by L. L. Foster
Her steps became sluggish, her brain ticking like a bomb. Like a million tiny razors cutting into her flesh, the pain took her.
Oh no.
Kids of various ages and colors filled the broken concrete play area. Rusty chains on swings clashed with squeals of laughter. High-pitched voices rose like musical bells, happy and carefree despite the public squalor and misery of their lives.
Gaby saw them all.
And she saw the pipe bomb.
Her heart shot into her throat. Her vision narrowed. God no. Not a group of children.
In one agile leap, she went over the chain-link fence and loped to the center of the playground. Two youths, probably ten to thirteen years of age, noticed the bomb and ran toward it.
“No.”
They looked up, startled by her intrusion. Long strides took Gaby to them, and she stood directly over the bomb, using her body as a physical block. The taller of the two boys pushed tangled, reddish hair out of his eyes and glared at her. “We saw it first.”
“Tough tittie, kid. I’m laying claim.”
The little bugger bunched up at her. “You can’t do that!”
“Watch me.” Gaby spotted a cell phone in his pocket and said, “Give me that.”
His soft white chin, marred with a bruise and freckled with dirt, went into the air. “It’s mine.”
“I’ll give it back after I make a call.” When he started to retreat, Gaby hauled him close and relieved him of the phone. She shoved him away and said, “Now get out of here. I’ll let you know when I’m done.”
“Hey!” He jumped, trying to reach it where she held it over her head. “Give it to me!”
Damn. She hated to scare a kid, she really did. But she wanted them safe, and that meant that they had to move away.
All of them.
Unleashing the darkest of her paladin essence, Gaby leaned close, stared hard. “Get out of here. Now.”
The kid backpedaled so fast, he fell on his butt. His buddy took off, unwilling to wait for him, screeching loud enough to wake the dead.
None of the little miscreants went far though. They huddled together, watching her, wary and curious, and Gaby knew how she must look.
For once, she was glad. Anything to keep them out of range of the explosion, should the bomb detonate.
She dialed Luther again.
He answered with a roared, “Where the hell are you?”
Wincing, Gaby jerked the phone away from her ear. “Jesus.” Under her current deadly situation, her temper frayed. “Asshole. That hurt.” Then curiously, she asked, “How’d you know it was me?”
“A fucking hunch.”
“Wow, you really are good,” she mocked, trying to lighten her fractured mood.
“Damn it, Gaby, I told you to stay put.”
“Yeah, but I couldn’t. Have you seen the body in the alley yet?”
“I’m almost there. Where are you?”
“Well, that’s the thing.” She gulped, looked down at that damned bomb resting between her feet, and she felt sick.
“Gaby,” Luther said, and it sounded like a warning. “Talk to me. Are you in danger?”
“It’s worse than that, Luther.” Again she gulped. “A lot of kids are.”
“Kids?” Icy control replaced his anger. “Where are you?”
“Well, you see . . . I’m sort of straddling a pipe bomb that our guy put in the playground across from Mort’s place.”
A long, pained pause preceded Luther’s moderate, composed voice. “Step away from it, Gaby. Get as far from there as you can—”
“No can do, cop. Don’t you get it? It was left here on purpose so the kids would find it. And they did. I had to run the little buggers off, but you know kids today—they didn’t go far enough.”
“Shit.”
“There’re twenty or more of them playing here. If this thing blows, I don’t know how badly they’ll be hurt. So . . . I can’t budge.”
“Got it.” Luther breathed fast, then went into detective mode and took charge. “I’m on my way, honey. There should be some uniforms in the area that can be there in under three minutes. They’ll help to evacuate. Until then, don’t move. Don’t touch it. Don’t—”
“Yeah right. I’m not an idiot, Luther. I’m not going to play tag with it.” She eyed the audience of fascinated kids, making certain they kept their distance. “Just hurry up, okay?”
