For You

Chapter Five Reprieve

I got up feeling groggy, the pills worked great but they didn’t know when to stop.

I threw the covers back off Colt’s bed, rolled twice to make my way across the grand expanse to the side, threw my legs over, got up and dragged myself to Colt’s bathroom.

I was so groggy, I was halfway through my morning routine before I realized Wilson wasn’t sitting on the toilet seat watching me with blame in his eyes that said me brushing my teeth was not more important than him getting fed. Wilson was a cat and therefore could be aloof but he liked me and he didn’t make any bones about showing it. When I was in a room, Wilson was in it too. He might not be laying on me or rubbing up against me purring but he knew he was the man of the house and needed to keep me company so he didn’t often leave me alone.

Therefore I went in search of my unusually absent cat deciding, even though Colt was super cool last night going so far as to toast Pete with me, still I’d kill him if he let my cat out only for Wilson to be murdered by a bi-species killing maniac.

I heard the meows the minute I fully swung open Colt’s partially-opened bedroom door.

When I hit the doorway to the living room I saw Colt standing in the kitchen, a coffee cup in his hand, his back to me, his neck twisted, his eyes pointed down to the floor which was the source of the meows.

In the depth and breadth of my vision I saw all of it, including some of the living room, the dining area, the kitchen and even out the kitchen window which showed part of the speedboat, part of Dad and Mom’s RV.

But all I really saw was Colt’s back and it was a fucking great view. Nearly as good as his front view last night, shirtless, hair mussed and wearing shorts.

Damn, they needed to find this guy so I could get the hell out of there.

Colt turned when I hit the dining area and leveled his eyes on me.

“How do you get him to shut the fuck up?” he asked, his face cloudy.

Wilson meowed.

“You feed him,” I replied, hitting the kitchen.

“Then for God’s sake, feed him,” Colt muttered, turning, backing up, leaning his hips against the counter and crossing an arm on his bare chest, his coffee still held up, his scowl still aimed at poor, defenseless Wilson.

I got down to the business of feeding Wilson. Wilson saw my movements, knew the drill and shut his kitty trap.

“Thank God,” Colt muttered and I bit back a laugh but I couldn’t bite back my smile. “You should name him something else,” Colt told me.

“What’s wrong with Wilson?” I asked Wilson’s food.

“His name is Wilson?” Colt asked my back, I looked over my shoulder at him and saw his brows were knitted.

“Yeah,” I said, turning back to the food then moved to set it on the floor by Wilson’s kitty water bowl that Mom put out yesterday.

“You called him something else last night,” Colt said.

“I did?” I asked, going to the cupboard Mom took the mugs out of yesterday and I opened it to see in the divorce Melanie got the matching coffee mugs because none of Colt’s matched.

I picked one when Colt informed me, “Yeah, you called him ‘Mr. Purrsie Purrs’.”

I felt my neck get tight.

Oh Lord. That was my kitty speak, I only did that when Wilson and I were alone. Wilson loved it. Anytime I lapsed into kitty speak he came closer or if he was in another room he’d come running. But I let no one else hear my kitty speak. I thought Colt was sleeping or I’d never have done it. Obviously Colt wasn’t sleeping. Shit.

I decided to make no comment.

“Feb?”

“Mm?” I mumbled to the coffeepot, pouring myself a cup and not turning.

“Feb.”

“Yeah?” I asked, sliding to the side to open the fridge and grab the milk.

“February.” Oh shit, I could hear his laughter in my name.

“What?”

“Honey, look at me.”

I set the milk down next to my mug and turned to look at him. He was smiling.

“What’s funny?” I asked.

“Mr. Purrsie Purrs is funny,” Colt answered, he thought this was hilarious and I could tell it was taking everything for him not to laugh.

I rolled my eyes, muttered, “Whatever,” and started to turn again when Colt murmured, “Baby,” and when he did there was no humor in his tone at all.

At the timbre of his voice, I lifted my gaze to his and it felt like my head was moving in super slow motion. But when our eyes met things all of a sudden speeded up. Colt took one step forward in a lunge, his arm coming out and hooking me at the waist then, when he stepped back, I went with him. On the fly, I hit his body and my hands came up automatically to his chest to brace my fall. My hands were useless, his arms locked around me, his head came down on a slant and his mouth hit mine.

