The Acceptance Page 19

  “No such thing, Luther. Bad stuff happens to good people all the time. It’s the way of things. But if it gives you a false sense of security, go ahead, suit yourself.”

  People did indeed look at her when she stood, but Luther thought it was more Gaby’s striking attitude than how she dressed or acted. Her confidence, her capability was a live thing, and it touched everyone within her realm.

  It was one of the things he’d first noticed about her.

  After casting a black look on one particularly nosy woman, Gaby strode beside him with her chin in the air and her manner more abrasive than usual. But then, that was Gaby, always on the defense, always combative.

  Curious about her take on heavenly intervention, Luther said, “You don’t believe in angels?” Her faith in God was more intrinsic and personal than anyone he knew. At times, she spoke of Him as if they were cohorts.

  Under the bright sunlight, Gaby slipped on sunglasses. “Course I do. Angels are always among us.”

  “They are?”

  Her long-legged walk nearly left him behind. “Sure. Just as evil lurks, so does good. But I prefer to rely on my own ability.” She stopped and looked at him over her shoulder. “It’d be nice if you’d have a little faith in my ability, too.”

  “I see your capability.” He beat her to the car so he could open her door for her. “What you don’t understand is that when you care for someone, every awful possibility that could steal them away from you always comes to mind. It makes people worry, even when they know someone is skilled.”

  Proving she’d gotten used to his gentlemanly tendencies, she sat in the car without comment.

  Luther closed the door and walked around to his own side to get in. Gaby stayed silent.

  It was the oddest thing, Luther thought, trying to seduce a woman who preferred insults to flattery, who kept an illegal and lethal blade strapped to the small of her back, who spoke as candidly as a porn star but shied away from any signs of affection.

  “So.” He started the car and steered out to the street. “How about you tell me what you have planned, and I’ll do my utmost not to interfere.”

  “No.”

  The phlegmatic, cool refusal dismantled Luther’s quiescent mood. His muscles contracted and his teeth came together.

  One of these days, he swore to himself, she’d stop treating him like an afterthought.

  “It’s possible, you spiteful little irritant, that I could be of assistance to you.”

  “Little? I’m almost as tall as you.”

  She didn’t dispute the irritation or spiteful attributes. “I outweigh you by at least a hundred pounds. And the few inches I have over you are all muscle, compared to your skin and bones.”

  “So you’re bigger. That doesn’t make you better—at anything.” Remaining apathetic, she shook her head. “And no, it’s not even remotely possible that you’d assist me. Trust me.”

  Reminding himself of her incommensurable life and attitude, Luther sought an even, convincing tone. “I do. Trust you, that is. And before you start rolling your eyes or threatening to throw up, try to understand that worry and mistrust are two different things, ruled by two different emotions. Okay?”

  “That still doesn’t mean you’d like my plan.”

  Which must mean her plan was dangerous and foolhardy.

  For the next mile, they rode in silence. Luther had almost lost the fight for equanimity when Gaby finally spoke.

  “If you really trust me, then give me three days.”

  Where it concerned Gaby, so much could happen in seventy-two hours. “Why?” Suspicions rose like sharp needles. “What happens in three days?”

  “It’s just that I have details to work out.” She reached back and adjusted the knife at her back, reminding Luther that nothing with Gaby would ever be mundane. “After that, after I’ve given it a lot of thought, I’ll decide if I should share with you or not.”

  Fuck. It wasn’t easy, but Luther managed a nod. “Fair enough.” A compromise was the most he’d get from Gaby, at least for now. “Just tell me, will you be in any danger in the next three days?”

  Putting her head back against the seat, she stared out the window. “Danger lurks everywhere, cop, you should know that by now. Sometimes it comes calling whether I want it to or not. Practice that hyped faith in my ability, and maybe you’ll do less worrying, okay?”

  Giving up, but only for the moment, Luther nodded. “I’ll try.”

  As Gaby relaxed, it occurred to Luther that her idea of danger and his were worlds apart.

  Not being an idiot, he’d keep an eye on her, and when he couldn’t, he’d enlist the aid of others.

  Tonight, he’d make a visit to Mort.

