The Acceptance

by L. L. Foster

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.”

  Her eyes flared comically. In a whisper, she said, “You dick.”

  Her insults, on occasion, bordered on amusing. “You’re the one causing a scene, not me.”

  On a heartfelt groan, she melted back into her seat. Face in her hands, she said, “I’m going to strangle you for this.”

  “How about you just relax and enjoy the food instead. You never eat enough.”

  Her fingers opened so she could peek at him. “You saying I’m too skinny?”

  “Whatever you are, I like it.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “It’s true. I know you’re . . . unschooled in some things, but you’re smart all the same. You have to have figured it out by now that I have a very serious thing for you.”

  “A thing?”

  Cavalier, Luther smiled at her. “Yeah. I’ve never had it before, so I can’t really pinpoint what it is. But I want you. I like being with you. And even though I can’t always understand you, I very much admire you.”

  Gaby could trade insults with ease, but a compliment always made her defensive.

  “Poor Luther,” she remarked with a good dose of sympathetic scorn. “I keep telling you—that makes you as much a freak as I am.”

  “Maybe.” Luther reached over and trailed his fingertips up and down her arm. “For a soft woman, you sure do pack a lot of bravery.”

  She snorted—but didn’t pull away.

  “Because I care, you scared me half to death today. But at the same time, I was so proud of you.”

  She flinched as if insulted. “Proud?”

  “Shocking, huh?” Had no one ever been proud of her? Probably not. Gaby hadn’t ingratiated herself to many people. According to her tales of Father Mullond, the priest had cared for her, but he’d been a strict guide, not a doting friend given to praise. “You don’t even realize how heroic you are, do you, Gaby?”

  “Oh gawd. I’ve already spewed food on you. Do you want to make me puke, too?”

  “What you did was amazing. Very brave.” Luther began tickling her forearm again. “Maybe a little foolhardy, too, but you kept kids alive, Gaby. Did you see how those little faces looked at you?”

  Uneasiness rounded her usually proud shoulders. “They’re just dumb, desperate kids who don’t know any better.”

  “They watched you with starstruck awe. You swept in and did what their own parents seldom do—you put their well-being first.”

  “Go ahead, break out the violins, why don’t you?”

  Each caustic word hid a hurt so deep, Luther felt her pain. “If I had a violin nearby, I’d give it a try.”

  She grunted. “Fine, but then don’t blame me if you en
d up with vomit on you.”

  Slipping his fingers around her wrist, and then down to twine with her own fingers, Luther held her hand. “You were scared, weren’t you?”

  “Well, duh. If that bomb had exploded, it would have blown off my moneymaker. That’d scare anyone.”

  Luther sputtered over that descriptive prediction. “Your moneymaker?”

  She shrugged. “That’s what Bliss calls it. The other hookers call it a hoo-haw, or a—”

  “I know what they call it.” Trying to stifle a laugh, Luther carried her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “I’m glad you’re in one piece, moneymaker and all.”

  “Well, yeah, me, too.”

  “If you’re not going to eat, then we need to clear the air.”

  “We could do that better outside.”

  Luther shook his head. “Here is fine.” She could more easily avoid him outside. “Explain to me how I interfere with your perception of things.”

  To his surprise, she plunked her head down on the table and locked her hands behind her neck. So much visible struggle unnerved him. Whatever Gaby’s issues, she believed them, which meant he had to give them credence, too.

  After a moment, she propped her chin on her crossed arms. “Before I bother—do you believe me that I know when stuff is about to happen?”

  “I’ve seen it, so yes.” Soon as he got a chance, he’d do some research on extrasensory perception. As a cop, believing in such far-fetched things went against the grain. He liked proof that he could touch, motives he could dissect.

  But in an effort to understand Gaby . . . he’d bite the bullet and try a little faith.

  Wary, she squirmed in her seat, but it wasn’t in Gaby’s nature to be demure—in anything. “You’ll have to accept that when I feel the evil, it hurts me.”

  He’d seen the pain contorting her, and the fact that she’d finally explain, encouraged him. “Hurts you how?”

  “I can’t describe it really. It’s an awful twisting agony that pervades me. Everywhere.”

  “The way your features . . . alter . . .”

  “Yeah, that’s a new one for me. Until you told me, I didn’t know I looked different. Can’t say I’m happy about that either. I thought it was only the—” Her gaze clapped on his, and she swallowed the rest of her words.

  “What?”

  “Never mind.”

  Luther rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. “You thought it was only . . . someone else who changed?” She frowned at him, but didn’t acknowledge his guess one way or the other. “You may as well fess up, because I’m not letting it go.”

  “Nosy bastard.”

  “I’m a detective,” he told her, losing some of his calm. “I’m supposed to be nosy.”

  She struggled with herself, and it fascinated Luther to watch her, to see her weighing the consequences of trusting him.

  She looked at him again, and he saw the expectation in her eyes. She wanted him to mock her, because that would free her.

  “I figured it was only the evil that looked different.”

  Around Gaby, he had to choose his words with care. Playing along seemed his safest bet to keep her talking. “For me, evil people don’t look any different. That’s the problem. If they did, solving murders would be a piece of cake.”

  “You’re not me.”

  Her scorn nudged him that much closer to anger. “No, I’m not.”

  She watched for signs of ridicule, but Luther held himself phlegmatic.

  Her gaze sharpened. “For me, the truly immoral people look different.”

  A possibility struck Luther, and with the thought that he might finally catch on to her, he asked, “Their auras?”

  Her fingers toyed with the fork. “That’s part of it.”

  “What else?”

  She withdrew. He saw it, felt it.

  “Look, the important part of all this is that when you’re around, I don’t feel the pain as sharply as I should. Your presence somehow . . . weakens it.”

