His pale blue eyes all but absorbed her. "You know breakfast is the most important meal of the day."

She'd never thought in terms of meals because her life had never been routine. She slept when she could. Ate when she remembered. Fought when called upon. Destroyed as instructed.

And when time allowed, she drew and narrated her graphic novels.

The comics had gained instant popularity with the underground community. Gaby kept them out of the hands of reputable publishers. They were too gory, too bloody.

And too damn real.

The last thing she needed was someone putting two and two together, and equaling her involvement.

Saying nothing, Gaby allowed Morty to lead her into his kitchen. At the chipped Formica table, she turned a chair around and straddled it. Watching Morty dish up eggs and sizzling sausage, she took another long draw of the coffee. God the food smelled good.

Like a kitchen should.

Wishing she remembered how to smile, Gaby studied Mort's stringy brown hair, the amateur tattoo on his scrawny white shoulder, the paunch that protruded over the waistband of his pants. At twenty-six, a few years older than her, Morty should have been out dating and having the time of his life.

Instead, he lived in his stupid comics, believing in super heroes and the theory that good could triumph over evil.

No one ever triumphed over evil because evil never ended. It was inestimable, coming and going with no predictability, a relentless, driving influence with forces too intimidating to conceive or even consider.

Disgusted with herself, Gaby set the mug aside and crossed her arms over the chair back. "How come you don't date, Mort?"

With his aura shifting and undulating, he glanced up and away. His unshaven chin, patchy in the way of a sixteen year old, quivered. "No time. Besides, most girls are bitches."

Or stupid. Or naïve. Just like most men.

"So?" Gaby tracked Mort's progress across the floor while he set the table and brought out condiments. Not one for tact, she said, "You could clean up. Get rid of the baggy clothes and nappy hair and -"

"Dig in." He dropped into his own seat and scooped up a large bite of egg. "I threw in some special seasonings. See what you think."

At his expectant look, Gaby turned in her chair, ate several bites, and shrugged. "It's edible."

She'd almost finished the meal when Mort visibly worked up his nerve. "You never date, either."

"No." She spent all her time surviving.

Hesitation throbbed in the air before he asked, "Why?"

"It'd be pointless for me to date."

His expression lifted. "Really? Why?"

Swallowing down the last bite, Gaby shoved back the plate. "I'm... A-sexual. Uninterested and uninteresting and I sure as hell don't have time for stupid questions today." Or any other day. She pushed her chair away from the table and stood.

"Where are you rushing off to?"

Because he'd never before asked, Gaby stalled. Good God, had turning twenty-one made some miraculous change in her demeanor, somehow led him to believe he could grill her?

Encouraging more than a quick meal could be disastrous - for him. He wouldn't understand. Hell, he wouldn't even believe her. Best to set him straight right off, though she hated to hurt him. He'd had enough hurt in his miserable little life.

Taking one big step, Gaby towered over Mort, holding him in her unflinching gaze until he shifted in discomfort and a touch of fear, pressed back in his chair as if it might absorb him. "Mind your own business, Mort."

Embarrassment and worry flushed his face. Awkwardly, cautiously, he eased his chair from the table and rose to his feet. "I don't mean to pry."

The colors encircling him faded to soft pink and lilac, indicating his compassion... for her?

Fuck that.

Gaby turned and strode away. She didn't need the likes of Mort Vance. She was Gabrielle Cody, God's tool on earth, the hammer that smashed savage monsters without regret, without -

Mort rushed after her. "Gabrielle, I'm sorry. Please. Please, don't go mad."

God, he was so fucking wretched. So alone and weird, and... sad. Some lost kernel of sympathy wormed its way into Gaby's cold, blackened heart. At the apartment door, she turned. "I told you from jump that I don't like questions."

His hands twisted together. "I just... sometimes I worry about you."

Oh-hell-no. Her feral growl had him backing up a step. "Tell me that's a joke."

He swallowed. "I don't want to see you hurt."

Then he should damn well keep his eyes closed around her because even now the pain boiled inside her, leaving her flesh raw, her insides tortured.

"Fine." She leaned toward him and color leeched from his face. "Then quit grilling me, because your nosiness is a real pain in my ass."

He jerked back as if slapped, and Gaby went out without another word. Just as she stepped outside, she heard his door close with a near silent click.

Had she hurt his feelings?

For a single moment, a niggling of guilt squirmed through her. But she had serious work to do with no time for distractions. Forcing Mort from her mind, she went down the three painted concrete steps to the street.

The moment her feet made contact with the blacktop, heat shimmered up her body to cling to her skin without penetrating. Temperatures, both sweltering and frosty, affected her differently than they did normal people. When she had a job to do, she remained impervious.

Cold didn't make her shiver.

Heat didn't deplete her strength.

Her entire being focused on what had to be done, with no room left to consider mundane attributes like the weather.

Already sinking into the zone, Gaby slipped on reflective sunglasses and scanned the area, seeking out the trigger. She wouldn't need her car today. How she knew that, she couldn't explain. She just knew it'd be better not to have it. The old white and rust Ford Falcon wasn't that reliable anyway, whereas her feet had seldom let her down.