She hung up and surveyed the children. Most of them were barefoot, many were shirtless. They were thin, dirty, their hair hadn’t been combed and their teeth hadn’t been brushed. But thanks to naïveté, they appeared mostly happy.
Gaby couldn’t remember ever being like that. Her youth had been spent in inexplicable pain, shuffled from one un-welcoming house to another, never understood, never accepted.
Never loved.
Thoughts of Father Mullond, the only person to ever accept her, filtered in. He’d made a difference to her life, and then, he was taken away. Gaby quickly blocked the memory. She needed all her faculties about her now, without the contamination of sadness.
“Hey, kid?” When the boy she’d terrorized met her gaze, Gaby pitched his phone to him.
He caught it handily. Emboldened by the return of his prized phone, he edged a foot closer to her. “S’that really a bomb?”
So they’d overheard? Damn. She didn’t really want them panicked—but then again, she didn’t want them too curious either.
“Yeah, looks like.” Gaby locked her knees, put her shoulders back. “What’s your name?”
“Halen. Why?”
“How old are you, Halen?”
Suspicion had him curling his lip. He glanced around, saw all the others watching, and struck a brave stance. “I’m twelve.”
“No kidding?” He was so scrawny, she would have guessed eight or nine. “You look older.”
His chin rose a little more.
“You look like a smart guy to me, Halen. A leader. How about you try to get everyone farther away, out of danger? The cops will be here any minute, and I know they’d appreciate the help.”
“Why would I wanna help the cops?”
Pugnacious little runt. “Well, let’s see.” Gaby nodded at his hand. “If you don’t, they might ask you where you got the phone.”
Halen’s eyes widened.
“That is,” Gaby said, “if you’re still alive. This bomb could go off any second, you know.”
“Really?”
Gaby shrugged. “Truth is, I don’t know shit about bombs. It could be a dud, or it could be remotely controlled.” Her stomach curdled with the thought. “If it is, that means some mean bastard could be waiting to detonate it.”
Halen considered that. “What about you? If it blows up, won’t it kill you?”
Glancing down at the eight-inch metal pipe with wires, a battery pack, and an LED light attached with an excess of Scotch tape, Gaby feigned insouciance. “I doubt I’d be doing much dancing, not without legs.” She looked back at Halen. “Who knows? One of my limbs could end up splattered all over you. Wouldn’t that suck, to get knocked out by a bloody, burned, detached leg or arm?”
That grisly image served to commove the kid into action. He rallied two buddies to help him give orders. With a lot of mean-mugging, shoving, and insistence, Halen took charge.
“He with the cell phone rules,” Gaby whispered to herself. Amazed, she observed from her custodial perch over the bomb as children were corralled out of the playground, led a safer distance away.
The next few minutes brought a maelstrom of activity. Uniformed officers arrived, and in record time, cleared the streets. Right behind them, Luther pulled up.
Unwilling to risk a single child, Gaby still stood over the bomb. Sweat trickled down her spine, her skin itched, and her nerve endings twitched. But she refused to take chances. What if someone was watching with a remote? Would the damn thing blow just as she stepped away?
A cop yelled, “Lady, get away from it now.”
She wanted to. But . . . she shook her head. “Not a good idea.”
Luther put his hands behind his head, paced once, and then started toward her.
Gaby threw up her hands to halt him. “No!”
He paused. “Then come to me.”
Oh God, she wanted to. “But what if . . .”
“I know what you’re thinking, Gaby. But you’re fast. I’ve seen it.”
She fought with herself. If others saw her quickness, would they wonder? Would she be giving herself away?
“You either come to me, Gaby, right now, or I’m coming to you.”
Shit.
At her hesitation, he took a step, saying, “Move away, and move away now.”
Knowing he meant it, she screamed, “All right.”
One deep breath, and she bolted. She didn’t head for Luther; she didn’t want him implicated in her life with so many other officials watching. Feet flying, she soared up and over the fence with an Olympic hurdler’s grace.
