clues Gaby had given him. He had to keep her safe.

  Damn it all, he had to find a bogeyman.

  Knowing Luther wouldn’t be far behind her, Gaby dragged Morty along the white halls of the cancer ward. She shouldn’t have told Mort anything.

  She shouldn’t have…well, more or less asked for his help.

  She worked alone, damn it. Always had.

  That’s how God had designed it.

  So why the hell did she still have Mort in tow?

  “What are we looking for, Gaby?”

  For some lame reason, Mort’s presence brought her comfort in the memory-laden section of the hospital. Her body, her mind, recognized the smells, the sights, the auras and the emotions. Mort, with all his newfound gallantry, blunted the cutting edges of desolation.

  She wore the yoke of his friendship, accomplishing much, and bearing the burden. “I’ll let you know when I see it.”

  Ambling along, Gaby peered into each room, and eavesdropped on each conversation. Every nurse, doctor, and patient received her sharp appraisal.

  “What are we doing here, Gaby?

  Pausing near a nurses’ station, Gaby waited as two doctors approached. Voice low, she explained to Mort, “There’s a thick tide of sickness caged in here, ebbing and flowing with no place to go. There’s choking depression and a dark, heavy emanation because of it.”

  Mort stared at her wide-eyed.

  Disgusted, Gaby said, “Don’t let it spook you.”

  “It’s not. But you’re freaking me out.”

  He looked freaked, causing her to lock her teeth. “You weren’t afraid of me earlier.”

  “I’m not afraid now. Just worried. But this isn’t anything like earlier. You were hurting then. I could tell.” He chewed his lower lip. “Can you tell me now what was wrong, what happened to you? I think I understand most of it. But you…you looked so different—”

  “I didn’t!”

  At her angry retort, Mort jumped a foot. “Okay, okay,” he soothed. “You looked the same—”

  Sickened at herself and the growing stain of reality, Gaby dropped back against the wall. “Did I?” She turned her head toward him. “Did I look the same, Mort?”

  Apologetic, Mort shook his head. “No.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Shhh. The nurses will hear you.”

  Reminded of her purpose, Gaby turned her body to face Mort as if in close conversation. “Be quiet so I can listen in.”

  “Listen in on what?”

  To him, to a plain, mortal of a guy like Mort, the low voices of the doctors and nurses would be insubstantial. But for Gaby…“Just hush.”

  “Okay.”

  The conversation was a mere drone at first.

  Until Gaby concentrated.

  Then she heard them as clearly as if they addressed her personally from only a foot away. Another God-given talent.

  Super ears—when need be.

  “Ms. Davies has taken a turn for the worse. When I visited with her this morning, I couldn’t get any response at all. Her vitals are weak. I don’t think she’s going to make it much longer. She’s barely hanging on.”

  A female voice said, “I thought she was better yesterday.”

  “She’s dying,” said a male voice. “How much better did you think she’d get?”

  Annoyed but attempting to hide it, the female said, “I’ll check in on her now, to see if I can ease her in some way.”

  Gruffer and filled with impatience, the man growled, “It’s a waste of time, Dr. Chiles. You’re here to doctor her. Her family and friends should be soothing her.”

  “She has none.”

  “Perfect. So we’re supposed to pick up the slack?”

  “I thought—”

  “I know what you thought. But you have other patients to see today, patients who are coherent, who have a chance. They need your care. Let Ms. Davies pass. We’re short on beds anyway.”

  “I’ll see to all my patients, Dr. Marton. But I won’t let Ms. Davies suffer needlessly.”

  “If there’s no response, what makes you think she’s suffering?”

  “Cancer has taken her, and it seldom does so without a great deal of pain.”

  “Hell.” Gaby heard the pause, and then: “Fine. Do what you want. But she’ll hardly know, now will she?”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Gaby watched as the male doctor, Dr. Marton, stormed past. He was big, and though he tried to conceal it, he was furious.

  At himself? At Dr. Chiles? Or at the hopeless situation in the cancer ward?

  Behind Gaby, the nurses held silent, but Dr. Chiles said, “He’s tired. Too many long hours and too little hope.”

  Then she too, walked away, releasing the nurses to gossip freely.

  “God, he’s a coldhearted bastard.”

  “I’m surprised he didn’t have Ms. Davies moved out of here as he usually does with the indigent patients who can’t pay for hospice.”

  “That horrible place where he sends them…” A shudder of revulsion broke the voice. “Can you imagine dwindling away in that cold, dreadful place, all alone and in so much pain?”

  “At least he makes routine visits there to help treat them.”

  “If you call his brand of doctoring real treatment.”

  Like magnetized puzzle pieces clicking together, awareness, realization, and suspicion all formed an image of possibilities.

  Dr. Marton.

  Terminal cancer patients.

  Indigent patients, all alone, without family or friends.

  Each abomination Gaby had faced had an evil past, a past that had alienated them from family and friends, leaving them alone with their tragic fates.

