The Acceptance

by L. L. Foster

  Luther waited for her to comfort Bliss.

  Gaby caught Bliss’s face in her hands. “Who did this to you?” Her harsh, raised voice startled Luther. “Give me a name, Bliss.”

  There was no answer.

  Luther touched her shoulder. “Gaby, this isn’t the time.”

  She didn’t relent. “Tell me, Bliss. Describe him.”

  “Not . . . not a him,” Bliss said.

  “A woman?”

  Bliss’s fair brows pulled down and her face scrunched in pain. “I don’t know. A boy . . .”

  “A boy?”

  Bliss moaned. “No. I don’t know.”

  Gaby gently shook her. “You’re not making any sense. Give me a target, Bliss. Man, woman, kid—you tell me, and I’ll do the rest.”

  After another moan, Bliss’s head lolled to the side, as if she’d again lost consciousness.

  “Let her rest.” Luther squeezed Gaby’s shoulder. “She’s been drugged.”

  “I can see that,” Gaby snapped. “Someone tried to take her. Someone tried to—” Excess emotion strangled the words. She swallowed convulsively.

  Bliss moaned again, tried to lurch away, and both Luther and Gaby went on alert.

  “It’s okay, Bliss,” Luther told her. “Everything will be okay now.”

  “I only wanted to help,” she murmured. “He . . . he said he needed help. Then he . . . she . . . oh God.”

  Nudging Gaby to the side, Luther pulled out a hanky and wiped the vomit from Bliss’s face, tried to dab it from her hair. “You’re safe now, Bliss. You’re with me, and with Gaby. You’re safe.”

  “I’m sick.” Pitifully weak, she curled her arms about her stomach and gagged again, but nothing more came up. “He stabbed me with something.”

  “So it was a guy?”

  “I don’t know . . .” She touched a hand to her head. “He seemed so nice, but then she was going to do awful things to me. She said it, but I already knew it. I felt it.” Bliss’s faint voice broke on a sob. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”

  “Two of them,” Gaby decided aloud. “There were two of them. A woman and a man.”

  Bliss continued to sob. “No. Somehow he . . . he was a she. Or . . . I don’t know. I’m sorry, Gaby, so sorry, but my head hurts.”

  Gaby stared up at the sky.

  Luther locked both hands behind his neck. He wanted to kill someone. He wanted to know who would do this to Bliss. Damn it, he wanted to know why.

  After a moment of internal struggle, Gaby put her palm to Bliss’s cheek, and the girl quieted. Luther could tell that Gaby was unsure how to console her friend, how to comfort her. Embracing was foreign to her.

  Any signs of affection were anomalous to Gaby’s austere life.

  Pulling himself together, Luther held out his hand to her. “Come here, Gaby.” He had no problem with affection, and right now, he wanted, needed, to hold her.

  But, of course, she stepped away, stiff, angry, unreachable in her grief.

  Sirens cleaved the mundane sounds of night in the slums. Flashing lights rebounded off brick façades, concrete and odorous filth.

  Giving Gaby some time to herself, Luther spoke to the paramedics as they approached. He directed the officers in the cruiser to question the people standing around, taking in the scene with the same indifference they’d give to a television commercial.

  As soon as Bliss was loaded into the ambulance, he turned to talk to Gaby—and found her gone.

  Rank curses burned his throat, but he swallowed them down. He didn’t want the others to know she’d evaded him. Again.

  Think, Luther. He paced . . . and it came to him.

  Carver. She’d go after him, Luther knew it.

  Now all he had to do was find him first.

  Skin still itchy and too tight, lungs heavy with lead weights, Gaby strolled the dark streets looking for her prey. She asked numerous questions, gave innumerable threats, and finally got the answers she sought.

  Carver would be warned; he’d be waiting for her.

  She rejoiced in that certitude.

  The arcade and pool hall next door to Carver’s abode overflowed with obstreperous activity. Gaby didn’t flinch when a bottle broke a few feet behind her. She didn’t slow when a drunken sot propositioned her.

  When two leering punks accosted her, she laid them out with ease. One hit his head on the pavement and stayed still. The other held a broken jaw and slunk off in haste.

