For You

  “Drive safe,” Colt finished and walked to his truck.

  He opened the passenger side door then the glove compartment and found some plastic gloves. He closed the door, beeped the locks and snapped the gloves on while he walked back up to the house.

  * * * * *

  Colt was sitting at his desk, the Station mostly quiet and he was scanning the notes he’d written on a pad. He’d been writing and scanning them twenty minutes and nothing added up so he stopped scanning.

  He picked up the phone and dialed the number he’d looked up half an hour ago.

  It was late but Doc still answered, “Hello?”

  “Doc, Colt.”

  “Son –”

  “Doc, Amy’s dead.”

  There was silence but Colt could feel the shock across the line.

  “Murdered?” Doc whispered.

  “Suicide.”

  “No,” Doc breathed.

  “You know I respect you, Doc, but I gotta ask. In light of this, you got anything more for me?”

  “She leave a note?”

  “No.”

  “Then I got nothin’ more.”

  He did, the stubborn old jackass.

  “All right, Doc.”

  “You call her parents?”

  “That’s my next call.”

  “Give me their number, son. I’ll do it.”

  “I don’t –”

  “I know ‘em, Colt. Not good hearin’ this from anyone but I reckon it’d be better hearin’ it from someone they know who took care of their daughter since before she could crawl.”

  Colt couldn’t argue with that and he gave Doc their number.

  He put the phone down at the same time Sully, sitting across from him at his desk, put his down.

  Sully was grinning.

  “Fuckin’ A, Colt, DNA and some prints lifted from that shit we got from Feb’s fit DNA and prints lifted from Denny’s. We got him at her house.”

  Colt grinned back. “Great, Sully.”

  “Not done, my man. They also matched prints at Angie’s.”

  Colt felt an electric pulse sear through his system. That news was more than great.

  “Sure,” Sully went on, “you could argue with the prints at Angie’s, she had loads of visitors, probably why he was careless. He could have visited her anytime. But Feb’s? He’s fucked.”

  He was, two plus two were equaling four, more than a coincidence, so much so if the impossible happened and this shit went to trial, a jury would think that too. It was fucking brilliant.

  “Anything from Pete and Butch?” Colt asked.

  Sully shook his head but he was still grinning. He leaned back in his chair and lifted his arms to place both hands behind his head.

  “Those scenes are clean but this is what I think,” Sully started then leaned forward quickly, excited, ready to call it down and he put his elbows on his desk, “he goes to Feb’s before all this shit, we don’t know when, before Marie tips it with her confrontation. Does Feb routinely have her house fingerprinted? No. He doesn’t reckon she’ll ever find the cum rags ‘less she moves and she might not even know what they are. Or, he’s so sick, he might not even care or he might want her to find ‘em,” Colt nodded and Sully went on. “Then Marie tips it and he uses what he’s learned from Feb’s journals to go on his vengeance spree. From what we can tell, Puck’s between Marie and Pete, probably still actin’ on rage, maybe even lookin’ for you, but findin’ Puck. He’s careful at Pete’s but not so careful with Angie. Careful enough with the crime scene but, he lives in town, Angie’s place he’d reckon was infected. Might even be he would think we wouldn’t give two shits about Angie, bein’ who she was. He’s back to careful with Butch. After Marie, he’s controlled with all of them, even Angie, perfecting the kill.”

  “The profilers get that list? Isolate a victimology?”

  “They got it. They figure Angie was his way of announcing this to Feb, on a high from doin’ Pete and decidin’ it was time for her to learn she had a hero. But with that note about Puck, the warning about you and it bein’ Butch and Pete who bit it, they’re thinkin’ his next target is a guy named Grant who lives in Sturgis.”

  Colt didn’t want to know but he asked, “What’d he do?”

  Sully didn’t want to tell him but he said, “He worked a bar with her, assistant manager. Tried it on with her, wouldn’t take no for an answer, got insistent. She liked the job, liked the town, wanted to stay awhile, she reported him. Grant didn’t like it much and made his feelings known. Her manager made his feelings known by firin’ Grant’s ass. Guy left the job, not the town, kept harassin’ her until she finally took off.”