I wasn’t prepared for it. I’d been in his arms a lot lately and it felt good, better than I remembered because it was better, to have him hold me, this man, this Colt, older, smarter, stronger, more experienced.

But I hadn’t had his arms around me and his mouth on mine and my hands on the hard muscle of his bare chest and my bare legs tangled up with his while he was leaning against his kitchen counter, I was leaning against him and we were in his kitchen with me in my nightshirt.

I didn’t even try to push away. I opened my mouth, inviting his tongue inside. It swept in and I felt the spasm between my legs, instant wet and ready, and I moaned into his mouth because it felt so damned good.

I went up on tiptoe, pressing my body to his. My hands slid up his chest, his shoulders, my fingers went into his hair holding him to me as his arm tightened around my waist, the other hand going up. I felt the weight of my hair lighten as he gathered a bunch in his palm and held it against the back of my head.

We went at it, wet and rough and desperate and I wanted him so badly I had visions of pulling down my panties then his shorts then jumping up to wrap my legs around his hips and guiding him inside. I didn’t need foreplay. I just needed that kiss and Colt.

“Hey kids, we’re goin’ to Frank’s for… fuck!”

I would have torn away but although Colt’s head came up his arms got so tight I couldn’t move an inch.

“Jack, get out of the way, what’s the matter with… oh.”

Dad, calling loud, probably thinking he was going to wake us and coming up the rear and around grumbling at Dad, Mom.

Everyone stared at everyone else.

I didn’t look at Colt but both Mom and Dad looked like they wanted to kick themselves while simultaneously looking like they just remembered it was their birthday and found out they’d won the lottery.

I had no idea what I looked like but testing Colt’s strength with a cautious pull at his arms which only grew all the more tight I knew he had no intention of letting me go. I made the decision not to fight it in this uncertain situation and I stayed where I was.

When no one said anything, I waded in. “I could do Frank’s.”

“We’ll come back later,” Mom said.

“You don’t have to come back later,” I told her, trying another tug at Colt’s arms and finding them just as resistant so I gave up again. “You bought enough food to feed an army, we could do breakfast here.”

“Why don’t you come back?” Colt spoke and I could not only hear his voice, I felt it rumbling against me from crotch to chest and it felt far from bad.

“We’ll come back,” Dad said, backing out.

“We’ll give you some time. An hour,” Mom said, backing out with Dad.

“Jackie, an hour?” Dad muttered.

“More than an hour,” Mom amended hurriedly.

“How ‘bout we let them call us?” Dad suggested.

“Good idea,” Mom muttered and Dad, one arm extended to grab the door, Mom having disappeared, took one look at me and Colt, gave Colt a nod and then he shut the door.

I pulled back a lot harder against Colt’s arms but those arms didn’t budge.

I tipped my head back to look at him, putting steady pressure on his shoulders with my hands.

“Let me go.”

“Why’d you name your cat Wilson?” he asked.

In my confusion at his inane and insane question, my steady pressure ceased.

“What?”

“Wilson. Weird name for a cat.”

“Colt.”

He grinned. “Better than Mr. Purrsie Purrs.”

I put the pressure back on. “Colt.”

His neck bent, dipping his face to mine and he murmured, “Great kiss, baby.”

The pressure ceased and I whispered, “Colt.”

“I liked it.”

“I think I need to move out,” I announced.

He ignored me. “A lot.”

“Maybe I’ll move in with Joe-Bob. He was in Vietnam. Maybe he knows hand to hand combat.”

“When you moaned in my mouth… fuck,” Colt muttered, his arms giving me a squeeze.

“Will you stop talking about the kiss?” I squealed.

The grin came back but he said, “You aren’t movin’ out.”

“I think it’s best.”

“You wouldn’t know what was best for you if it smacked you on the ass.”

“Colt.”

“Though, I’ll give it a try.”

“Colt!” I shouted, giving his shoulders a shove and succeeding in gaining about three inches of space before his arms went tight again, hauling me right back.

“You wanna go to breakfast with your parents?” he asked.