  Rounding the front of the building, where Carver would least expect her, Gaby looked up at the structure. The second story had fire escapes, which would make it easy for her to gain entrance if she could reach them.

  The gutters running down the side of the building barely adhered to the brick. They’d be of no help to her. But pipes of some sort ran along the exterior walls, and those should support her exiguous weight.

  It wouldn’t be easy, but she didn’t want easy.

  She wanted proof.

  Upending a garbage can without care to the clatter she made, or the mess she left, Gaby moved it close to the building to give herself a leg up. Adjusting her fingers until she had an adequate grip on the thick pipe, she strained her muscles and chinned up. The toe of her boot caught in the brick, and she pushed up higher, stretching out with her left arm until she felt the cool iron of the fire escape.

  After gaining that purchase, the rest of the climb was easy.

  Ascending higher and higher, Gaby made it to the correct floor, crawled in through an open window, and passed through a home of devastation and apathy. She closed her ears to the crying babies, the blaring television, the drunken revelry in the kitchen. Without anyone paying notice, she walked on through and went out the front door into the hallway.

  Two doors down, her knife in her hand, she knocked on Carver’s hideaway.

  The door opened to a bulldog of a guy prepped to grapple.

  Gaby watched him display his discolored teeth in an earnest smile of anticipation—and she slugged him in the temple with the hilt of her knife. He collapsed forward, she moved, and he fell into the hallway. Behind him, Carver stood in frozen disbelief.

  Gaby narrowed her eyes at him. “If you run, I will catch you, and then I’ll make you a choirboy. Do we understand each other?”

  He backed up, hit a wall, and looked around for assistance. Finding none, he nodded.

  Hilarious.

  If only Luther had even an ounce of this man’s reverence for her ability. But he didn’t. He accounted her no proficiency at all.

  Gaby shoved the bodyguard’s heavy legs out of her way, shut the apartment door, and locked it. Still holding her knife, she glanced at Carver and pointed toward the tattered sofa. “Sit.”

  Seething, Carver swallowed hard and moved to park himself on faded, flowery damask. “Haven’t you done enough? What the fuck do you want now?”

  Silvery scars showed on his ruddy skin.

  Scars she’d given him.

  It was nothing compared to the hurt he’d inflicted on women throughout his miserable life. “I want answers. I want the truth. If you lie, I’ll know it. Do you believe me?”

  “Yeah.” His nostrils flared. His mouth pinched. “I believe you.”

  “Did you murder Lucy?”

  His face went pasty white. He croaked, “Lucy’s dead?”

  Tapping her knife blade against her thigh, Gaby stalked closer while measuring his honest response. “Dead, tortured, diced, and thrown in the river.”

  Eyes bulging with fear, Carver shook his head. “I never touched her.” Just as quickly, he blanched and recanted that statement. “No, wait! That wasn’t a lie.”

  “Sure sounded like one to me.”

  He rushed into garbled speech. “I didn’t kill her. I swear it. I’ve slapped her around—you already know that. But I didn’t want her dead. I wouldn’t. I swear.”

  Gaby tipped her head, studying him, but . . . she believed him. More than that, she knew he was telling the truth. “What about Bliss?�
��

  Like a fish out of water, his mouth flapped open and closed until he managed to whisper, “She’s dead, too?”

  Almost, Gaby thought. So close. In the marrow of her bones, she knew the person who’d tried to take Bliss, the person Bliss had somehow managed to escape, was the same who’d murdered Lucy.

  Gaby inhaled deeply.

  So why was she bothering Carver?

  Because she’d desperately wanted it to be him? Because, in the end, she had wanted it to be that simple?

  Rubbing her eyes, Gaby said, “She’s not dead. Someone stuck a needle in her neck and tried to kidnap her. She escaped.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know.” Sheathing her knife, Gaby said, “You had nothing to do with any of it, did you?”

  “No.”

  Of course not. She’d known it, but damn it . . . well, at least now she had it verified. “You still plotting against me, Carver?”

  “No!” He shook his head hard. “I just want to be left alone. I don’t—”

  A prickle slithered down Gaby’s spine, belying his words. She gave Carver a gentle study, and tsked. “Now you’re lying.”