  He wanted to check up on Bliss anyway, and while there, he’d recruit Mort and Ann for his cause.

  Whether Gaby liked it or not—and for a certainty, she wouldn’t—she’d have backup.

  That’s what friends were for, even when you denied having friends.

  Chapter 12

  While contriving her next move, Gaby wrote with a near electric ebullience. The pages disembogued, the drawings came to life, and within a few days, she’d all but finished the latest graphic novel.

  All she needed now was an ending, but she couldn’t write the ending until things . . . ended.

  Knowing what she would do to ensnare and extirpate the menace, she’d already depicted herself as a haphazard hooker who, as the graphic novel progressed, dealt harsh commination with grisly precision.

  Satisfied with her latest efforts, she sat back on her stool and stretched her cramped muscles. When she relaxed again, her eyes caught on her last sketch.

  Lush, colorful details were nonetheless menacing. Looking more closely at the scene of conflict between a looming, hyperbolized version of herself, and a bloodcurdling depictionof her nemesis, she saw Luther’s faint outline in the background.

  His usually compassionate eyes watched her with nocent intent.

  What the hell? Gaby picked up the page. She didn’t even recall putting him there. Even in her imagination, he intruded.

  Laying that page aside, she stood and picked up each visual for the novel. Like a dark, heralded sidekick, she found Luther’s form repeatedly interwoven into the story and graphics.

  Damn it. Somehow, regardless of how she tried to block him, he appeared on almost every page, sometimes advising, sometimes protecting, sometimes . . . enticing.

  And a few times, his presence served to portend her demise.

  Slapping the pages aside, needful of fresh air, Gaby stood and crossed to a window. Night had fallen with atramentous gravity, enshrouding the moon and stars, smothering the weak illumination of streetlamps and blinking neon bar signs.

  Pressing a fist to her chest, Gaby tried to deny the growing ache there, but the severity of it refused to be modified. Luther had no place in her novels.

  He had no place in her head or heart either.

  And yet, she couldn’t rid herself of him. Luther might believe her show of feigned indifference, but Gaby never lied to herself.

  He meant far too much to her.

  In her dreams, Luther emblematized a desperate craving for normalcy. For caring.

  And love.

  He was everything she wanted to be, but wasn’t.

  Well, except that Luther was all male, and given his preposterous attraction to her, she was thankful for the femaleness she’d often scorned.

  Leaving the window, Gaby went into the bathroom and did her best to scrub the ink stains from her fingers. She trimmed her nails, cleaned her teeth, combed her hair, inspected her rumpled clothing and, with a shrug, found her ankle boots. She stepped into them and left her room.

  On her way out, to the hookers who greeted her, Gaby said, “I’ll be working tonight, too, just so you know.”

  Betty paused in comical confusion. “Workin’ on what, sugar?”

  Gesturing down her own body with her hand, Gaby said, “You know. What you d
o.”

  Betty’s eyes widened. “The hell ya say.”

  Posy twittered a laugh, saw Gaby remained unsmiling, and coughed. “But, Gaby, you ain’t never . . . well, you know. You ain’t never done that.”

  Gaby examined a nail. “Yeah, so? How hard can it be?”

  Opal stepped in front of the other women. “What are you up to, girl?”

  “Don’t worry about it. We all know I’m not competition. But I have my reasons, so just tell me where I should stand.”

  “I won’t. Jimbo would skin me.”

  Rolling her eyes, Gaby surveyed them all. “None of you has reason to fear him. If he gives you any problems, just let me know.”

  “There’ll be problems, all right, if you traipse out there all set on sellin’ yourself.” Opal shook her head. “We’ll all catch hell, and that’s the truth.”

  “Fine. I’ll clear it with Jimbo first. Happy?”

  They all stared at her.

  Giving up, Gaby asked, “Where is he right now?”

  “Down the corner, takin’ care of some business.”

  The way Opal said that left Gaby leery. Jimbo did a lot of business: drugs, stolen goods, arms. But something in Opal’s tone didn’t sound right.

  Gaby put her hands on her hips. “What kind of business?”

