For You

  She didn’t hesitate. She was down the hall double time. Feb took her clothes to the bathroom and he changed in the bedroom. He was in the living room, had his leather jacket on and his keys in his hand by the time she hit the room.

  They went out to his GMC, climbed in and he drove them to her apartment.

  He’d never been to her place but he knew where it was. She lived in an older complex, well-kept, tidy, rent was high, it was well-lit, there was good parking. The renters were young adults who had decent jobs who were starting out or old folks who moved there because their houses had gotten too much to take care of and they stayed there until they went into assisted living.

  Feb had a ground floor door, pointed to the parking, exposed to the well-maintained grassy area in front, visible to the street and other apartments. There were some tall, full trees by the parking lot, planted smart to throw shade on the cars in summer, well-clipped shrubs hugged close to the building.

  Someone walked up to her door, no way to hide.

  Her hand shook as she tried to insert the key. Colt pulled the ring from her hand and let them in.

  She hit a light and he was surprised to see it was a studio, not much space and it wasn’t cozy. No television set, a stereo, big bed, yoga mat rolled up and leaning against a wall, framed photos all around but nothing else to decorate it.

  She didn’t spend time there, he realized, she was almost always at the bar. If not she was at Meems’s or with Jessie. She didn’t even have a couch, just a big, overstuffed armchair, ottoman in front of it with a table and standing lamp at its side, where she probably wrote in her journals and read.

  She walked across the room and opened a door, pulling a string and the light went on. The studio was tidy, her closet was as well. A walk-in with shelves, clothes hung in an orderly way, organized carefully, jeans and pants in a section, shirts color coordinated, sweaters neatly folded and stacked on the shelves, shoes and boots arranged carefully.

  She reached high, getting on her toes, and pulled down a box. She barely moved out of the closet before she dropped to her knees, the box in front of her and she stared inside.

  Colt walked to her and looked down to see a bunch of mismatched books in a jumble in the box. Her head tipped back and he could see the tears glittering at the bottoms of her eyes.

  “I was in a hurry, needed to get somewhere, I just threw the one that fell up into the box, thinking I’d go back and sort it and I forgot,” she whispered. “I didn’t even look.”

  He knew what she was saying. “How many are gone?”

  She looked back into the box. “I keep them tidy. Don’t know why, but I keep them tidy.”

  He crouched beside her and his hand went back to her neck.

  “February, how many are gone?”

  She shook her head, not looking at him.

  “Feb.”

  She finally looked at him.

  “I don’t know, a lot.”

  Colt looked away and hissed, “Fuck!”

  He moved his hand to her upper arm and pulled her up as he straightened. Then he put his hand right back to her neck, keeping her close, his fingers pressing deep, indicating she was not to move away as he yanked out his phone and called Sully.

  “’Lo. Colt?” Sully said in his ear, Colt had woke him.

  “I need you to get a team to Feb’s place. Apartment number three, complex on Brown.”

  “Shit,” Sully muttered, being a cop a long time the sleep was already gone from his voice on that word. “What?”

  “Guy’s been here. Took her journals.”

  Sully was quiet a moment then he said, “Well that explains that.”

  “Call the Feds, get a team here.”

  “Done.”

  Colt flipped his phone shut and shoved it in his back pocket. Feb’s neck was trembling under his hand.

  “Honey.”

  She shook her head, kept shaking it, her body trembling but she held it loose, her hands dangling at her sides. She was lost, vulnerable, she’d been violated and she didn’t know what to do with that knowledge.

  He pulled her closer and her hands automatically came to his stomach. “Feb.”

  She tipped her head back. “He’s been in my house.”

  “I know, baby.”

  “He’s read my journals.”

  “Keep it together for me.”

  “He knows everything about me.”

  “Feb, keep it together.”

  She shook her head.

  Then she closed her eyes tight and a tear slid out the corner of her left eye to trace wetness for an inch before it dropped off her cheekbone.