What I wanted was to find a safe place in the world, one, little, safe place. I didn’t care if it was a cardboard box in an alley in the scummiest section of New York City. If it was safe, with no murderers or bitchy ex-girlfriends of the guy’s bed I was sleeping in or ex-high school sweethearts who yelled at me and teased me about what I called my cat and who could kiss way, way better than he did twenty-two years ago, then I wanted to be in that box.

“You wanna know what I want?” I asked Colt.

His arms gave me a squeeze before one of his hands drifted into my hair and I felt him wrapping it around his fist.

“Yeah, I wanna know what you want.”

Then before I could stop it and even before I knew it was what I wanted, I said, “I want Dee and Morrie and the kids to come with us and, yeah, I wanna have breakfast with Mom and Dad at Frank’s. The whole family, eating Frank’s pancakes and drinking coffee and pretending life is normal.”

His eyes moved over my face before he said quietly, “You want that, I can get you that.”

“I want it,” I said quietly back.

“You got it, baby.”

Then he let me go, gently set me back a few inches with his hands at my waist, twisted, nabbed his phone from the counter, flipped it open, hit a button and about five seconds later, he said, “Morrie, get Dee and the kids together, February wants a family breakfast at Frank’s. Meet us and Jack and Jackie there in an hour.” His eyes came to me before he said, “Right. See you there. Later.”

He flipped his phone shut and said, “Get a shower, Feb, or we’ll be late.”

Without anything else to do, I turned from Colt, finished making my coffee and I walked through Colt’s crackerbox house that I liked too much, into his bedroom with the Harry’s print I liked too much, passed his bed which was big and comfortable and I liked it too much, into his bathroom which was just normal but it was still his so I liked it too much and there I took a shower.

Sundays were golden days, always had been.

Years ago when we were younger, Mom and Dad didn’t open the bar on Sunday. That meant that day was family day, Mom and Dad both home. Colt, Morrie and Dad used to sit in front of the TV watching football games and Mom and I would drift in and out. Mom would make nibbles for them out of cereal, nuts and pretzel sticks that she’d coated with some tangy, salty goo and baked. Or she’d make big bowls of popcorn that she poured real, melted butter on. At night she made us sit down to a big, family dinner, pot roast or meatloaf or fried chicken. After that we’d play a game, usually teams, boys versus girls. Or later we’d play cards, mostly euchre and Colt was always my partner.

When we got older, they opened the bar but for shortened hours, opening at three, closing at eleven. Morrie, Colt and I were usually out and about, hanging with friends or staying at home and watching videos or Colt and me would be up in my room necking.

I’d always loved Sundays but I hadn’t had a really good one in a really long time.

That day Colt gave me a really good Sunday. Such a good Sunday, I could almost forgive him for what he did.

Frank’s was a crush as it always was on Sunday mornings after church. We waited for a big table and it was worth the wait to have a stack of Frank’s fluffy, blueberry, buttermilk pancakes smothered in whipped butter and warm syrup, a bottomless cup of his top-notch coffee and family all around being loud. I finagled a seat between Palmer and Tuesday so I could poke Tuesday in the side and make her giggle and grab Palmer’s head and give him kisses so he would look at his Dad and whine, “Dad! Auntie Feb keeps kissing me!”

Sometimes there were three conversations at once. Sometimes someone would capture everyone’s attention. Sometimes someone would tell a story and everyone would laugh. Sometimes someone would just say something funny and everyone would laugh.

We all felt the glow of the day, even Dee. So much Dee did the unbelievable and walked down with us to J&J’s to help us get ready to open. Dee hung with me as I went about my business and I was guessing this was because she was unsure of letting Morrie back into her heart. I wanted her to let Morrie back into her heart but I didn’t want to push so I let her trail me and showed her what I did. She surprised me by seeming interested, paying attention and asking questions so I went a little overboard and showed her other things as well. When we opened she sat beside Colt at his end of the bar, drinking diet, gabbing and laughing with Colt. The kids sat in the office, probably screwing everything up and I knew Morrie and I wouldn’t be able to find anything for days.