And almost collided with Ann.
Jolted to a halt, Gaby tripped, and stared at her.
Ann crossed her arms under her breasts. “Must you always be amazing, Gaby?”
Her mood seemed very uncertain. “I dunno. What do you mean?”
Ann laughed. “Here comes Luther, and he doesn’t look happy. Please understand that his anger stems from concern for you, okay?”
“You’re warning me . . . why?”
Ann gave her an unexpected hug. “I like the man, and I don’t want you to demolish him. Now that I’ve seen you in action a few times, I know demolition is entirely possible.”
Gaby wasn’t given a chance to reply to that bit of idiocy before Luther swung her around and into his chest. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. Then he crushed her close in a fierce hug. Gaby grunted at the force of his embrace.
She felt . . . safe.
Secure.
God, what an illusion.
His fingers tunneled through her hair, curved around her skull, pressed her closer. “You’re turning me old before my time, woman.”
Knowing exactly what he meant, Gaby tried to shrug. “You would have done the same thing.”
“No, I wouldn’t, because I have resources. I don’t have to rely only on myself, as you always seem intent to do.”
In that, she had no choice. “I called.”
“After you straddled the damn thing.”
That was a difficult point, because despite what he said, Gaby knew without a doubt that Luther would have acted the same to keep a child from harm.
She pushed free of his tight hold and looked toward the playground. Sunlight glinted off the metal pipe. “Is it real, do you think?”
His hands rubbed up and down her back. “Looks real enough to me. But I’m not an expert. The bomb squad is bringing in a robot to disrupt the device, so I guess we’ll soon find out.”
“No shit?” Going on tiptoe, Gaby searched behind him. “A robot?”
Luther smashed her head back to his shoulder. “The police chief is closing off the streets so no more traffic can get through until we know it’s safe.” His arms tightened in bruising force, then released her. “And you, Gabrielle Cody, are coming with me.”
“I don’t know. I might be needed here.”
“Why?” He cupped her chin. “Do you sense our guy is still around?”
Her eyes widened at his sincerity. Did he really believe in her?
In the long run, did it even matter? No. It couldn’t—for one simple reason. “There’s this big old sucky problem I need to tell you about, Luther.”
His hands went to her shoulders. “I’m listening.”
In one way or another, he always touched her. Right now, to anyone observing them, his casual caresses could be misconstrued for a kind of avuncular comfort.
Gaby knew they were far more intimate than that. The memory of what he’d done to her, how he’d made her feel in the parking lot, would supersede any effort at emotional distance. “You have a weird effect on me.”
His eyes warmed, his mouth tipped up at the corners. “What kind of effect?”
“Not what you’re thinking, so cool your jets.” Gaby rubbed her head. “You know my super-keen insight? Well, you royally fuck it up.”
Startled, he dropped his hands. “How so?”
“I wish I knew. It’s just that when I’m around you, I don’t feel things the same way.”
“I’m not following you.”
“You cloud my judgment, my instincts, everything. So even though I don’t think our guy is around right now, with you so close, I can’t be sure. Could just be that you’re dicking with my perception again.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Want me to move to the other curb?”
“That won’t help. I’ll know you’re there.”
His arms crossed. “So how far away from you do I need to be?”
“Far enough to be like . . .” She winced, but had to say it. “. . . nowhere near me at all.”
With Luther’s stare boring into her, the commotion surrounding them faded to nothingness. He drew her with that look, which was both recusant and wounded. He devoured her, and her aggrandizing motives.
“Luther . . .”
His look of scorn burned her. “Anything, any way, to keep me at a distance, Gaby, is that it?”
She drew back. “Whoa. You think I’m making this up?”
“Your bullshit is so hard to follow, I have no idea.”
Well. That made things a whole lot easier. “Fine. Then don’t bother trying. Whoever asked you to anyway? Not me.” She turned, but as usual, she’d gotten no more than a foot away before he swung her back around.