  When she opened her eyes she said, “Wilson was here. Wilson’s friendly. He probably touched my cat.”

  “Feb, you gotta keep it together.”

  Her hands curled into his shirt and she sucked in breath.

  “I wanna run, Colt,” she whispered, now her voice was trembling.

  “I know you do.”

  “I’m freaking scared.”

  “I know, baby.”

  “He was here,” she whispered and then fell forward, planting her face in his chest and her fearful shaking turned to tearful shaking and Colt slid his arms around her.

  Day fucking five, five fucking crying jags.

  He wanted to kill this fucking guy.

  “We need to get you out of here. I’m gonna take you back home,” he told her.

  She nodded, her face sliding against his chest and he wondered if she could breathe, she had it so tight against him.

  He drew her away, led her out, secured the apartment and took her to his car.

  They were almost home when she said, “I should have said something earlier. I feel like an idiot. I should have –”

  “Don’t do that, Feb.”

  She lapsed into silence.

  Colt let her into his house and went right back out to the RV. He didn’t fuck around but pounded on the door.

  Jack, shirtless and wearing jeans, hair wild, eyes wilder, threw it open.

  “You got your gun?” Colt asked.

  He watched Jack’s eyes slice to the house; he looked back at Colt, swallowed and nodded.

  “Get it. Killer’s been in her house, not lately, weeks ago. Team’s headin’ there now. I wanna be there while they work. You need to be inside with Feb.”

  Jack didn’t say a word, disappeared, came back wearing boots, a t-shirt and he had his snub-nosed revolver in his hand.

  When they hit the living room, Feb was on the couch, sitting on his blanket, her heels in the seat, her cat curled in her arms, she was staring, eyes vacant, at the wall.

  Colt wanted to move to Feb but he turned to Jack.

  “Get some of Doc’s pills in her. Get her ass to bed. But you don’t sleep.”

  Jack’s eyes were glued to his daughter but he nodded.

  Colt looked at Feb again to see her eyes were on him.

  Again he wanted to move to her but instead he walked out the door.

  He heard it lock before he was three steps into the yard.

  * * * * *

  “Sully!” Chris called and Colt, standing on Feb’s front path with Sully, turned to see Chris in the doorway of Feb’s apartment.

  Sully hadn’t fucked around and the boys weren’t either, not with this case, not with it being about Feb. It looked like Sully had activated the entire task force that had been pulled together from all the departments in the county to work this case. There were enough of them to make enough noise that lights had come on. They were on show, folks watching from windows, some of them wrapped tight in robes with slippers on their feet coming out to watch openly.

  Word was going to get out, people would speculate, their control over information was slipping. It would evaporate when, come dawn, they canvassed.

  Both Sully and Colt walked to Chris.

  Chris’s eyes were on Sully, his face grim then he looked at Colt. “All right, Colt. We found somethin’ and you gotta keep your shit t
ogether, man.”

  That cold that hadn’t left his chest started biting.

  “You don’t… fuck, Sully,” Chris said, “should he even be here?”

  “What’d you find?” Colt asked.

  Chris didn’t answer.

  “He’ll be all right,” Sully assured Chris.

  Chris shot Colt a look and stepped out of the doorframe. Sully and Colt entered. The boys were about their business, six of them. They looked up and then looked away.

  On Feb’s bed which had been tossed, the mattress askew, there were three plastic bags, all three had white handkerchiefs in them, balled, looking crusty.

  Cum rags.

  Colt bit his lip and his hands curled into fists.

  “Found them tucked between the headboard and box springs,” Chris said. “She wouldn’t find them even if she was changing the sheets.”

  Christ. Feb slept in a bed with some sick fuck’s ejaculate tucked close.

  “This is good, Colt,” Sully said hurriedly, “DNA. We got DNA.”

  Colt stared at the bags.

  He probably kneeled on the bed jacking off, thinking of her, looking at that framed photo of her on her bedside table, a photo of her in profile, her face filled with laughter, both Palmer and Tuesday caught in mid-wiggle in her arms. The kids were younger than now, maybe four and six. They looked like they were having a tickling fight.