Later Meems called me to see what was up and I told her it was Sunday and everyone was hanging at J&J’s. In twenty minutes, Meems and Al strolled in, Meems had a chat with Dee and then she and Dee led Tuesday and Palmer outside so Meems’s Mom could take them and Meems’s brood to her house to watch some new DVD Al bought and later, for dinner, she’d be serving them her famous homemade corndogs. I called Jessie to tell her the gang was all there and Jessie and Jimbo drifted in not long after.

The clientele on a Sunday were almost always only regulars. Usually lonely souls who didn’t have anyone to spend their Sundays with but they didn’t want to be alone. They’d sit in their chairs or on their stools, eyes usually glued to the TV over the bar, always ready to have a chat with you if you gave them a hint you were at their table or stool to ask for more than their order. And on a Sunday you always had time to chat about more than their order.

Dad, Mom, Morrie and me spent some of our time talking with customers, Mom and Dad more than Morrie and me as they had catching up to do. But most of the time we’d find ourselves over at Colt, Dee, Jimbo, Jessie, Meems and Al having a gab or a laugh.

I didn’t think about Colt and my kiss. I decided to think about being with my family and friends and how good that felt without me holding onto shit and feeling mostly dead inside. How good it felt to laugh and feel it down straight in your belly. How good it felt to watch the face of someone you love get animated while they talked about something they thought was funny or something their kid did that was cute. How good it felt to be alive, unlike Angie, Pete and Butch who’d never have times like that again. How good it felt to realize this was precious and holding onto pain meant missing times like these even when they were right there for you, close enough to take hold.

Evening hit the bar and Al and Meems challenged Jimbo and Jessie to a round of pool. They’d been drinking steadily for hours and they were making more noise than we usually had on a Saturday night and it could get seriously noisy on a Saturday night.

I was watching them when I saw Morrie come around the back of Dee’s stool, lean in and kiss her neck. I also watched as a golden Sunday worked its magic and she tilted her head to give him better access instead of trying to move away. My eyes slid to Colt who’d caught it too and his eyes had come to mine. We shared a smile and his hit me somewhere private, somewhere that had always been mine, somewhere that I’d never let anyone into, not even him decades ago. His smile just stormed right through the gates I had locked there and settled in like it was going to stay awhile.

I looked away and thought it was high time for me to break my cardinal rule. I never drank on the job. If I was back of the bar, I was sober. Morrie didn’t adhere to this tradition though he never got sauced just would have a beer every once in awhile, usually when Colt or one of his other buddies dropped in. I made myself a rum and diet and brought it back to the end of the bar.

“You let Feb pick breakfast, my woman wants Reggie’s pizza for dinner,” Morrie announced to Colt before he slapped him on the back and said, “dude, get your ass off the stool, come with me to order.”

Reggie’s was around the corner. Reggie was Irish, had a shock of red hair and scratched his beer belly when he laughed which was a lot, mostly at his own jokes. Even Irish, he made the best pizza in the county, bar none. You went there to order and if you were close enough, like we were, he sent his son, Toby, to make the delivery.

Colt slid off his stool. I had my drink on the bar, my hand wrapped around it. Before Colt left, his eyes dropped to my hand, he reached out and grazed my knuckles with his fingertips. The touch was there and gone, I could have imagined it if I hadn’t felt it zap straight through my system.

I stood there staring at my drink curled in my hand and I heard the front door close.

“Feb,” Dee called and my head snapped up.

Her eyes were on me and she looked happy. I hadn’t seen her that way in awhile, her look erased the lingering effect of Colt’s touch and I smiled at her.

“Thanks for giving my brother another chance.” A cloud drifted across her happy face and I wished I’d never said anything. “Shit, Dee, sorry. I should keep my mouth –”

She cut me off. “What’s happening with you and Colt?”

“Nothin’,” I said quick as a flash. “He’s helping me out, he’s just being nice. It’s an intense time. So intense, we’ve called, like, a truce or something.”

“Don’t know much about truces but I’m guessin’, even if they call a truce, enemies don’t touch each other’s hands and they sure don’t get caught by their parents making out in the kitchen.”

Mom and/or Dad had a big mouth.

I turned fully to Dee. “Dee, honey, don’t get any big ideas about this.”

“You know, Melanie left because of you.”

I felt my eyes grow round, actually felt them get big and I wondered if they were bugging out of my head.

“What?”

“She left, ‘cause of you.”