  Colt again thought it was good Feb was home so he and Morrie had her back. He also wished he was the one who told this Grant asshole that there might be a serial killer with a hatchet after him, wreaking vengeance for all the wrongs done to Feb. He would have got a fair bit of satisfaction out of that.

  “Grant bein’ warned?” Colt asked.

  “Agents headin’ that way,” Sully told him then asked, “You find any link between Amy Harris and Denny?”

  Colt shook his head. He’d spent a goodly amount of time in her house and even more time talking to her neighbors. He found nothing in the house. The neighbors, all the same story. Shock at the suicide, she didn’t seem that type of girl. They liked her as a neighbor. She was helpful, watching kids, dogs, cats, picking up mail while they were away. They knew her as sweet, nice, quiet and shy.

  “Didn’t even find any evidence she had a kid which means zilch on her having him adopted. Like it never happened,” Colt told Sully.

  “Maybe it didn’t and she was tellin’ tales.”

  “Weird tale to tell.”

  Sully nodded. “This is true.” He gave Colt a look. “Could it be the world just didn’t understand her and she’d had enough?”

  In his sixteen years as detective he’d had five suicide callouts. In his career as a cop, he’d seen two more. Colt never understood murder, no matter what. Suicide was different. He didn’t condone it but the seven he’d seen, what he learned after, he understood them.

  Amy’s, no.

  “Doc’s informin’ her folks, I’ll get to them when they get here.”

  Sully nodded. “Speakin’ of here, why are you? You’ll never earn another frittata from Feb sittin’ behind your desk.”

  “She’s closing tonight.”

  “Ah,” Sully grinned, “still, she’s behind a bar, wearin’ one of her chokers, no doubt, lookin’ hot, definitely no doubt and that bar’s two blocks away. You walk out the front door, you’re off duty, so, again, why you still here?”

  “Good question,” Colt said and stood up, grabbing his blazer.

  He was on the move when Sully called out, “You still want me to activate the Lorraine gossip tree?”

  Colt didn’t turn, just lifted his hand in a wave that was a single flick of the wrist and called back, “Absolutely.”

  * * * * *

  Colt hit J&J’s and his eyes hit Feb.

  Hers hit him and she gave him a jaw tilt.

  Denny Lowe’s psychotic vengeance, Cal Johnson’s bleak retribution and Amy Harris’s incomprehensible suicide and still, one jaw tilt from February and all was right in the world.

  For the first time in twenty-two years after the jaw tilt, Feb didn’t take her eyes off him. And for the first time in twenty-two years, he gave her a smile.

  She caught it then bent her head but he saw the smile that was directed at him but aimed at the floor. That smile was warm, it was knowing, it was everything it used to be at the same time it was a fuckuva lot more. He’d tasted her, he’d been inside her. She liked it enough to make him a frittata. Now her smile told him she also liked it enough to smile in a way that told him she wanted more.

  Yes, all was right in the world.

  He went to his stool and she followed him down the bar as he did.

  He no sooner had his ass on it then she asked, “
Off duty?”

  “Yeah, honey.”

  “Beer, bourbon or both?”

  “Beer.”

  She nodded and got him a beer.

  He took a swig and she didn’t move away.

  “You okay?” she asked and he saw her eyes on him when he dropped his arm.

  “Been better.”

  “Was it someone you knew who killed themselves?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  “Later.”

  She nodded and said softly, “All right, babe,” she let it go and tilted her head to the side, “had dinner?”

  “Baby, it’s nine thirty.”

  “So? Frank’s kitchen’s still open. I could send Darryl down with your order.”

  “I’d order a burger and he’d come back with a reuben.”

  “Yeah but either burger or reuben, from Frank’s, you got no complaint.”

  This was true.

  “Get him to get me a reuben.”

