The Acceptance s-2

by L. L. Foster

  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 m
e 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.

  If he didn’t have her soon, he’d go nuts. But before committing that possible physical faux pas, he needed to understand her better.

  He needed to know what made her tick.

  It wasn’t the want of money, companionship, security, or comfort. Gaby made her own way, on her own terms. She needed no one and nothing and that made her unique, not only from every other woman he’d known, but every other human being he knew.

  She accepted sexual interaction with him—under duress. But even there, her acceptance was deviant, being more about curiosity than corporeal pleasure.

  So . . . why did she ever give in to him?

  What made her take such staggering chances with her life, just to help others?

  Sagacious, mature, emotionally battered beyond the years of a twenty-one-year-old woman, she intrigued him in boundless ways.

  Remembering Gaby’s unfaltering and careless dash into a blazing building, her stoic stance over a live bomb, left Luther’s heart palpitating and his skin clammy with dread.

  “You’re not still shook up over your ordeal, are you?”

  She snorted. “No. Why would I be?”

  Her unparalleled will would be the death of him. Either from her tragic youth, or from some other influence, Gaby lacked a self-protection mechanism. She’d protect others, but not herself.

  Holding her fork in her fist like a weapon, she again scanned the restaurant. She was tense, nervous, and barely eating the burger and fries he’d gotten her.

  Luther took one quick visual trip over her lithe and lean body. “Want to tell me what’s wrong now?”

  Her gaze darted to his. “Nothing. Why?”

  He nodded to the fork held in her tight grasp. “You’re not eating.”

  Expression pinched, she slapped down the utensil, picked up the burger, bit off a chunk, and chewed. “Happy?” she asked around a mouthful.

  “Not really, no.” Again, her slender throat, her smooth, unmarred skin drew his fascinated attention. For a woman who took every opportunity to leap into the most menacing of battles, she had no discernible scars. “I won’t be happy until I get you figured out.”

  That statement choked her.

  Bits of burger, bun, and condiment shot Luther’s way. He picked up his napkin and, without comment, dabbed the mess from his shirt.

  Eyes bugging, Gaby grabbed up her cola, took a big swig, and washed down the rest of the food. Still a little strangled, she glared at him. “Damn it, look what you did.”

  “What?”

  She glanced around, and Luther could have sworn her face filled with heat.

  Self-conscious? Unbelievable. Whenever he got near Gaby, he found new depths to her personality. “Everyone chokes, honey. It’s not a big deal.”

  She didn’t agree. Pushing aside her food, she announced, “I’m done. Let’s get out of here.”

  Enthralled, Luther studied her. “I never thought to see you embarrassed.”

  Anger deepened her blush. “Kiss my ass.”

  Humor sparkled above his irritation. “Eventually, I’d love
to.” He watched her, saw her incredulity. “I’d like to kiss you everywhere.” He put his elbows on the table, and repeated softly, “Everywhere.”

  Her mouth fell open.

  “What? You don’t like that idea?”

  “I’ve never seen the hookers do anything like that.”

  For such a hard-ass, her innocence never failed to amaze him. “Prostitution is all about haste. The less time it takes, the more the hooker makes per hour. But when a man and woman make love, they take their time, and anything is possible. Anything that gives them pleasure.”

  Her level gaze never wavered. “Sounds perverted to me.”

  “I’ll eventually show you.” Luther sat back. “That is, if you stop fabricating reasons to keep your distance from me.”

  Gaby reached again for her fork, no doubt to gig him, but Luther caught her hand. “No physical violence in a public forum. It’s ill-mannered.”

  That only infuriated her more. She jerked her hand away and sunk down into her seat, almost sitting on her spine, indulging a good sulk.

  After a moment, she muttered, “It was ill-mannered of you to bring me here in the first place.”

  “Why?” The restaurant was a favorite of Luther’s. Casual but upscale, with good, home-cooked food. He’d take it over a fast-food joint any day.

  When Gaby didn’t answer, he shrugged. “If you don’t like it, you should have said something. Where would you prefer to eat?”

  Her mouth constricted.

  “The silent treatment?” An interesting twist for Gaby. “I see you’re like other women after all.”

  She came out of her seat and up over the table in a fluid rush. Palms flattened on the tabletop, fury palpable, she hissed low, “I am nothing like other women and you damn well know it.”

  He carefully caught her wrists. “Then what’s the problem?”

  “I feel on display here, you jerk. I’m an aberration who doesn’t fit in. Are you a glutton for punishment? Is that why you always drag me to these places?”

  Wow. So much sizzling energy and emotion.

  It turned him on. She turned him on—even when giving him hell.

  Yes, he was definitely a glutton for punishment. “Please sit down, Gaby. People are starting to stare.”