  Honesty seemed his only recourse. “I’m glad.” Anything that made her more . . . normal, suited him just fine.

  “You don’t get it, do you?” Petulant in her need for him to understand, she leaned closer again. “The pain is what helps me to focus. It’s what guides me.”

  “Into burning buildings and playgrounds ready to explode.”

  “Yes. Without it, I can’t . . .”

  “Can’t what? Play hero?”

  Her fist struck the table. “Damn you, I am not playing!”

  Mired in conflicting reactions, Luther said nothing.

  Gaby didn’t like that. Her lip curled. “What are you thinking now, or do I even need to ask?”

  “You won’t run away from me?”

  Her back stiffened, and she braced herself. For more hurt? It’s what she always expected.

  “I don’t run from anyone.”

  True enough. She didn’t even run from a bomb. “I figure you’re either certifiably nuts . . .” Needing the touch of her warmth, the assurance she was real, Luther reached for her hand. “. . . or you’re a truly gifted phenomenon.”

  She pried her hand free with disgust. “More like a cursed delegate, but hey, whatever. Are we done here?”

  “No.” Musing over her choice of words brought Luther to a new consideration. “How long have you had this . . . affliction?”

  “Since birth, far as I know.”

  Which could explain a lot of her background. “That’s why it was so difficult for you to fit into the foster homes?”

  “Part of the reason, yeah. But I’m a natural loner, anyway. Cute little family circles have never much appealed to me.”

  He didn’t believe that for a minute.

  In the oddest ways, Gaby created a family unit everywhere she went. First with Mort, and now with a pack of lonely, desperate hookers.

  Trying to be subtle, Luther moved her plate closer to her. She took the hint and started eating again.

  While she dug into her food, he mused aloud. “At Mort’s, with me standing right behind you, you sensed the fire, and that someone was trapped.”

  “Yeah.” She thought about that. “I probably would have known sooner without you there.”

  Humoring her wouldn’t hurt anything. For now. “But you still knew. So my presence doesn’t completely obliterate whatever . . . aptitude you have.”

  “No, not completely.” She shook her head. “But I can’t take that chance. I need to know that Bliss is safe.”

  “And you can’t trust me on that?”

  “What do you have to do with it?”

  The insult hit home, but taking Gaby’s unique lack of social skills into account, he tamped down on his annoyance. “I have officers keeping watch over her, and Ann is there more often than not. She knows what she’s doing.”

  “Maybe.” After finishing off her burger, Gaby started on her fries. “But when it comes down to it, I trust me more than the two of you put together.”

  Damn it. A man could only take so many insulting barbs before losing his temper. “All right, Einstein. Since you’ve got this all figured out, what do we do next? How do we catch the psychopath?”

  “I have a plan.”

  Luther’s blood ran cold. “What plan?”

  “Can’t tell you, cop, sorry.” She waved a French fry at him. “Even with all this soul-baring, I figure it’d be a bad idea to include you. For sure you’d have a conniption, and the truth is, I’m not going to change my mind about it, so . . .” She held up both hands. “Why hassle over it?”

  Putting both elbows on the table, Luther closed the space between them. Voice low, he issued a warning. “You will tell me your plans, Gabrielle Cody, right now, or so help me I’ll—”

  “What? Arrest me?” Unconcerned, she chomped down another fry.

  “Damn right. If that’s what it takes to know you’re safe, then that’s what I’ll do.”

  Now that Luther had lost his cool, her appeti
te had returned with a vengeance.

  “Fine. Go ahead. It’ll fuck me over real good, but if you’re such a control freak that you don’t mind doing that to me, then I guess I’ll know where I really stand with you— once and for all.”

  Damn her, she’d turned the tables on him. “How will it fuck you over?”

  “Oh, come on, Luther. You know I’m wallowing in anonymity. The very last thing I need is to be in the system.”

  One of his worst suspicions, laid on the table. “Are you wanted by the law?”

  “Not yet, no.” Luther started to relax, when she added, “No one knows who I am, so how could anyone pin anything on me?”

  God Almighty, she made him insane. “Are you saying that you—”

  “I’m saying if you get me fingerprinted, I’ll skip out of here the second I can. New name, new identity, the whole shebang. It’s the truth I’d miss you something awful, but . . .” Gaby shrugged. “I guess that’s the price I’d have to pay.”

  She’d miss him? Somehow he had his doubts. “Would you?”

  “Disappear? In a heartbeat.”

  He shook his head. “No, I meant would you really miss me?”

  “Ah, what is it, cop? You need a little stroke to the old ego?” Plate now clean, Gaby shoved it away and mirrored his position with her elbows on the table. “Okay, if you want the truth—”

  “Always.”

  “Fine. I think about you every five minutes.” Her gaze went to his mouth; her voice lowered. “Sometimes I dream about you, too. And after what you did with your fingers . . .” Her eyes closed on a sigh. “Yeah, I’d miss you.”

  Before Luther could relish that admission, she added, “But that wouldn’t stop me from disappearing if you forced me to.”

  Because he knew Gaby, he believed her. To buy himself time to think, Luther asked her, “Dessert?”

  “No thanks.” The offer made her shudder. “I ate the meal for you, but I don’t want to stay here any longer than necessary.”

  She’d eaten for him? Giving up, Luther signaled the waiter for the check. Eventually, he’d accustom Gaby to some of life’s little pleasures. For now, he could accommodate her idiosyncrasies.

  As he tossed several bills onto the table, Gaby raised a brow in question.

  “When I dine out,” Luther told her, “I always leave a nice tip. I believe in good karma. You know, what goes around comes around. An angel’s smile, and all that.”