  “Colt, man, come back into the room. This is good.”

  “He jacked off on her bed.”

  “He’s finally fucked up.”

  Colt looked at Sully. “You think that makes me feel better? Or maybe you think that’ll make Feb feel better?”

  “We’re closer, you lose it, do somethin’ stupid –”

  That pissed him off and Colt felt his body get tight. “I’m not gonna do somethin’ stupid, Sully. Fuck,” Sully studied him and then nodded, Colt looked to Marty who was, in the small space, giving Colt a wide berth and turned to Chris. “You have a word with Marty, this doesn’t get out.”

  “I know Marty fucked up tonight, man, but Lore’ll get over it and the town will understand,” Chris said.

  “You have a word with Marty,” Colt repeated. “I could report him and I should, what he did tonight. This leaks I’ll have his fuckin’ badge.”

  “Colt –”

  Colt leaned in. “Have a fuckin’ word.”

  Chris put his hands up. “I’ll have a word.”

  Colt turned and walked out the door. Sully followed him. They stopped in the grass at the front of Feb’s place.

  “You’re not doin’ anything here but makin’ yourself angry. Get home to Feb,” Sully said.

  Get home to Feb.

  At that moment Colt didn’t think anything would make him feel better, except February’s hand at his neck but, this scenario, it wasn’t her job to comfort him.

  Those words made him feel better. He didn’t spare a second to think about why they did, not after all this time, all that had happened. He just knew in his bones they did.

  Colt nodded to his partner, walked to his truck with his eyes to the ground, got in and went home to Feb.

  * * * * *

  Colt entered his house and saw Feb asleep on the couch under his blanket, Wilson curled at her feet, Jack sitting at the stool she’d been at earlier that night, his revolver on the bar in front of him, his hair wilder than before but not wilder than his eyes.

  Colt walked to him, got close and said low, “I want you and Jackie in here tomorrow.”

  Jack kept his face expressionless and nodded.

  “Make yourselves at home, you’re gonna be here until this is over. Tell Jackie she has free reign what she wants to do with the shit in that bedroom.”

  “She’ll be ecstatic,” Jack said.

  She would. Jackie was as tidy as Colt’d learned her daughter was tonight. Never happier than when she cleaning except when she was throwing shit out, usually Jack’s shit which usually drove Jack up the wall. He was a hoarder.

  Jack grabbed his revolver, got up, walked to the side door and Colt followed.

  Jack turned at the door. “They find anything?”

  “They’re still lookin’.”

  “They find anything?” Jack repeated, needing something to hang onto before he got in bed beside his wife and put his head on a pillow.

  Colt looked at him then said, “Caught a break. We got DNA.”

  “How’s that?”

  Colt remained silent.

  “He leave hairs or somethin’?”

  “Just leave it at that, Jack.”

  Jack stared a moment then surmised, “I don’t wanna know.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Which means I know.”

  Colt suspected he did.

  Jack’s eyes shifted to his daughter, his head lifting like a turtle, the muscles in his neck standing out before he looked back to Colt. “You keep her safe, you hear?”

  Colt nodded, Jack opened the door and Colt stood in the frame watching until Jack disappeared in the RV and then watching longer.

  Finally he shut and locked the door. Then he went through the entire house, every room, even the second bedroom, and checked doors and windows, making sure they were secure, blinds closed, Feb and him shut in tight.

  As he did this his mind scanned the quiet, night streets he’d just driven through.

  He’d taken his time getting home, cruising the blocks, round and round, looking for a silver Audi which Denny Lowe drove. This wasn’t the neighborhood for Audis, folks around here bought American made and he didn’t find one. Only when dawn was kissing the horizon and he was far enough out that it’d be tough to get to Colt’s on foot, Colt drove home.

  When the house was secure, he went to his bedroom and pulled back the covers. She’d made the bed. He didn’t bother except yesterday when he’d made it up for her.