This couldn’t be true. I didn’t even want it to be true.

“She didn’t, Mom told me she left because she couldn’t have babies.”

“Would you leave a man like Colt ‘cause you couldn’t have babies?”

I didn’t answer that.

“Man looks like Colt?” she went on.

I took a sip of my drink.

“Man acts like Colt?”

I gave her a look and said quietly, “Dee, remember, I left –”

She shook her head. “When you left, Colt was still finding his way. I reckon you had reason but you held it to yourself, fair play and no one has place to judge. In the end, when you two broke, the age he was? He was a man but we girls know he was mostly still a boy. But he’s a man now. The kinda man you don’t leave for stupid shit.”

“Not being able to conceive isn’t stupid,” I defended Melanie.

“Nope, you’re right. I didn’t have Palmer and Tuesday, I don’t know what I’d do. But Morrie stayed the man I married, livin’ for me not livin’ for the bar, he’d be enough for me for always.”

“Morrie doesn’t live for the bar.”

Dee gave me a look and I couldn’t say I blamed her. It’d feel that way to me, never seeing my husband because he was either sleeping or at the bar.

Morrie had played the field through high school and after. Never had a serious girlfriend, not once.

He’d met Dee years ago, she lived two towns over. They’d met after some football game when he’d been in his pads and jersey, walking back to the locker rooms after we’d beat her home team. They struck up a conversation that lasted about five minutes and he’d never forgotten her.

He met her again while she was at a friend of hers bachelorette party. Her girls had been doing the trawl, J&J’s came up late, about six bars in. She’d been hammered and Morrie’d just been hanging at J&J’s then, working construction. They’d struck up another conversation and he’d pitched a fit when she said she was leaving, getting into her girlfriend’s car to go to another bar. It was part that he didn’t want her to go, part that he didn’t want her to get in a car with a drunk woman behind the wheel. Even just getting acquainted, they’d had a rip roarin’ fight, Morrie won and he took her home. They were inseparable ever since – engaged within six months, married after just a year.

It was fair to say until we took over J&J’s, he doted on her and she returned the favor, even after all these years and two kids.

But now Morrie took assuming the running of the family business seriously, maybe too seriously. She’d been lost in that and she didn’t like it.

I could see her point.

“My babies are my world, but you got a good man?” Dee said. “Wouldn’t be hard for you to make do.”

“Mom said Colt and Melanie tried to make a go of it but Melanie –”

“Melanie wasn’t Juliet.”

I stared at her silent, mainly because I didn’t know what the fuck she was talking about.

Dee kept going. “Romeo and Juliet, say they didn’t die but Juliet got pissed and took off. Everyone would know it was Romeo and Juliet, would always be Romeo and Juliet, even if later Romeo hooked up with Nancy. No one ever heard of Nancy, doesn’t even sound right, Romeo and Nancy. Everyone knows Romeo’s meant to be with Juliet. Even if Romeo loved Nancy, Nancy would always know she was never Juliet.”

I didn’t want Dee to compare Colt and me to star-crossed lovers who eventually died in each others’ arms because, these days, that was way too damn close for comfort.

And I didn’t want Dee to think like that at all about Colt and me and Melanie.

“Dee –”

“She lived her life with Colt in your shadow. She wanted a baby that bad to stake him to her, ‘cause no way a woman could live her life knowin’ she wasn’t her other half’s true other half. She had to find a way to make him stay and Colt would stay, no matter what, for family. She couldn’t give him that and she couldn’t live under that cloud, wonderin’, each time you came home, when his head would turn.”

I didn’t want to be talking about this. We were treading on dangerous ground.

“He’s a man, Dee, but he wouldn’t step out on Melanie.”

I said it even though I couldn’t be certain it was true, not because of me but because Colt had a dick and that was, in my experience, the bottom-line truth of it for all men.

“Don’t matter he wouldn’t, she thought he would. She got out from under that cloud and I don’t blame her. I don’t know why she stepped under it in the first place. Made her miserable and she made Colt watch her fade away.” I opened my mouth to say something but Dee waved her hand in my direction and continued. “I like Melanie, don’t get me wrong, she’s a good gal. But she didn’t do right by him. He felt it, her leavin’ him, and that was cruel. She wanted something she couldn’t have, knew it and reached out and grabbed it anyway but he paid the price.”

