“Son of a bitch.” She rounded on Luther in a rage. “You let him get away!”

  Semi-used to her and her odd manners and coarse language, Luther feigned a negligent attitude and asked, “Him who?” Now that she faced him, he saw that some strange emotion still gripped her. She looked like Gaby, but then again, she didn’t.

  Storming toward him, the knife still out and her pale eyes glittering, Gaby curled her lip. “Now that you blundered in, there’s no way for us to know, is there?”

  “That’s close enough,” he warned.

  Disregarding that, she came right up to him, nose to nose. “Is it?”

  Jesus, he’d missed her ballsy bravado and brash disregard for common civility. He wanted to crush her close, wanted to tell her…what?

  In their current position, the barrel of his gun pressed into her sternum. “Put. The knife. Away.”

  Blue eyes sparking, Gaby scrutinized him. “Ah, what’s the matter? You afraid of me, Luther?”

  Her snicker deliberately provoked—but she did reach behind herself and sheath the knife. The purple highlights in her hair caught scant scraps of moonlight. The thrill of the moment had tightened her nipples, now showing beneath her thin tank top. A light sheen of sweat touched her skin.

  “I won’t gut you, cop.” Her slim brows came down, and she added a low, “Not without reason.”

  The second the knife didn’t pose a threat, Luther grabbed both her wrists and slammed her up against the brick wall. The gun he still held pressed into her flesh, but he couldn’t temper himself, couldn’t take the time to holster it or reason with her or…anything.

  Chest to chest, anger simmering between them, he sought words that would somehow convey all he felt—the resentment and relief, the concern and…so much more.

  Gaby looked at his mouth. “How’d you find me, anyway? I’ve been quiet. I’ve been good.” Her gaze came up to his, challenging him and firing his blood. “I figured on never seeing you again. But here you are.”

  God, she sounded the same, as if nothing had happened, as if people hadn’t died and monsters hadn’t existed. He sounded hoarse as he pointed out, “You’ve been knocking around johns.”

  Quiet satisfaction chased away the last remnants of her odd transformation, showing him the Gaby he’d grown to know so well. “Only when they deserved it, Luther.” She relaxed against the wall, uncaring of how he held her, unconcerned with any threat he might pose. “Only when they deserved it.”

  God almighty, would he ever understand her? Would she slip away from him again? Would she forever make him crazy with conflicting emotions?

  “Why, Gaby?” There were so many unknowns. A million of them. Hopefully, she caught all that the simple question encompassed.

 

 

  L.L. Foster, The Awakening

 

 

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