  Panicked, Carver lurched to his feet and held out both meaty hands. “Okay, okay, so I had wanted to get to you. You cut me all up! But . . . I don’t anymore. I consider us even. I swear.”

  “Stop swearing.”

  Losing control, he lunged for her. Gaby went to the ground with him, rolled, and buried her knee in his gut. He let out a “woof” but didn’t slow. With the palm of her hand, she smashed his nose, and at almost the same time, drew her knife.

  That gave Carver pause. Quick and easy, Gaby put three additional slices on him—one on his right forearm, one on his chest, and one over his abdomen.

  “You wanna play now, Carver? You feeling froggy enough to take me on? Well, come on then.” She egged him forward. “Let’s play. I’m more than ready.”

  He wiped the blood from his nose, stared at the blood seeping into his clothes, and crumpled down on his ass to sit on the threadbare carpet. “No. No, I don’t want to . . .” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Damn you, woman, can’t you just leave me alone?”

  Yeah, she should. She was wasting her time here. “Maybe. If you leave me alone.”

  Before Carver could reply, someone pounded a heavy fist against his door. “Carver? Open up right now or I’m knocking down the door.”

  Luther.

  Damn, he was good. Impressed, Gaby bent close to Carver, snaring him in her gaze. “Tell the cop nothing about me, and then we’re even. You got that?”

  “Cop?” He stared with horror at the rattling door. “But I don’t want to talk to no cop!”

  “Tough tittie. He’s here, and you can take my word for it, he won’t be leaving until you’ve answered all his questions. Unfortunately for you, he won’t be nearly as easy to convince as I am.” Gaby grabbed his chin. “Do we have a deal?”

  “Yeah, sure. You weren’t here.” Carver looked back at the door, turned again, and said, “But what if . . . Hey, where’d you go?”

  Out on the ledge, Gaby listened, almost smiling. The door crashed in, Luther’s booming voice shouted her name, and Carver, true to his word, said, “There’s no one else here. What do you want? What do you mean, breaking in my door?”

  As Gaby scampered back down the bricks, she didn’t hear anything else. But she pictured Luther’s red face, his hot temper.

  Then she pictured him holding Bliss in his arms. A whore with puke in her hair. A woman bleeding.

  And Luther had held her like a delicate child.

  Gaby’s feet touched the pavement and she sighed. There weren’t many men like Detective Luther Cross, and it sure made him hard to resist.

  But until she figured out what evil incarnate had tried to hurt Bliss, until she destroyed that evil, she’d do well to stay clear of the good detective.

  Sometimes, most times, her life really sucked.

  Chapter 7

  Still seething, but also . . . scared, Gaby strode into the hospital. She wasn’t afraid for herself.

  She feared for Bliss.

  From the day she’d met the young girl, she’d felt compelled toward protectiveness. Gaby had first saved Bliss from a despicable john who had grossly abused her, and wasn’t done.

  One look at Bliss, and anyone could see the lifelong sadness in her blue eyes, the despondency emanating from her smiles. Her life had been hell—much like Gaby’s.

  Gaby had felt an immediate affinity to her.

  But whereas Gaby had strength of purpose, Bliss still wandered, clinging, needing . . . as yet unloved.

  Until Gaby, no one had ever protected Bliss. No one had ever really cared for her at all.

  How Gaby knew that, she couldn’t say, except that when she looked at Bliss, she saw herself.

  And it hurt.

  Now Bliss needed her more than ever, but she’d found out nothing. The animus remained at large, out there somewhere, pursuing, conspiring.

  Unless Luther had better luck with witnesses, which she doubted, they’d have zilch to go on.

  A dark car.

  An attack.

  Nothing more.

  Gaby’s head pounded, her guts churned, and her eyes burned. She would not let anyone or anything hurt Bliss. She wouldn’t.

  Somehow, some way, she’d—

  “’Bout time you showed up.”

  At that carefully even voice, Gaby spun around, and there stood Luther, tall, powerful.

  Furious, despite the lack of venom in his words.

  Unconcerned with his mood swings, Gaby turned and headed toward him. “How’s Bliss?”

