Hoping she had made a difference, Gaby nodded.
Waiting until after the girl had run off, Gaby dropped to one knee by the man.
Mort panicked again. "What are you doing?"
"Well I'm not going to stick him again, if that's what you're thinking. What would be the point?" She set her knife to the side. "I'm seeing if he has a cell phone."
"But… why?"
"So we can get him some help." She found a phone in his loose, drooping pants pocket, but had to wipe the blood away before she could see the numbers. "Like you said, Mort. I don't need his death on my hands. Not if I can help it."
Holding the phone away from her face, Gaby called 911 and calmly gave the address and situation.
"The cops'll get you, bitch," the man muttered in faint aggression. He barely kept himself sitting upright and kept swaying as if ready to topple. One arm hung useless at his side, his hand in his lap over his crotch, and with the opposite hand he tried to stem the sluggish flow of blood from his shoulder.
"Shut up, stupid. You're almost dead, and the cops would be more interested in arresting you than me." She withdrew his wallet and read his name, his address. She leaned down and held the open wallet in front of his face. "Besides, I know you now, who you are and where you live. If you rat me out, or even try to rat me out, you'll regret it. I can promise you that."
New fear smothered his hostility and rendered him mute.
Attention darting this way and that, Mort wrung his hands over Gaby until she'd again wiped the phone—this time to remove her prints—and shoved it back in the man's pocket.
"All right, Mort." Against the man's hair, she wiped the blood from her knife and returned it to its sheath. "Let's go."
Mort hurried after her. "You're okay now?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Better than fine." Damn it, she felt good. Strong. Altruistic. She'd stopped a crime and, maybe, hadn't killed anyone. Until an ambulance reached that clown, she wouldn't place any bets, though. Not that she'd waste pity or regret on any man who'd rape a woman in any way.
Her stride longer and more sure, she headed for the apartment building. "Mort?"
He hustled along beside her, breathing fast from exertion. "Yeah?"
"I get the overall picture, but specifically, what was he doing to her?"
Mort stumbled over his own feet and then had to rush to catch back up with her. "You're kidding."
"No. I mean, I get that it was sexual. But I'm not sure I understand. Spell it out for me, okay?"
"Oh God." He shook his head hard. "Gaby, please, don't ask me stuff like that."
She slanted him a glance. He looked… ill. More so than usual. "Why not?"
"Because I can't answer you, that's why!"
His raised voice was enough to alert the National Guard. "There's no reason to get hysterical about it."
"Hysterical? Of course I'm hysterical! You've got the blood of three people on you. I can hear the sirens of at least two different police cars. We left a man half dead back there." He put both hands in his hair. "I've got good reason to be hysterical."
"Shhh. Calm down, Mort. I'll clean up and it'll all be okay."
"Clean up? Have you looked at yourself?" He took his hands out of his hair so he could wring them together. "You're a mess."
"Peroxide gets blood out, and even if it doesn't, we had animal blood in the stairs today. Anyone will believe it's from that."
"Not if they do all that fancy forensics stuff—"
Dolt. Not that she could blame him for being unfamiliar with police priorities. "The guy in the alley will say he was jumped, and that he doesn't know who did it."
"You're sure?"
"What else can he say? That he was raping a minor and someone defended her?" Gaby snorted. "But even if he didn't, it won't matter. Contrary to popular fiction, the cops don't pull out the expensive tests tor every crime going. Not unless they have a murder victim, and reasonable suspicion on someone, and a lot of other stuff. And before you tell me they'll have a murder victim, let's wait to borrow trouble, okay? Those creatures in the alley might be written off as lunatics or something, and that other jerk might live."
"Three bodies. Three. Oh God." He appeared ready to cry. "We have to hurry."
His attitude nettled. That last thing they did… well, that was right and proper, what any good citizen should do.
Wasn't it?
And just what the hell did she know about good citizens, being a freak and all?
Sullen now, thanks to Mort, Gaby said, "I told you not to get involved."
"It's too late for that, so save it."
A command from Mort?
For her?
Miffed, Gaby stopped at the apartment entrance and leveled a mean look on Mort. He stared back, defiant and nervous, and oddly protective.
Damn it, for such a weaselly little creep, he really got to her sometimes. "All right, Mort. Make yourself useful. Go get me a towel. I'll head straight to the basement and throw my stuff in the laundry. Bring any peroxide you might have. I'll wash up down there, then go upstairs to dress again."
With something constructive to do, Mort motivated. "Right. Got it. Let's go."
To see Mort like this, almost as a sidekick, as a… friend, left her soft inside. He could be a pain in the ass, but right now, she was glad she had him.
Luther, on the other hand… well, she didn't know what to think about Luther.
Was he, like Mort, an ally, a person she could trust, maybe even confide in?
Or would Detective Luther Cross be the man who finally brought her to an end?
Chapter Eleven
Luther lay in the hospital bed, his head pounding, his eyes red, and his thoughts churning.
The past few hours were there, but they lacked clarity. It was after he'd left Gaby at the apartment with Mort that things got cloudy. He remembered heading to the butcher's. Then he'd heard a sound, had surely investigated. He recalled a deformed person, so pathetic and sad that shame smothered him whenever he recalled his reaction to… it.
For the life of him, he still couldn't say if the person had been female or male.
In the deepest recesses of his mind, another vague memory stirred.
Gaby's voice.
And Mort's.
But he couldn't get a grasp on it, and when he tried to explain his vague perceptions of violence and retribution, the other detectives looked at him like he was nuts. Or delirious. Or suffering something worse than a concussion.
Where the hell were the docs? He wanted to go home.
He wanted to check on Gaby. To ask her… what? If she'd been nearby when a grossly disfigured asexual being attacked him, and then disappeared?
Luther could easily imagine her reaction to that.
As if he'd summoned her, she stuck her head around the curtain. Their gazes met, his shocked at her appearance, hers challenging, and then she came on around, full of bravado and that habitual mordancy.
"Just as I figured. You're lying in here faking it, soaking up all the attention, huh?"
"Do you see anyone doting on me?"
Gaby didn't smile. No, never that. But she shrugged and dropped her skinny ass onto the side of his bed. "You probably chased everyone off with your piss-into-the-wind attitude."
Damn, it was good to see her, to know she was okay and as ornery as ever. She smelled fresh, as if she'd just showered. Her cheeks were rosy, her dark hair glossy and sleek. "Is it necessary for me to point out that your insult is somewhat like the pot calling the kettle black?"
"Maybe." She looked him over, her gaze lingering on the bandage around his head until her brows pinched together. "Don't you think you should get back out there on the streets and figure out who waylaid you?"
Suspicion blunted his pleasure at seeing her, but he kept his tone even with mere curiosity. "What makes you think anyone waylaid me?"