The Acceptance

by L. L. Foster

  “Someone will be here within five minutes.” Luther dug out a card and held it toward her. “I hope that puts you more at ease.”

  She eyed the card, but didn’t take it. “It helps.”

  Exasperated, Luther lifted her hand, pressed the card to her palm, and folded her fingers around it. “Promise me that if the bad feeling sticks with you, you’ll call me.”

  Studying the card, Gaby read Luther’s name, his phone numbers. “If someone’s already watching over her, then why would I call and bother you?”

  He didn’t laugh at her. “It’s what friends do, Gaby. They lean on each other in times of worry.”

  Friends.

  Yeah, she was collecting them like cooties these days.

  She could deal with it now, but somehow she figured that she and Luther were more than friends. What, she couldn’t say. But even before her sexual instruction, she’d accepted that being with him was not the same as being with Morty or Bliss.

  Headlights cut through the dark night, and a car pulled into the parking lot. Luther went on alert, watching the car but also studying the rest of the lot. Gaby did the same, unwilling to let a distraction with one car cause distraction over a bigger concern.

  The car parked, the driver got out, and with a single click that sounded a beep and flashed his lights, locked the BMW. He’d parked in the doctor’s section, and hurried inside.

  Dismissing him as a threat, Luther’s keen gaze studied the rest of the surrounding area.

  Gaby didn’t tell him that no enmity lurked. If it did, she’d know it. “I hate to break this to you, cop, but I don’t have a phone.”

  Settling back in his seat, Luther made a face of long-suffering acceptance. “Course you don’t. Why would I think you did?”

  “I don’t know. You’re strange that way.” Another car pulled in, this one a police cruiser. “Who would I call, anyway?”

  Luther waited until he saw a uniformed officer get out and enter the building. “Want to go in and make sure he’s set up?”

  “No need.” Tiredness pulled at Gaby, and she wanted to drop. While the evil rested, she needed to rest, too—because it wasn’t over.

  Not by a long shot.

  Again, Luther believed in her. He started the car and pulled out of the hospital parking lot onto the deserted streets. On the drive back to her room, he said very little.

  For her part, Gaby dozed in her seat, rethinking what Luther had done to her, and how easy it had been for him. When he pulled up in front of the building, she unfastened her seat belt, anxious to be alone.

  Luther reached over and caught her arm. “You should know, Gaby, the women have been warned of a problem.”

  She accepted that—and how futile such a warning would be. “It won’t stop them from doing what they do. It’s how they survive.”

  “It could be how they die.”

  “I know.” Just because she wanted to, because she needed to, Gaby leaned across the seat and kissed him. “They don’t have any choice, though.”

  “I know.” He touched her cheek with a heartbreaking intimacy. “I’m determined to do my best to figure this out, and fast. Until then, please be careful.”

  If he didn’t stop fretting over her, she was going to start liking it. And then where would she be? “I keep telling you, cop, you don’t have to worry about me.”

  He pulled her in for one more taste, and Gaby’s toes curled inside her boots. “I’m trying.”

  “Breakfast,” she reminded him, just to change the subject. “I’ll see you then.”

  Gaby left the car and strode up to the building. Dawn would break all too soon, and still a few women stood outside, washed out, tired, and working toward their quota.

  By way of a greeting, they made a few lewd comments about Luther. Amused, Gaby looked back, and Luther still waited, wanting to see her inside.

  Bizarre.

  Unnecessary.

  But damn if it didn’t rekindle that odd tingling deep in her belly.

  Anticipating breakfast with him in the morning, she went up the stairs—and then it struck her what an idiotic fool she’d become.

  For whatever anomaly of circumstances might exist, being with Luther had always desensitized her faculties, depriving her awareness of a necessary superiority. For a single moment of time, Gaby gave in to cowardly panic, wondering if, in fact, Bliss was safe, or if Luther’s presence had blunted her ability to know the truth.

  Opening locks with haste, she went into her apartment and to the window to look out.

  Luther was gone—and still she felt no discernment of foul play. Her relief, on top of so much expended emotion, left her exhausted.