  She grinned and asked, “That mean you want a burger?”

  Colt nodded, Feb laughed and everyone in the bar watched the show. For once Colt didn’t mind being their object of fascination. Fact was, hearing Feb laugh at that minute, after his day, he didn’t fucking care, they could watch all they wanted.

  She took off around the side of the bar, walking behind him. Colt itched to grab her but he didn’t. In J&J’s, she’d decide how what was going on between them was communicated.

  Morrie came around him with a tray full of empties. “Hey dude.”

  “Hey Morrie.”

  “Any closer to the world bein’ safe for my baby sister again?” Morrie asked, setting down the tray and throwing the bottles in the bin.

  “Sully and The Feds scored some hits today.”

  “Awesome,” Morrie smiled, transferring stacked glasses to the side of the sink under the bar.

  Colt studied his friend.

  Morrie was like his father when it came to Colt, always had been even before Jack. Morrie’s belief in Colt went deep, to the molten center of the earth, made of something so strong, even that heat couldn’t melt it, couldn’t even bend it. Morrie knew Colt would make things right for Feb again even before things had changed between Colt and Morrie’s sister. He knew Colt would work at it until he dropped and he believed that, even if the road to safety was paved with shit, Colt would make it to the end of that road, carrying Feb along with him.

  Even though they’d disagreed and fought, Colt knew there was no better friend could be had. He had no idea why God decided to place him, at birth, in hell only to lead him to salvation in kindergarten. Though he suspected if he hadn’t experienced hell, he wouldn’t have understood salvation. It might be fucked but he felt grateful to God for showing him the way.

  Colt swallowed the lump he felt in his throat and asked Morrie, “How’s things with Delilah?”

  “When I asked if I could skip the couch tonight when I got home, she hesitated at least thirty seconds before she said no,” Morrie answered.

  “Progress.”

  “Damn straight.”

  Feb came up beside him, close, wedging herself between Colt and the empty stool next to him. She leaned forward, forearms on the bar, her head turned to him.

  “Burger, reuben or wildcard ham and swiss, comin’ right up,” she told him.

  “I hate ham,” Colt replied.

  She threw her head back and laughed, loud and wild, exposing her throat, highlighting her choker, making Colt scan the bar to see they had a decent Tuesday night crowd. Maybe too decent for Feb to feel comfortable leaving Morrie and Darryl at the bar so he could take her home and fuck her brains out.

  He also noticed, unusually slowly, with her choker she was wearing a fitted, white blouse, a long, straight figure-skimming jeans skirt, a pair of cowboy boots and her makeup was different, heavier but instead of looking overdone, it made her eyes smoky and unbelievably sexy.

  Dolled up for Costa’s. And for Colt.

  When she stopped laughing, her eyes came to his. “Frank uses that honey-baked ham, Colt, not the boiled stuff. You’ll like it.”

  “I see Darryl’s potential fuck ups come with the territory.”

  After his comment, her face assumed that look again, eyes soft, lids part lowered, lips tilted at the ends in that little, sexy smile, but this time he understood it. She wasn’t giving him something, holding something back. She was giving him something fucking spectacular and she was promising just how much better it would be when she stopped holding back.

  “Yeah,” she said.

  “I’ll cope if it’s ham,” he told her.

  She lifted up and turned her back to the bar. Reaching out a hand, she curled it around his neck.

  “Promise, it isn’t hard,” she whispered, let him go and went back around the bar.

  He was looking up at her when she’d touched him which left him facing the room when she walked around him.

  She might as well have grabbed his crotch and stuck her tongue down his throat. He even saw Lanie Gilbert pulling her cell phone out of her purse.

  He didn’t care about that either.

  In all his years with Melanie, much as he loved her and he did love her, he never headed home knowing she would help him leave behind his day.

  A couple of days with Feb and that was a given.

  Colt turned from the bar to take a pull off his beer and watch Feb wash glasses in the bar sink.

  Fifteen minutes later Darryl delivered Frank’s famous fried tenderloin on a sesame seed bun and fries.