Again. I knew was what she left unsaid and that unspoken word cut through me like a blade.

“Dee –”

“Everyone wants to see you two happy, Feb, together, apart, it don’t matter. Just happy,” she leaned in, “but neither of you are happy, girl, and we all know why. It’s tearin’ both of you apart and all of us right along with it.”

“I love you, babe,” I said quietly, “but with all the shit’s that’s going on, I don’t need this.”

“With all the shit that’s goin’ on, girl, you need this more than you ever did.”

“There’s things you don’t know.”

“Yeah, I know, but they happened twenty years ago, Feb.”

“But –”

“Alexander Colton touched my hand, watched my ass while I moved, got that smile on his face when he saw me laugh, especially when I was going through all kinds of hell, I’d learn to get passed whatever it was that happened twenty years ago and grab onto happiness.”

I started to say something, I didn’t know what, but I didn’t get it out.

This was because I heard an angry, male voice shouting, “You cunt!”

My head came around and every fiber of my being froze when I watched Loren Smithfield stalk across the room.

“You, fucking, cunt!”

He was talking to me. I knew this because his eyes were on me, not to mention the fact that he was pointing at me.

“Lore, what the fuck?” Al asked loudly from the pool table but his cue was at a slant at his side, held in his fist and he was starting to move closer.

Lore ignored Al, he had his target in his sights and not even Al was going to make him lose sight of that target. He made it to my end of the bar and smashed a fist into it, making a loud noise that caused me to jump. “Point the finger at me for killin’ Angie! What the hell is that?”

Oh Lord. I didn’t figure this was good.

“Lore, calm down, man,” Jimbo said, also moving in close as did Dad and, I was surprised to note (vaguely, because I was scared out of my mind at the fury twisting Lore’s face), Joe-Bob.

Dee sat frozen on her stool, her eyes locked on Lore, and Mom, Meems and Jessie stayed back.

So did I, holding my position by Dee with the bar a safety barrier between me and Lore’s rage.

Lore jabbed a finger at me. “I got kids, they hear this shit… a job, a reputation, a life in this town, people think this shit about me, you think this shit about me. Jesus, you bitch!” He leaned in, his whole body a threat, still pointing at me. “I should hack you up, you crazy cunt!”

That was all he said because suddenly he wasn’t there. Instead he was five feet back and still sailing, bumping into chairs, arms wheeling and Colt was stalking him silently, calmly, his movements slow and economical, his eyes on Lore like Lore was prey.

Lore gained control of his limbs, locked his eyes on Colt and took a stance that was defensive at the same time it was threatening. “Back off, Colt.”

“You need to go somewhere and calm down, Lore,” Colt advised stopping, not taking a stance, just standing there loose-limbed but looking alert and at the ready.

“Fuck that! She told you I killed Angie,” Lore shouted.

“How’d you hear that?” Colt asked softly.

“Marty, we were havin’ beers at Josh’s place.”

Colt shook his head in an unhappy way that I reckoned Marty just caught himself some trouble.

“She’s helping with the investigation at my request,” Colt told Lore.

“Yeah, and she fingered me!”

“February never said you did it.”

“Yeah, if that’s true why’d Chris come ‘round yesterday, askin’ my whereabouts?”

“Procedure.”

“Bullshit.”

“Chris came to you in plainclothes and asked you some questions, Lore. Don’t you get why he did it like that?” Colt didn’t wait for his answer and finished. “It’s done, let it go.”

“Fuck that, Colt, my kids hear about this –”

“They wouldn’t of, if Marty had kept his fuckin’ mouth shut and you’d kept your fuckin’ cool and didn’t come tearin’ into this bar and makin’ an ass of yourself. Now the whole town’ll know and you got no one but yourself to blame.”

“Yeah, and Feb.”

Colt’s body went from loose but alert to hostile.

“I’ll repeat, Feb was acting on a request made by me.”

“And I’ll repeat, doin’ that, she fingered me for hackin’ up fuckin’ Angie. Shit, I didn’t even dip into that dirty twat, who knows what she had swimmin’ up there after the whole town had their dicks in her? And I get blamed for killin’ her?”

