L.L. Foster - The Acceptance

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.

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.”