  Following her basic evening ritual, Gaby cleaned her teeth and stripped off her clothes. Left in her plain, colorless panties, she again thought of Luther, of what he’d done, what she’d enjoyed.

  Insane.

  Wonderful.

  After double-checking her locks, she fell into her bed.

  Oppressive evening air engulfed her body. No breeze stirred through the open window; only cries and crashes and other emblematic sounds of the neighboring slums filtered through.

  Flat on her back, her arms folded over her middle, Gaby stared at the stained and crumbling ceiling—and pondered Luther: his hands, his mouth, his warmth and caring.

  She was about to doze off when the verisimilitude of the ravaged corpse, discolored, swelled with river water, skulked past her exhaustion to disrupt her thoughts. The images integrated with those of Bliss’s pale face, her tangible trepidation.

  For one of the few times in her life, Gaby craved something other than a normal life.

  She craved Luther.

  But duty demanded she defend Bliss, and that meant she’d have to cool things with Luther in order to keep her God-given advantage.

  Being near him meant she risked a loss of her remarkable acumen toward evil, evil that meant to harm Bliss.

  There’d be no restful breakfast for them.

  For now, until she destroyed the wickedness, she couldn’t let Luther drown her in that prodigious pleasure.

  Her duty was a burden, but she wouldn’t forsake it.

  Somehow, all wants and needs aside, she had to accomplish the impossible—again.

  Chapter 9

  In a world-class mood of surliness, Gaby raged at the locked door to Mort’s apartment building.

  Okay, so she knew Mort had started locking the doors under her edict to provide an inviolable sanctuary. But damn it, she didn’t mean to lock her out. She wanted to talk to him, to clear the way before she brought Bliss to him.

  Her fist battered the door until it opened with a jerk.

  “What?” demanded a slim, blond, and very beautiful woman barely wrapped in a morning robe.

  Shock took Gaby back and she almost fell off the front steps: Ann Kennedy, the cop who worked with Luther, a woman better suited to him.

  A woman who instilled jealousy when jealousy didn’t make a damned bit of sense.

  Even with her hair all frothy, her makeup faded, and her clothes missing, Gaby recognized her. So where the hell was Mort? Had something happened to him?

  “Gaby,” Ann said. “I wasn’t . . . that is, I didn’t expect you.” She started messing with her hair, gave up on that and tightened her robe around her.

  “What are you doing here?” Filled with suspicion, Gaby peered around her. “Where’s Mort?”

  “He’s in the shower.” Ann held the door wider by way of invitation. “Would you like to come in?”

  In the shower, huh? And with Ann barely clothed.

  In delayed reaction, the pieces clicked together.

  They’d spent the night together. Holy shit. That constituted more than mere dating. Gaby stepped inside and said, albeit with a lot of skepticism, “You and Mort are that serious, huh?”

  “Yes.” Ann laughed. “I’m afraid so.”

  Mort’s apartment caused as much consternation as Ann’s presence. It was t
he same, but a whole lot tidier, and brighter with fresh shades on the windows and a few plants on the tables. He even had colorful throw pillows on the sofa. “Wow. He’s cleaned it up.”

  “And replaced some things.”

  “Your influence?” Gaby wasn’t at all sure how she felt about that. Ann must carry a lot of sway over him, and maybe that was fine and dandy. Gaby only knew that she didn’t want to see Mort hurt.

  Propping herself on the arm of a chair, Ann shook her head. “More your influence, I’d say.”

  “Mine?” How dumb. She didn’t give a shit about home decorating. Never had and never would.

  Probably.

  Ann smiled. “You’ve had an incredible impact on him, or so he tells me. He claims that before you, he barely existed. Now he’s more aware of everything and everyone and, Gaby, he’s a lot happier.”

  Huh. Gaby didn’t know what to say to that. She didn’t want the responsibility for Mort’s happiness, but how could she deny what she didn’t understand?

  Being tongue-tied was a first for her, and she didn’t like it.

  “Come on.” Ann headed for the kitchen. “Let’s sit down and get comfortable. We can talk. Would you like some coffee? Mort and I have only been up a few minutes, so it’s fresh.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Making note of the sway in Ann’s hips, and a faint, delicate fragrance left in her wake, Gaby trailed her. In a state of dishabille on the proverbial morning after, Ann exuded fundamental, salacious femininity.