  Dr. Marton sent them somewhere, and then treated them there.

  Where?

  “Come on, Mort.” In a hurry to investigate, Gaby had taken three steps before she realized Mort didn’t follow. She turned back and saw him staring into Ms. Davies’s room.

  Retracing her steps, she paused beside Mort and followed his gaze into the room. The nurses and Dr. Chiles congregated around the sick bed.

  Voice stricken, Mort whispered, “What’s going on do you think?”

  “She’s dead.”

  He fell back a step, but couldn’t alter his stare from the scene. “But…how can you tell for sure? She could be sleeping…”

  “She’s not.”

  “Maybe…”

  “No.” Anxious to drag him away, Gaby took his hand. His fingers curled around hers, warm and secure and again, comforting. “Trust me, Mort. She’s gone.”

  If he saw enough dead people, he’d learn to tell the difference between a sleeping body and a hollow shell. After death, the remaining flesh and bones held only a dark chasm instead of a vibrant soul.

  She didn’t want Mort to learn about that. She didn’t want him to become familiar with death.

  Not the way she had.

  He grew winded trying to keep up with her. “Where are we going now?”

  “Out of here. I can’t breathe in here.”

  His hand tightened on hers, slowing her down. “You know something, don’t you?”

  “No.” What she knew, she couldn’t share. Not with a simple fellow like Mort. Regardless of his recent stoicism, he’d never understand what she did.

  He’d never understand who she was.

  “You can trust me, Gaby.”

  That deserved no more than a snort.

  “C’mon. Tell me. Before I noticed everyone going into that poor old lady’s room, I saw you…”

  With the suddenness of a stroke, his voice died.

  “I what?” Gaby asked.

  “Nothing.”

  He stayed silent, and Gaby stopped, jerking around to face him. “What, damn it?”

  She watched as he resigned himself to giving her a straight answer. “You looked funny again. Not as much as in the alley, but…sharper.” His gaze searched hers. “More dangerous.”

  It had happened again, and over something so simple, something so ordinary? Jesus, did she run around shifting all the time?

  Maybe.

  For two heartbeats, Gaby could do nothing. Then she exploded. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

  And from behind her, Luther tsked. “Gabrielle Cody. You really do need to learn to curb that foul mouth of yours.”

  Hands fisted and teeth sawing together, she pivoted around to face her newest nemesis. “So, cop, you were faking?”

  “Nah. But I do feel a lot better.” He daringly reached out and touched her bottom lip with one finger. “Maybe your kiss healed me after all.”

  Gaby jerked back out of his reach. She and God both knew that her job wasn’t to heal.

  It was to destroy.

  To Mort, she said, “Stay.”

  He blinked at her hard and fast, but didn’t question her, or object.

  Knowing he would do as told, Gaby grabbed Luther by the front of his shirt and dragged him toward a quieter corner. Using anomalous strength that came when she needed it, she shoved his broad back up against the wall.

  Luther allowed her manhandling with an amused male smile.

  “Don’t start questioning me and don’t you dare touch me again. I have a few things to tell you and you’re going to listen. Then I’m outta here.”

  “All right.”

  “First, you might as well stop grinning like a fool right now because you won’t find any of this funny.” She sucked up a fortifying breath and strived to calm her anger. “You need to do a background check or whatever it is detectives do with suspicious people, on a physician here. A Dr. Marton.”

  “Why is Dr. Marton suspicious?”

  “Try listening, Luther—I said no questions, remember? I don’t have the time or the patience for it! You’ll just have to trust me for now.”

  Wearing a speculative expression, Luther relaxed against the wall. Finally, he nodded. “Okay.” But he made it clear, “For now.”

  Gaby could tell that he wasn’t taking her seriously, that he merely indulged her, and more than anything, even more than she wanted to investigate the strange emotions he evoked, she wanted to flatten him.

  He deserved no less for the dirty trick he’d pulled on her.

  “Since you’re being so agreeable, cop, you might as well find out where the indigent cancer patients are sent when they don’t have family to look out for them. It’s probably a government facility of some sort. You know the type—looks pretty on the outside, but inside it not only lacks proper care but also borders on abuse and neglect. Sort of like the old-folks’ homes that are forever getting busted.”

  Luther started to speak, and Gaby slashed a hand through the air, silencing him.

  “After that, you can make damn sure that a just-deceased patient by the name of Ms. Davies is properly put to rest.”

  Going as high as the bandage on his head would allow, Luther’s brows lifted. “Let me guess. You’re worried about a zombie now?”

  Maintaining her grip on his shirt, Gaby jerked him down closer to her. He winced in pain, but she’d already used up her meager well of sympathy on him.

  “No, you smart-ass. I’m worried about a doctor clever enough to make it look like someone has died when she hasn’t.”

  Abrupt comprehension honed Luther’s features. Finally, finally, he put stock in what she said.

  His brows crunched back down. “Dr. Marton?”