  And Colt ate it without muttering a word while he watched Feb’s shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

  * * * * *

  Colt was right.

  February Owens was the kind of woman who’d sit on your face and fucking love it. She was the kind of woman who’d suck on your cock and get off on it. She was also, he discovered, the kind of woman who’d do both at the same time, and come while doing it.

  He didn’t have the chance to try her on all fours because, the second time he made her come, he wanted to watch.

  So he did.

  After they were done, he took the time to use his cock to memorize her tight, wet pussy yet again at the same time using his tongue to taste the silver at her neck. He liked the sharp, cold, metallic tang of her silver mixed with the salty, warm taste of her skin. It was pure Feb, contradictory and addictive.

  Then he pulled out, rolled off, turned out the light, settled on his back and tucked her into his side.

  Regardless of the fact that he now had a newly painted guest bedroom with bed, dresser and a huge print of a fucking basket of flowers over the bed, Jack and Jackie had made it clear they didn’t intend to be the third and fourth wheel while Feb and Colt were exploring their new situation. Colt brought Feb home early because the crowd got light and Morrie declared he and Darryl could handle it and they found the RV gone and a note saying they were moving into Morrie’s apartment for the time being.

  Colt could live with that, Morrie’s place was far more secure than an RV.

  “You tired, baby?” he asked.

  “Mm,” she answered and he had no fucking clue what that meant.

  “You seem okay with all of this,” he noted.

  She tensed against him and he used his fingers to draw patterns on her hip, giving her time, waiting, feeling the tension drift away.

  “I’m scared as shit,” she finally whispered, again sharing instead of holding it in.

  “Far’s I know, Feb, only folk who can turn back the clock are in movies.”

  He listened to her take in a heavy breath.

  Then she let it out and said, “That’s true.”

  “Gotta live life lookin’ ahead, you keep lookin’ behind…” he let that hang and she nodded against his shoulder.

  He decided to give it to her and see where she went with it. “I’ll make it clear right now, honey, I like the idea of looking ahead at life with you.”

&
nbsp; “Colt –”

  “I thought I was Alec in this bed,” he meant to tease but she lifted up and looked at him in the dark.

  “Yeah,” she said softly, “but it was Colt just said that to me.”

  He felt that warmth spiral in his chest, wrapping his innards so tight, for ten full seconds he found it difficult to breathe.

  Then she dropped her head and he felt her slide her nose along his jaw before she settled back into his side.

  “You with me on this?” he asked.

  Her arm around his stomach got tight. “I’m with you,” she whispered.

  He closed his eyes and his arm around her waist gave her a squeeze.

  After awhile she asked, “Was that our talk?”

  “Most of it, yeah.”

  “Does that mean I don’t get Costa’s?”

  Colt was tired, it was after midnight, there were always bad guys to catch and that was his job.

  He still burst out laughing, turned to Feb and awhile later he learned he was right about her letting him do her doggie style, he was right she’d want more of it and he was right she’d beg him to fuck her harder.

  And she got off on that too.

  Chapter Eight

  Colt

  I realized my mistake the minute I hit the kitchen the next morning.

  I shot my wad too early with the frittata.

  I should have saved it for something special. Our first week anniversary at least.

  Not the first morning after.

  Now I didn’t know what to make Colt for breakfast. Especially not after a night where he gave me three more Colt-induced orgasms. Three. I didn’t have to help at all, not even guidance with my hand or tilting my hips in a non-verbal cue or full-on verbal direction. Nothing.

  The man knew what he was doing.

  And a man who knew what he was doing deserved a good breakfast.

  That man being Colt, looking like Colt, having a body like Colt’s, keeping me safe at the same time he could make me laugh, deserved a great breakfast.

  As I searched the fridge and cupboards I saw Mom had shopped for Colt like she was fully stocking Julia Child’s larder. I concocted a recipe and went for it when I heard the shower switch off.

  As I cooked, I thought of the day before.