  And yet, Gaby noticed, she was nothing like the prostitutes who used their sexuality to draw business. Somehow, Ann was far more provocative.

  For Mort. That really bent her mind. She’d need some time to get used to the idea of Mort as a sexual being, especially when the thought sort of gagged her.

  “Cream and sugar?” Ann asked.

  “Sure, whatever.” Gaby pulled out a chair. “So you and Mort are screwing?”

  Ann nearly dropped the sugar bowl. In obvious offense, she pivoted to face Gaby in high dudgeon. “That’s none of your business.”

  “So?” Gaby shrugged. “That’s never stopped me before.” Seeing hot color slash Ann’s face, she sprawled back. “Never mind. I’ll ask Mort.”

  Snapping a spoon down onto the counter, Ann said, “That’s no better. You’d still be intruding.”

  “Mort won’t mind. At least, he never has before.” But then, Mort didn’t have Ann before, so he’d been more than anxious to talk to Gaby for any reason. Well, for most reasons. She recalled asking him specifics on sex, and getting nowhere.

  Gaby shook her head. “There have been times when he’s stammered on his words, turned redder than you are now, and refused to explain.”

  Searching her face, Ann relented and finished the coffee preparations. As she handed Gaby a cup, she visibly formed her thoughts into words. “Mort told me you had an eccentric background.”

  “Master of understatement, that’s our Mort.” Gaby sipped the coffee. “If you’re going to hang around, you might as well know that I’m a first-class freak.”

  Taken aback, Ann seated herself and then touched Gaby’s arm. “I don’t see anything freakish about you. In fact, I think you’re a lovely young lady.”

  Flashing a look of disbelief, Gaby snorted. “Yeah, right.” She stuck her leg out toward Ann. “Wanna pull the other one?”

  Ann chastised her with a look. “You are not freakish, Gaby. Outspoken, certainly. But that’s almost . . . refreshing.”

  “Uh-huh.” Since Ann nearly choked spewing that falsehood, Gaby didn’t take her words to heart.

  “Mort tells me you’re very capable. I think that’s a wonderful quality for a young, single woman to have. Not many people, male or female, are fully independent.”

  Unable to help herself, Gaby asked, “So what does Luther say about me?”

  Ann subdued a knowing smile, and leaned toward her. “For the most part, Luther keeps his own counsel. But when you have been mentioned, it’s with frustration and often urgency.”

  “Huh.” To give herself a moment to digest those words, Gaby again drank her coffee.

  “It appears that he cares for you, Gaby.”

  “You’re a cop,” Gaby told her. “You should know that appearances can be deceiving.”

  “Not with Luther.” At her leisure, Ann settled back in her seat, crossed her legs, and turned thoughtful. Steam rose from her cup and a lock of pale blond hair fell over her shoulder. “I’ve never known a man to be more rock solid, in his work, and in his convictions, than Luther.”

  Great. Just fucking great. All that meant is that he’d never be able to reconcile his lofty principles with Gaby’s recondite purpose.

  From behind her, Gaby heard Mort ask, “Are you worshipping another man, Ann?”

  Gaby twisted around and found Mort striding in. His smile teased, and he went right past her to press a warm kiss to Ann’s mouth.

  It was . . . nauseating. For most of the time that she’d known Mort, he’d been weaselly, pathetic, and annoying. Now he seemed . . . more manly.

  Gaby could barely choke it down. “Eavesdropping?” she asked him.

  “Just a little.” Both hands on Ann’s shoulders, Mort winked at her.

  Winked.

  Yeah, she was definitely going to hurl. “Why the hell are you so chipper?”

  At her question, Mort laughed aloud. Ann ducked her face to hide her humor.

  And it struck Gaby. “Oh yeah. The whole sex thing. You got laid last night, right?” Shaking her head, a little irritated at their combined good humor, she added, “Nookie has transformed you, Mort. I swear, even your hair looks thicker.”

