by L. K. Hill
“What—” she swallowed. “What happened?”
He dropped his hands from her shoulders, and she noted how cold she felt without his hands resting there.
“I hoped you could tell me.” Gabe perched on the side of her hospital bed. “What do you remember?
Kyra studied her lap. As her heart slowed, she registered a tightness in her chest. A dull throb, as though someone wrapped a rubber band around her middle and pulled it too tight. A bandage several inches thick encased her right bicep. She shrugged her left shoulder. The simple movement sent fire arcing through her entire arm. It radiated out all the way to the middle of her back. She shuddered violently.
Gabe’s hand covered hers. “Kyra.” He said her name softly.
Kyra shut her eyes again. Jumbled images tore through her mind. Her temples throbbed as she attempted to force the images into a sensible pattern. Dark, cavernous rooms and dirt-covered mounds. Two different men standing over her, their features ebbing and flowing and interchanging. It all solidified in a moment of sudden, painful clarity. Fear and despair gripped at her chest more painfully than the dull ache from before.
She raised her eyes to Gabe, who still peered at her grimly.
“Gabe.” Her voice broke. “Th-the Purple Valentine.”
“I know.” He turned more fully toward her and took both her hands in his. “We know. At first light today we went into Old Abstreuse with an entire force and found it.”
She hesitated. “Found…what, exactly?” Oh, please don’t let it be what she feared.
“Bodies. A homemade cemetery.”
Kyra let her shoulders slump. “So each mound is…”
“A grave. Yes,” he said firmly. “About thirty of them.”
He waited. Probably giving her a moment to process, but she didn’t know what to say next. So many questions pounded through her skull, she didn’t know where to start.
“We can’t be sure of this yet, Kyra—we’ll have to wait on thirty coroners reports to draw conclusions, and the bodies haven't even been fully excavated—but from the way many of them were dressed, we think they’re working girls.”
Kyra let her head drop back against the pillows, with some relief. She felt like she'd gone a dozen rounds with a brick wall. “All of them?”
Gabe nodded solemnly. “If I had to guess, I’d say so.” He paused. “Not only that, but the letters g-a-a-p were painted on the wall.”
“I know. I saw. Gabe, someone wrote that on the door of my hotel room—”
“I know. I went looking for you there. I was pissed you were gone. Was gonna yell at you when I saw you again.” He sighed, looking sad.
“Sorry,” she murmured. “So what are we saying here? I stumbled into the lair of this killer you’ve been—we’ve been…?” She trailed off, acutely aware of the tears coursing down her face.
“Yes.”
Kyra stared down at the blanket covering her. Her heart still pounded while her thoughts meandered like a drunk slug.
“He drugged you,” Gabe said after a moment, leaning closer to her.
She looked up into his face. It held no judgment. Only concern. “With what?”
“A cocktail of narcotics. The doctors haven’t been able to identify everything. It stopped your heart, Kyra. You died at the precinct. Medics brought you back after twenty seconds or so…”
He trailed off and Kyra wished she could hide from his earnest gaze. After all their conversations about the danger of the Mire, she wished he would yell at her rather than looking so damn sympathetic. She wanted to cry. She wanted to hug him. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to scream, and pound the wall with her fist. She wanted to go back to sleep.
“Tell me what happened,” Gabe said firmly.
Kyra nodded. She folded her legs painfully so she sat cross-legged. Gabe moved into the space her calves had vacated and crossed his legs as well. They sat facing one another, knee to knee.
She described everything she remembered. The man with the limp, the tunnel, Old Abstreuse, the Purple Valentine.
She launched into an explanation of how they’d seen this same man the night she shot Norse. “Do you remember?” she asked.
He nodded. “Vaguely. Not the limp. I remember hiding in the shadows with you, waiting for a Mireling to pass. Just seemed prudent at the time.”
“Exactly. It was him, Gabe. The killer. He had the same limp.”