  Opal clammed up. Posy looked to Betty, and tried to slip away.

  “Not another step.” Gaby closed in on them, and as one, they crowded back against the peeling wallpaper. She looked at them each in turn. “No one leaves until I know what’s going on.”

  Betty let out a long, aggrieved sigh. “It ain’t nothin’ for you to get involved in, Gaby.”

  “How about you let me make that decision, okay?”

  “But it’s the truth, you sometimes overreact,” Posy confided.

  “I won’t this time.”

  Opal snorted. “Yeah, right. And I’m headin’ to sainthood.”

  The three of them guffawed.

  Gaby tapped the toe of her boot. Damn it, if she was going to carry through with this farce, and she was, despite her personal dread, then she wanted to get on with it. “If we stand here all night, none of you can work. Then how happy will Jimbo be?”

  That possibility stifled their humor. Another minute passed before finding results.

  “Oh, for Chrissake,” Posy blurted. “A john roughed up one of the girls. He paid extra for it, though, Gaby.” She wrung her hands. “You know some of ’em enjoy doing that sort of thing.”

  “It gets ’em off,” Opal added.

  Oh God. Gaby felt ill. While she’d been writing, a woman had been hurt. Damn her selfish need for expression. Of course, that type of abuse wasn’t the sort of thing that ignited her senses. She should have been on the street, where she’d have seen the trouble.

  Ice filled her veins. “How bad was she hurt?”

  The women shared a pained look. Posy said quietly, “He knocked one of her teeth out, left some welts on her back, and . . .”

  Opal cleared her throat. “He burned her a couple times with his cigarette.”

  Tension snapped Gaby’s back straight. For only a moment, her vision blurred. Honing her anger inward, she focused on retaliation. “Who was it?”

  “Marie.”

  Her heart squeezed. Poor old Marie. She was more mature than the others, heavier, homelier. Because of that, Jimbo often ridiculed her. She never made as much as the younger women, and often took the riskier propositions—with Jimbo’s blessing.

  This time, he’d be sorry for his lack of defense.

  Gaby nodded to the women. “Thanks for telling me. Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”

  Opal grabbed her arm, but whatever she felt had her snatching back her hand with alacrity. She blinked twice before getting the words out. “Gaby, please. We don’t need no more trouble.”

  “He’s payin’ Jimbo extra for the problems he caused,” Posy offered.

  Sick bastard. Fuck that.

  Gaby felt no deep calling, so he wasn’t the one who’d killed Lucy and tried to take Bliss.

  But for now, he’d do.

  “Yeah, he’ll pay,” Gaby agreed. “Now all of you, get to work before Jimbo suspects you of ratting to me.”

  And just like that, they scattered, leaving Gaby alone on the steps.

  She couldn’t butcher the man, although she wanted to, although she could. Not out of pleasure, but out of justice. Some people didn’t deserve to take up space on Earth.

  Anyone who would abuse a woman, even a woman for sale, fit the category of unworthy.

  Sex was one thing. Physical maltreatment was something else entirely.

  Under burning intendment, Gaby went down the flight of stairs, out the front door, and to the walkway. Even the blackness of the night couldn’t conceal Jimbo’s loathsome dealings. Gaby saw him a block up, with another man, and a cowering woman.

  Marie.

  She didn’t realize she’d moved until she found herself a mere yard from the men.

  “How can she work like that?” Jimbo demanded. “It’ll be two days before those burns heal.”

  “I ain’t paying you more’n that,” the man raged. “Fifty bucks extra is compensation enough for the likes of her.”

  Under implied threat, Jimbo scowled at him. “Well I say it isn’t.”

  Gaby strode into the middle of the fray. “For once, Jimbo, we’re in agreement.”

  All eyes turned to her. Marie’s poor face sported multiple bruises. Her lips were bloodied. On her neck, a small round burn, haloed by inflamed red flesh, still oozed. Dried blood encrusted her swollen nose. Her hair hung in matted tangles. Torn clothes barely kept her covered.

  Gaby inhaled a slow, steadying breath—and it didn’t help. Not one iota.