  Then he went to the couch and picked up Feb. She was out, dead weight, didn’t even lift her arms to hold on. He carried her to his bed and set her in it. She rolled to her belly, lifted a leg and shoved her hand under her cheek on the pillow. Colt pulled the covers up to her shoulder.

  Wilson jumped up and resumed his position at her feet, not picky about where he got his shuteye, just as long as Feb was there.

  Colt found he was growing fond of that cat.

  Colt took off his clothes, pulled on his shorts, unholstered his gun and put it and his phone by the bed and even knowing there would be holy hell to pay in the morning, he crawled in beside her. He wasn’t going to be far, not even as far as the couch.

  Why he could handle a man travelling the country and hacking up people as some fanatical show of affection for Feb and he couldn’t handle that same man breaking into her house, jacking off and leaving mementos, he didn’t know. He didn’t dwell. She wasn’t going to be far away from him that night.

  Once he’d moved in with Jack and Jackie, Colt used to be a heavy sleeper. But after Feb broke it off with him, he started moving in his sleep. He’d had a queen with Melanie and he was always waking her, never enough room. She said she liked it when he woke her. She tried to cuddle which Colt didn’t like much considering his body was active when it was unconscious. He’d bought the king after she left, plenty of room.

  Now with Feb so far away, he felt the bed was way too damn big.

  He shifted into the middle and pulled her close not worried he’d wake her with his movements; he knew he’d get no sleep.

  Her cat started purring for some ungodly reason. It was loud. Now Colt knew how Wilson got his nickname.

  He listened to Wilson’s purrs and Feb’s deep breathing and as the light filtered strong around the blinds, he fell asleep.

  Fifteen minutes later, his phone rang and he woke up.

  Chapter Six

  Marie

  “Yeah?” I heard and my eyes blinked open.

  When they did I could swear I saw the line of Colt’s back, sloped because he was up on a forearm the covers down to his
waist. He had his phone to his ear.

  I stared as he said, “Right, be there as soon as I can. Maybe an hour.”

  He flipped the phone shut and threw it on the nightstand.

  Groggy, still partly asleep and fighting it, I got up on a forearm too.

  “What are you doin’ here?” I asked, though I kind of wondered what I was doing there too. I’d fallen asleep on the couch even though Dad tried to get me to go to bed. But I was spooked and regardless of the fact I was old enough to take care of myself and had been doing so with questionable success for a long time, I still didn’t want to be far from my Dad.

  Colt turned to me and I noticed he looked wiped, his eyes shadowed and tired. I noticed this but I had bigger things on my fuzzy mind.

  “Go back to sleep, baby,” he said softly.

  “What are you doin’ here?” I asked again.

  Wilson, realizing we were awake, decided it was breakfast time and we should be informed of that. He started up the bed toward me meowing.

  “Feb, go back to sleep. I’ll get Jack to come in.”

  Wilson made it to me and head butted my hand. I automatically started giving him scratches and the meowing mixed with loud purring.

  But my mind was still on Colt who was still in bed with me.

  “What are you doin’ in this bed?”

  He gave me a look before he threw the covers back and got out.

  “I got work,” he said, not answering my question. “I’ll feed the cat.”

  He started to the door but I threw the covers back too and got quickly to my feet.

  “You can’t crawl into bed with me,” I informed him.

  He turned in the door. “February, we’re not fightin’ about this, not only do I not have the time, I also don’t have the energy or the inclination.”

  I was a dog with a bone. “You carried me to bed and got in it with me!”

  My voice was rising. Colt ignored it and walked out the door.

  Wilson, feeling this was a healthy indication he’d be getting breakfast soon, jumped off the bed I left him in and pranced out after him.

  For my part, I stomped.

  “Colt!” I snapped when I hit the hall.

  He didn’t reply.

  By the time I hit the kitchen he was reaching into the dish drainer to get the kitty bowl I’d washed last night.