Gabe’s frown deepened as she spoke. “Why would this killer, if you’d found his secret cemetery, drug you and then let you go?”
Kyra shook her head. “He didn’t.”
“Someone saw him carry you out of a darker alley and lie you down where Morris found you.”
“That was Dellaire.”
Gabe froze, then straightened his spine. “Dellaire? The mob guy?”
Kyra explained about how Dellaire appeared above her, lifted her, and carried her out. She didn’t remember being left anywhere, or Officer Morris picking her up, or being in Gabe’s precinct. It became an incoherent blend of shapes and sounds and shadows.
Gabe frowned. “I thought the mob stopped tailing you.”
Kyra shook her head. "The mob still is. But Dellaire shouldn't have been. Someone else was supposed to follow me from now on.” Something occurred to her and she paused. “I wonder if he was the one I heard following me before I entered the tunnel.”
"So," Gabe frowned. "If he wasn’t supposed to follow you, why did he?"
"I don't know," she rubbed the bridge of her nose, trying to make all the pieces fit. "He saved my life. There's something else going on here that I'm missing. I don't understand why Dellaire would have been there at all."
"Are you sure he didn't do this?" Gabe asked. "Could you be remembering wrong, because of the drug?"
"No. These are two different men. Two different scenarios. The man with the limp—the guy killing the prostitutes—is the same one that leaned over me in the warehouse. In the Carmichael district. Remember? I told you he called me Chameleon. This guy with the limp called me the same thing."
Gabe shut his eyes briefly, as though trying to process it all. “Kyra, how can you be sure this isn’t all Dellaire? That he isn't the killer?”
Kyra shook her head. "Dellaire has followed me before. But I know that and he knows I know. He wouldn’t lean over me and whisper and try to intimidate me. His boss practically offered me a job, so it’s in his best interest to keep me alive. He kind of proved that last night, didn’t he?"
Gabe didn't answer.
“This killer with the limp? He walks, talks, and dresses completely differently than Dellaire. He’s got a deep, gravelly voice. Dellaire’s voice is…more like yours.”
Gabe gave her a scathing look, as though he didn’t like being compared with Dellaire.
“Sorry. But it's the truth. I heard that voice—like a trucker with laryngitis—right next to my ear in the warehouse and I wouldn’t forget it. The same man drugged me last night and carried me into The Purple Valentine. Then Dellaire came up beside him and saved me. He wouldn’t do what this killer is doing. It’s not his…style.”
Gabe sighed. “Okay. So you saw this killer’s face. Could you ID him?”
Kyra hesitated before shaking her head. “Once he injected me, my vision got all blurry.”
Gabe’s eyes narrowed. “Then how could you be sure you saw Dellaire?”
Kyra threw up her hands. “I could just tell. I recognized him because I’d seen him before. I’m sure if it had been you—” Gabe’s face tightened. “—I would have recognized you too, even if I couldn’t see your features clearly.”
He stared at her, stone-faced, until she dropped her eyes.
“I could see his ponytail,” she mumbled.
Gabe snorted.
“What creeps me out,” Kyra continued, “is that the killer knows who I am. I suppose maybe it shouldn’t surprise me. If the mob can observe Supra’s movements then so can—What?”
She’d glanced up to see Ga
be staring at her in a way that made her stomach clench in fear.
“It’s worse than that, Kyra. The killer doesn’t just know who Supra is. He knows who you are.”
It couldn’t be true, and yet the dread in Kyra’s stomach suggested otherwise. “Why do you think that?” she asked.
“I saw your hotel room. The vandalized door.”
The truth of what he said sunk in, slowly, and brought dread with it. The letters painted on the wall of the Purple Valentine. She’d forgotten them until now. G-A-A-P. They were the same letters that had been painted on her hotel room door.
“There’s something I never told you,” Gabe said slowly. "Remember the sting we did? The one you saved our asses on?”
Kyra nodded.