  “You really do have a problem remembering that no-questions rule, huh?”

  “Fuck your rule. Why do you suspect Dr. Marton?”

  “He treats cancer patients.”

  “So?”

  Now that he was riled, Gaby relaxed a little. “I don’t know of anything specific, but I imagine there are all types of drugs that could cause the illusion of death. Then maybe that same doctor could have the body moved—”

  “Jesus.”

  “—to a place where he can let the cancer take over. Maybe even cultivate it.”

  Luther stared at her as if she’d grown two heads. “Why on earth would anyone, but especially a doctor, do something that gruesome?”

  “How should I know? There are sick fucks everywhere—but maybe a doctor with a twisted mind would do it for science or some such shit.” For emphasis, to make sure that he got the whole picture, Gaby went up on her toes so that their noses almost touched. “Think about it, Luther. What else would explain these strange tumors you described?”

  Luther’s mouth opened in shock, and then closed again. “I don’t know. But Gaby…what you’re suggesting, well…You’re serious about this?”

  “Yup, sorry, cop, but I am. Whether or not you believe me, whether you do anything about it or not, that’s totally up to you. I don’t have the time or the inclination to try to convince you.”

  She released him with a shove, but took only one step before coming back around and shoving her face up to his again. “And by the way, it was pretty damn cruel of you to make me sexually aware of stuff when I can’t do jack shit about it. I don’t know what you were thinking, but let me tell you, it flat-out sucks.”

  Her charge tipped his composure. His voice dropped and his harsh appearance softened. “Gaby—”

  Now that she’d had her say, no way in hell would she stick around to discuss it with him. “Come on, Mort. Get a move on.”

  With a long stride and fast feet, she made her way down the corridor, not caring if Mort followed or not, and sure as certain not about to look back to see Luther’s reaction.

  He was cruel.

  Cruel, and confusing, and now in the middle of trying to expose a madman bent on unleashing monsters demented from cancerous afflictions on the unsuspecting public, she couldn’t stop thinking about sex.

  With Luther.

  She wasn’t at all certain exactly how it’d work, but she knew it’d probably be real nice. Maybe the nicest thing to ever happen to her miserable life.

  The painful truth was, she’d never know for sure.

  She couldn’t know.

  Paladins didn’t have sex. They obeyed God’s command. And so far, God hadn’t told her to do the nasty with a detective, and definitely not with Luther Cross. Somehow, Gaby didn’t think He ever would.

  And that was the cruelest truth of all.

  Chapter 12

  “Gaby?”

  Anger kept her stewing in silence.

  Anger at cancer for being so ugly, so devastating; at Luther for making her curious about things; at God, for making her who she was.

  And at herself, for being too weak to change her untenable circumstances.

  But she wasn’t angry at Mort, so as they exited the air-conditioned hospital and walked out into the balmy night, she swallowed her ire and gave in to him. “What is it?”

  “Why were you so upset in the hospital?”

  “It’s a long story, Mort, but I’ve known cancer and the damage it does. Being around it, feeling all that malignant evil just makes me ill.”

  “You felt evil there?”

  Through the impenetrable darkness, Gaby gaped at him. “How could you not feel it?”

  They reached his beat-up, aged sedan and got inside. Mort started the engine, but didn’t drive away. Tall security lamps sent elongated fingers of light through the wind-shield. Gaby could just see the faint outline of Mort’s smile.

  “I guess I couldn’t feel anything bad because I felt so much good stuff instead.”

  Good stuff? Had he flipped? “What the hell are you talking about now? Everyone in there has both feet in the friggin’ grave. Jesus, Mort, they’re all dying.”

  “Not the people who cared for them. They were alive and busy and they all sounded so concerned for that poor Ms. Davies.” His hands flexed on the steering wheel. “That can’t be an easy job, Gaby.”

  It’d be more of a hell than what she already did. “I couldn’t do it.”

  “Me, either. Those people are angels.”

  Angels on earth? Maybe. She’d never really concerned herself with them. Her purpose centered on evil, not good. “That’s my point. It’s depressing.”

  “But they give comfort and hope—”

  “Hope for what? A quicker death? A less painful death? Doesn’t matter, they’re still dead.” Why the hell did he want to argue this with her? “I could smell it. The only thing that smelled worse was antiseptic.”

  “I thought it smelled sterile, to protect the patients from germs.” He put the car in gear and pulled out of his parking spot. “I’ll tell you what. It smelled a whole lot better than that carcass that got hung in the foyer, or the blood on the stairs. It smelled better than the garbage cans that sit in the sun and bake.” He glanced her way. “It smells better than the basement we use to clean our laundry.”

  Propping her feet on the dash and slumping into her seat, Gaby considered his words—and had to agree. “I guess you’re right.”

  Her concession must’ve given him courage, because Mort didn’t let it go there. “But you picked up on more than the people dying, the nurses, and the smells of the place, didn’t you, Gaby?”