  Strangling, Mort scowled at her and smoothed a hand over his sparse brown hair. But his pale blue eyes twinkled and he stood taller, straighter. His paunch seemed less noticeable—maybe because he wore clothes with improved style, or maybe because he was now more active, more fit.

  And maybe because Ann cared for him.

  “Gaby has a, um, sexual question for you, Mort, so I’ll take my turn showering and let you two talk.”

  Startled, Mort grabbed Ann’s arm to detain her. “You don’t have to rush off.”

  “Oh, but I do.” She patted Mort. “I’m afraid this is out of my comfort zone.”

  “I doubt it,” Gaby told her. “I was just curious about what Mort does to you. Luther did some stuff to me, but I’m not sure if it’s normal or not.”

  They both stared at her.

  “Well, that got your attention, didn’t it?” Under her breath, she muttered, “Pervs.”

  Mort shook himself. “Maybe it’d be better if you asked someone else your questions.”

  “Like who? The hookers? Luther insists they have a different slant on things, but since Ann’s not a hooker—”

  “No, she’s not.”

  Ann stiffened. “Definitely not.”

  “Right. So I figured she’d have a different take on the whole sexual gratification thing. I mean, Luther keeps telling me it’s entirely different for women who aren’t in the flesh trade.”

  “Oh God,” Mort said. He cleared his throat. “I’m sure Luther is . . . normal in his appetites.”

  “And you picked that up by osmosis? You don’t even know yet what he did to me.”

  “I’m out of here,” Ann said with emphasis.

  Before she could leave, Luther’s voice, harsh with indignation,filled the room. “No need, Ann. I’ll explain things to Gaby—again—when we’re alone.”

  Sighing, Gaby tilted her head back and looked at Luther upside down. “You have the uncanny ability to sneak up on me.”

  His smile was mean. “Maybe it’s just that you’re not as slick as you think.”

  “No. That’s definitely not it.” She looked back at Mort with an expression that said Luther was way off base with that one. “You don’t keep the door locked?”

  “Usually.” Sex might have revitalized Mort, but his unease in the face of Luther’s obvious disgruntlem
ent still left him stammering. “Luther. Nice of you to visit. Can I get you some coffee?”

  “Thanks, no.”

  Because she didn’t look at Luther, Gaby had to judge his heavy silence by the looks on Ann’s and Mort’s faces. Not good.

  “You’re being a bully, Luther. Lighten up before Mort pisses himself.”

  The insinuation that Mort lacked courage sent Ann over the edge. “That’s enough!” She propped her hands on her hips. “They,” she said, meaning the men, “might tolerate your abhorrent bad manners toward Mort, but I will not.”

  Gaby eyed her militant stance. The robe detracted somewhat from its effectiveness. “Odd. What Luther did to me was real relaxing. Almost put me to sleep.” She cocked one brow up. “Mort must not be doing it right for you to be so high-strung.”

  Startling Mort, Ann rounded the table. For a moment there, Gaby thought the woman would attack her.

  Instead, Ann stopped beside her and glared. “Listen up, little girl.”

  Gaby straightened in her seat. “Little girl?”

  “Your obnoxious behavior doesn’t fool anyone, least of all me.”

  She dared? Rising to her feet, Gaby growled again, “Little girl?”

  “You can be as eccentric as you like, but if you behave like a child, then that’s exactly how you’ll be treated.”

  Gaby narrowed her eyes. “You must be hiding a pair of brass balls somewhere under that fluffy robe.”

  “Not impressed, Gaby,” Ann shot back. “In my line of work, I’ve seen it all, and lady, you’re not the worst, not by a long shot.”

  Cocking out a hip and folding her arms, Gaby grunted in disdain. “Well, that just goes to show that someone’s not paying attention.”

  Exasperated, Ann threw up her hands. “I get it that you lack social skills, lady. But that is not an excuse for your cruelty.”

  Cruelty? That gave Gaby pause. “When have I been cruel?”

  Though Ann was much shorter, she held herself like a woman who knew how to do combat. Police training? Luther could tell her that it’d do her no good against Gaby.

  Not that Gaby had any intention of hurting her. Ann was what people called “petite.” She’d feel like a fool battling with a petite little fluff like Ann.