For the next five minutes, he told her about interrogating Bronco, and Chyna carving the word “Gaap” into her walls. Fear filled Kyra’s insides. She couldn’t wrap her head around all the implications.
“What…what does that mean?” she tried to work it through her head. “If Chyna carved it into her walls…I mean she did that, not the killer.”
“Cora said the same thing. It’s a good point, but we can’t be sure either way. Is there any reason Chyna would vandalize your hotel room? Did you interact with her in the Mire? At all?”
Kyra slowly shook her head.
“We’re looking at one of two scenarios here. It depends on if Chyna came up with the name on her own. If she did, then maybe it’s a name the working girls are using to describe this killer. Even if that’s the case, whoever put it on your hotel room door is still linking you to this killer, Kyra. They shouldn’t know you have anything to do with the Mire.”
Kyra massaged her pounding temples. He was right.
“The other option is that Chyna heard the name from the john who attacked her. If it’s a name he’s chosen for himself, then he probably put it on your door. Either way…”
He trailed off, and Kyra had no arguments.
“Well,” she finally managed. “I’ve checked out of there, now. I’ll use a fake name to check into the next place. No matter who put the word on my door, they won’t know where I am.”
Gabe didn't look reassured. “Which is where? Where are you staying?”
Kyra twisted her lips. “I’m…not. I haven’t checked in anywhere new.”
Gabe’s expression morphed into one of annoyance. “You’re supposed to have a safe place to go to.”
“I know,” she said gently. “I just started working for Josie, so he’s watching me like a hawk. I didn’t see the point in paying for a room I won’t be able to use for weeks. As soon as I check into a new place, I’ll give you the contact information.”
Gabe snorted again. “As soon as you check out of here, check into one. I want you to have somewhere to go aside from the Mire. I’ll pay for the room myself if I have to.”
Kyra rolled her eyes. “Fine. What happens now?”
“CSU and the coroner’s office are still on the scene in Old Abstreuse, collecting evidence and hauling bodies away. We’ll have to wait to see what they find.”
“How long have I been here?”
“Since around midnight.”
Kyra glanced at the old, digital alarm clock on the night stand by her bed. It read 3:04 with a dot next to the ‘pm’ marking. “Good. I need to get back into the Mire.” She threw the cover back and swung her legs over the side of the bed, careful to keep them as covered as possible with the hospital gown. Her chest and arm immediately protested. She ignored them.
Gabe came around to stand in front of her, standing so close she couldn’t slide off the bed without her knees bumping into his. She raised her head to look up at him. He stood glaring down at her with arms folded tightly. “Are you shitting me?”
Kyra sighed. Here we go again. “I’ll talk to Sadie,” she offered. “If the working girls are circulating a name for this killer, she’ll know it.” Kyra doubted Sadie would. They’d talked about the killer targeting prostitutes many times. If Sadie knew any such thing, she would have already told Kyra.
“That’s why you’re going back into the Mire?” he raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“I…can talk to Dellaire as well.”
Gabe paused. “You think he’ll be there?”
She shrugged. “He has been so far. It’s only a matter of time before I see him again. When I do, I’ll ask him what the hell happened. Maybe he can shed some light on this killer. On what happened last night.”
“And that’s all? The only reason you want to go into the Mire is to talk to Sadie and Dellaire about what happened to you?”
Kyra shifted her eyes away. “I have a job to do for Josie tonight.”
He threw his hands up.
“It’s a simple errand. Not dangerous.”
“Kyra, if this killer knows who you are, then anything and everything you do in the Mire is dangerous.”
She drew in a calming breath. He was right. No sense denying it. And if just being in the Mire got to get her killed, she certainly wouldn't be able to help Manny. “I’ll get Josie to let me carry a gun. I’ll tell him what happened. The truth. Sort of. I’ll tell him I was attacked and want a gun to fend off scumbags. He values independence and strength. I can manipulate him into letting me carry. If I have one, I can deal with anyone who might come at me.”
“Didn’t you have one last night when you went into Old Abstreuse?”