  Anxious to dissuade her of involvement, Jimbo snarled. “Butt out, Gaby.”

  He was as insignificant as a gnat—so Gaby ignored him. “Where else are you burned, Marie?”

  Quivering all over, Marie said, “I’m . . . I’m okay, Gaby.”

  “Show me.”

  Marie sent a nervous glance toward the two towering men.

  Gaby hardened her resolve. “Show me now.”

  Cringing, Marie lifted her torn blouse to display a worse, deeper burn on her ribs, right below her left breast. Bruises and welts surrounded that wound.

  Fierce rage fulgurated.

  Rock-steady, primed to contravene the sight of mistreatment, Gaby turned to the man. “You hurt her pretty damn bad.”

  Beefy in the way of a street brute, he stood at least five inches taller than Gaby. Thick brown hair hung over his ears, and bright green eyes twinkled with mirth. “She’s a whore, so what do you care?”

  Tipping her head to the side, Gaby smiled.

  Jimbo sucked in air. “Oh shit.” He rushed closer. “God damn it, Gaby,” he hissed low, “I’m warning you—”

  Without looking at him, Gaby struck out with her elbow, and hit Jimbo square in the nose.

  He exploded, cursing, stomping, threatening her with evil retribution that they both knew carried no weight, not against her.

  Gaby spared him a glance. “You let this happen, Jimbo. For all you know, he could be the same perverted asshole who murdered Lucy.”

  The man snorted. “What are you talking about? I ain’t murdered no one.”

  Holding his bleeding nose, Jimbo frowned at Gaby. “Well, he’s not, now is he?”

  “No, he’s not. But you didn’t know that, and you did squat to stop him. Far as I’m concerned, that makes you as guilty as him.”

  Trying to sound reasonable, Jimbo explained, “I wasn’t there, bitch, so how could I have stopped him? And if you’d stop nosing in, you’d see that I’m trying to settle it with him right now.”

  “Oh no.” Gaby shook her head. “You’re trying to compensate off Marie’s pain. That’s not the same thing.”

  Desperate, Jimbo grabbed her arm and spoke low. “Money is the only thing most people understand. If it costs
him, he’ll be less inclined to ever do it again.”

  Realization struck Gaby. Huh. Maybe Jimbo wasn’t as inhuman as she’d always thought. “Okay, so you get an A for effort.”

  “Hallelujah.”

  “But this time,” she continued, “the cost of money isn’t near enough.”

  Shaking with his anger, Jimbo tried to take her attention off the man. “It’s none of your damn business, Gaby.”

  Slowly, Gaby looked down at his hand on her arm, then into his eyes. “I’d suggest you back off, Jimbo, and let me do my thing. I’m done playing with you right now, and if you don’t let me vent where I most want to, I’m going to vent on you next.”

  Just that quick, he released her. Exasperated, he threw up his arms, turned his back on her, and marched a few— safer—feet away.

  The man in front of Gaby roared with hilarity. “I’ll be damned. He’s afraid of you, ain’t he?”

  Just below the surface, Gaby’s savage temper bared its teeth. “He’s not as stupid as he looks.”

  The man continued to chuckle. “Little sis, you sure talk a long line of shit, I’ll give you that. But I wonder if you can—”

  Gaby struck out hard and fast, using the heel of her palm to punch him in the throat. With his larynx traumatized, he gargled and choked, reeling back in utter shock. While he remained off balance, she landed a solid, dead-on kick of her boot heel against his head.

  The blow felled him and, dazed, he dropped to the side. But he was a hardy one, and after a second of choking, he shook his head to clear it. In slow motion, he lifted his bruising face to glare up at her. “Just who the hell are you?”

  “Tonight,” Gaby told him as she advanced, “I’m vengeance. And that, you sadistic pervert, makes me your worst fucking nightmare.”

  Issuing a roar, the man lumbered back to his feet and charged her.

  Braced for the attack, Gaby went with the impact of his brawny body, rolled to her back, and kicked him away in one adroit move. It never even dawned on her to draw her knife. She needed physical release, and this was as close as she’d get.

  Gutting him would end things too soon. She’d rather beat the shit out of him.