Gaby shot to her toes to shove her face toward his. “I’m getting real sick and tired of your manhandling.”
He kissed her.
Right there, in front of everyone.
She jerked her mouth free. “What are you—!”
Hauling her right back to him, he kissed her hard enough to bend her back, melt her resistance and her good intentions. His arms clamped around her, keeping her arms pinned to her sides. With her back bowed and her feet off the ground, she had no leverage.
But what the hell?
She loved it. She needed it.
After suffering the agonizing possibilities of a bomb, Luther’s heated attention obliterated her agitation. She reciprocated with fervor, biting his mouth, arching her hips into his.
In the next instant, her feet touched the ground and he released her.
Leaving her cold, he said, “Let’s go,” and with his fingers wrapped around her wrist, began dragging her across the street.
Befuddled, Gaby sucked in air and tried to shake the butterflies from her brain. In her present state, opposition was futile. Hoping he’d take her somewhere private, she asked, “Where to?”
“I have some men guarding the alley where you found the body. I want to go back there and check it out. Then I need to call in to see if anyone’s found out anything about the addicts.”
He wanted her along on police business? Well, hell.
“Then,” he said, stressing the word, “you and I are going to calmly have a meal, talk, and go over the rules. One— more—time.”
“I repeat,” Gaby said, “I called. What more do you want from me?”
At his car, he stopped. Hands on his hips, brows fused, Luther gave her his profile. After a heavy pause, he looked at her again. “What I want is still up in the air at this point. You’re uncooperative, cantankerous, angry and . . .” His voice lowered, full of uncertainty. “Crazy as it is, insane as it makes me, I’m starting to think that everything with you still won’t be enough.”
Chapter 11
From across the linen-covered tabletop, Luther regarded Gaby. No matter the provocation, he had to keep his cool—because he knew she wanted him to lose it.
In the muted restaurant light, the artificial purple highlights competed with the more natural bluish hues
of her inky dark hair. It grew fast, already looking shaggy again, unkempt . . . sexy as hell.
He loved the feel of her silky hair, such a stark contrast to her caustic manner and cutting wit.
Other patrons wore jackets, and he felt the chill of the air-conditioning. In her sleeveless shirt and short skirt, she should have goose bumps.
But she didn’t.
“Are you cold?”
Distracted, she shook her head. “No.”
Of course not. Gaby often seemed immune to the trivial discomforts that afflicted most people. She did without sleep, food, friendship, security . . . It drove him insane.
Constantly shifting, her light blue eyes kept a vigilant watch over the rest of the customers. Long dark lashes softened the intensity of her surveillance. Even pinched together, her lips looked soft, pliant, and very kissable.
He was obsessed, without knowing why.
She fed him an explanation, and even when the more rational part of his mind told him to hold back, he bought it hook, line, and sinker. More so than any other person he’d known, Gaby radiated sincerity, credibility—when her actions and words were so preposterous.
“Mort and Ann seem pretty serious.”
Without looking at him, she said, “Tell me about it.”
He thought of Morty Vance, and how Ann had given in to her fondness for the unlikely hero. They were a mismatched pair with Ann vibrant, professional, masterful, and beautiful, and Morty backward, insecure, and . . . dumpy.
But Ann was happier than he’d ever seen her.
“You’re not surprised?”
“Not really, not after seeing them together. It’s destiny.”
So much surety in that simple statement. Gaby seldom had doubts on anything.
Was it Morty’s connection to Gaby that led Ann to a fallacious appeal?
Whatever ethereal power Gaby possessed, she had ensnared him. Morty, after aligning himself with her, seemed to have the same power.
Watching Gaby climax once wasn’t enough. Not by a long shot. He wanted to be inside her the next time she came. He wanted to ride her hard, to conquer her, and destroy all her barriers.
And he wanted to protect her, to take that abstruse sadness from her eyes.