  His nostrils flared. His gaze all but seared her. Turning sideways and indicating a hallway, Luther said, “This way.”

  Well . . . regardless of how he’d modulated his voice, his aura burned scorching hot, so Gaby didn’t know if she wanted to follow him. More cautious now, she asked, “Are you taking me to see Bliss?”

  He didn’t look at her. His hands landed on his hips and his chest expanded. Fury worked his jaw. “Come. With. Me.”

  Uh-oh. Sounded like he meant business. Truthfully, she was too damned enervated to spar with him right now. Never, not once, had she ever feared Luther. She sure wouldn’t start now.

  “Fine. Whatever.” Gaby sauntered past him. “Don’t get your boxers in a bunch.”

  Her sarcasm must’ve tipped the scales, because Luther imploded. Snatching up her arm, he lifted her to the tips of her toes and propelled her forward before she could even think to object. When they reached a private room, he practically slammed her inside.

  “Hey!”

  He shut the door and with theatric temper, lifted his hands up and off her as if he thought touching her would inspire mayhem.

  Something had gotten to him, and that worried her. An invisible fist clenched her heart and compressed her lungs. “Is Bliss okay?”

  Scorn distorted his features. “Do you even care?”

  The rancor slapped her with blinding force, almost bringing tears to Gaby’s eyes. It almost hurt too much to speak, forcing her to a whisper. “You miserable prick.”

  God, how she wished she didn’t care.

  Wanting to escape, to be alone with her detestable self, she reached for the door.

  Luther wrenched her back around. “Don’t.”

  Keeping her head down, Gaby didn’t dare look at him. Usually she’d be in fighting form. Under different circumstances, Luther’s audacity would find him flat on the floor.

  But this time . . . she didn’t have it in her.

  Everything she knew herself to be—her only purpose in life—did her no good right now. Bliss was vulnerable, and she couldn’t figure out how to help her.

  “If you care, why the hell did you run off and leave her? Why did you abandon her?”

  Explanations weren’t her strong suit, but for some reason, Gaby needed Luther to understand. “I wanted to find whoever tried to take he
r.”

  “That’s my job.”

  A pressing weight stooped her shoulders. “Then . . . that leaves me with no purpose at all.”

  He edged closer, vibrating with rage, ready to lose his control. Leaning down, each word sharp with contempt, he said, “You could have consoled her. You could have been her friend.”

  Damn, those tears were determined to spill over. Gaby shook her head—and felt like a fool. “The thing is . . . I don’t know how to do that.”

  Silence stretched out. Muffled voices drifted over the intercom. People passed by in the hallway. In the distance, a faint siren intruded.

  Luther’s hand tangled in her hair, smarting a little, but so what? He sounded hoarse and despondent as he cursed her. “Damn you, Gaby.”

  Yeah right. “I was damned long before I met you, cop.”

  Bending down, he touched his forehead to hers. His breath rushed against her cheek. His voice softened. “Don’t say that.”

  Fine. She’d say nothing at all.

  “Damn it.” He pushed her head to his chest and held it there, then locked his free arm around her.

  She’d gone from accepting his scorn to caught in his secure embrace. He held her tight, crushed her close. His heartbeat pumped against her cheek. Heat, scented by his big body, wafted around her.

  Why did he want to comfort her now? He’d been so angry, on the verge of truest rage. What event could possibly inspire both emotions . . .

  Oh God.

  Thoughts and images raced through Gaby’s consciousness. Had Bliss . . . died?

  Bliss had shown a bad reaction to the drug used on her. People died from adverse drug reactions all the time. Who knew what had been injected into her, how much, or how toxic it might be?

  Just as Gaby started to collapse, Luther set her back from him. “She’s fine, Gaby.”

  She heard him, but after such numbing fear, she had a hard time grasping the truth. “You’re sure?”

  “As sure as I can be at the moment. I stayed with her until she was in the ambulance.”

  Gaby’s eyelids sank shut. Luther said she was fine. Hurt, certainly, but not expired as he’d made her think.

  Fury replaced the remorse, and Gaby slugged him in the ribs with enough force to repay him for that awful panic. “Thanks for scaring me half to death!”