“No. Josie doesn’t allow his workers to carry until he knows he can trust them. He frisks me pretty much anytime I see him. I couldn’t risk trying to hide one.”
“Kyra—” Gabe said warningly.
“Gabe, we’ve been over this. I work for Josie now. I don’t get sick days. If I don’t show, all it will do is add him to the list of people who want to beat the hell out of me.”
“Is this how you convince me to let you go back into the Mire?”
“Let me go back?”
“You know what I mean.”
“And you know what I mean. If I lose my job with Josie, I’m back to square one on finding Manny. That will only increase my time in the Mire. I don’t want that. I know you don’t either.”
“And what do you plan to do if this bastard with the limp comes up behind you again? Hope Dellaire is there to save the day again?”
The way he said Dellaire’s name, like it tasted sour on his tongue, went straight to Kyra’s spine, and her rebellion flared. “What’s the matter detective? Feeling threatened by Dellaire because he saved me and you didn’t?”
Gabe looked shocked, for all of ten seconds. Then the surprise settled in the darkest look he’d ever given her. “No.”
Kyra took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “That wasn’t fair. We’ve been over this, Gabe. I have to go back into the Mire. Whatever happens, I'll live with the consequences.”
“Kyra.” His voice dropped so low she could barely hear it. His eyes, though still angry, took on a look of pleading. “Not fifteen hours ago, your. Heart. Stopped.”
Kyra kept her gaze on the ground, unable to meet his eyes.
After a moment, he crossed to stand in front of her and raised her chin with his forefinger, forcing her to look into his face. The emotions there surprised her. Not anger or anxiety, but resignation. She wondered what about, specifically. To her returning to the Mire, or something else?
“My heart’s not going to stop again, Gabe.”
“You can’t promise that,” Gabe said. His gaze held hers like a vice. "Maybe…"
She raised an eyebrow at him. "Maybe what?"
"You should have someone with you. To watch your back." She could see the conflict moving across his features. "Maybe I could…. We do have undercover work in Abstreuse, you know."
Kyra felt shock as she fully understood his suggestion. She also knew it couldn't work. Not right now. "Gabe," she said gently. "You have to work the case from the police angle. This guy is still killing girls in the Mire. You've got too much else to deal with
now."
Gabe sighed, looking frustrated. "You have no idea. Kyra, there's more I need to tell you."
She glanced at the clock, knowing she didn't have much time if she wanted to check into a new hotel, shower, get her Supra guise on, and get to Josie's on time tonight.
Gabe followed her gaze. He opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, seemed to change his mind. Stepping toward her, he touched her cheek with the back of his fingers. “I’m sorry this bastard hurt you.” His hand slid from her cheek down to her neck, pushing her sandy blond hair back behind her shoulder. I hope Dellaire keeps tailing you, if you trust him. At least if you need help, someone will be there.”
He dropped his hand with a sigh. "We need to talk. All of us. I need to tell you things about the case. You probably have information we don't. After the job with Josie, will you call me?"
Kyra nodded.
"We'll have a pow-wow at my place as soon as you can manage it, okay?"
She nodded again. "Yeah."
He turned to leave, looking worried.
Kyra's heart lurched, spilling sadness into her stomach. “Gabe,” she said as he reached the door.
He turned.
“I do remember one thing. I guess it must have been when I was in the precinct, because that's when you got there. I don't remember being in the precinct itself, but I remember being afraid, feeling hopeless. And you took my hand."
He turned and leaned against the door. "I did."
"Thank you for that. You're always there when I need you. You always come when I call. Always…take my hand, so to speak. You don't have to. You have every reason not to, but you always do."
"I always will, Kyra. No matter what." He dropped his head, studying the floor.
"What?"
"You do these things, Kyra, and you think you can live with the consequences. So far, you have, because you've been mostly successful. Some bruises here. A cut there. Everything you do has both good and bad consequences. They may kill you one day. You won't have to live with them at all. I will."