“You’re talkin’ about an innocent woman who was brutally murdered.”

“I’m talkin’ about Angie.”

Colt moved and therefore so did Lore. It wasn’t exactly a surprise attack but still, Lore barely got a chance to throw up a defense before Colt had him flying through the air, one fist at his collar. Lore landed on his back on top of a table and Colt leaned over him.

“This’ll get messy, you keep talkin’ about Angie that way and you’ll be breathin’ through a tube I ever hear you talk to Feb that way again.”

This was not an idle threat and everyone in that bar knew it. Lore stared up at Colt and wisely kept his mouth shut.

Colt yanked him off the table by his collar and then with a shove sent him flying. Lore righted himself and went back on the defense, no threat this time, he was scared. I didn’t blame him, with one hand Colt had sent him flying through the air.

“We ask a citizen to help with an investigation, we do it with purpose,” Colt told him, his voice pure ice. “They think there’ll be retribution, like you just dished out or worse, they’ll hesitate or not help at all. Means we’re fucked. I don’t like to be fucked, Lore. I do the fuckin’, you got me?”

I heard Colt’s ass ring but he ignored it as he faced down Lore.

After what took way too long, Lore mumbled, “I got you.”

“Now go somewhere and calm the fuck down. You come back in here, you do it to have a drink and you have that drink after you apologize to Feb. We clear?”

Lore’s gaze slid in my direction but it went right through me before he looked back at Colt.

“Clear,” Lore said.

“You see Marty, give him fair warnin’, he better avoid me for awhile.”

“Marty’s fucked,” Al muttered to Jimbo.

Lore stared at Colt for awhile before he jerked his chin, his eyes moved to Dad and his expression turned hangdog as it hit him he might have just made enemies of Colt and my Dad, not enemies you’d want to have especially since they were your friends and you liked them. The circumstances were admittedly extreme but Lore realized then that he hadn’t thought this through. The way he treated women, he didn’t care about me. But his actions had shown disrespect to two men who deserved it and no one in that bar, or any of the folk who would undoubtedly hear about this by morning, would give him an inch, not for awhile. You didn’t call Jack Owens’s daughter a cunt no matter what she might have done and you didn’t get in Alexander Colton’s face and make him lose control and Lore understood, just then, he’d given his own reputation a hit he wouldn’t live down, not for a good long while.

Not to mention he made an ass of himself and got bested without even lifting a fist.

After dropping his head, Lore hit the exit with all due haste.

Colt’s ass rang again and he cursed under his breath, his eyes locked on the closed door before he yanked out his phone, flipped it open and put it to his ear.

“Okay, is it me, or is anyone else having a problem with deciding whether to have a heart attack or an orgasm?” Meems asked.

“Orgasm,” Jessie said instantly.

“Yep, same here,” Dee put in.

“Fuck,” Al muttered.

Jimbo shook his head but grinned at his wife.

“Well, that was a buzz kill,” Morrie noted.

It was then I realized I was shaking.

“Got it, later,” Colt said into his phone as he walked up to the bar, his eyes on me, he flipped his phone shut and shoved it in the back pocket of his jeans. “You okay?”

“Lore just called me the c-word,” I told him.

“I know, you okay?”

“He said it more than once.”

Colt bit his lip then let it go. “All right, but you okay?”

“He said it loud.”

“Feb –”

“I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

“I’m okay.”

Or as okay as anyone could be who was called the c-word more than once.

“You’re not gonna go half-cocked on me?” Colt asked.

I sighed before I repeated, “No, I’m okay.”

“You’re not gonna get a wild hair and haul ass?”

I rolled my eyes, leaned forward and said slowly, “Colt, I said, I’m oh… kay.”

He grinned. “Last time you rolled your eyes at me, baby, I kissed you.”

I sucked in breath and if I wasn’t mistaken so did Dee, Meems, Jessie and Joe-Bob.

I thought it best to quit speaking and just remain silent maybe for the rest of my life.

Colt turned to Dad. “I got work, Jack, callout. I’m not done, you’ll stay in the house with Feb?”

“Absolutely.”

Colt looked at Dee. “Sorry to miss the pizza.”

“I’m sorry too,” Dee whispered, her eyeballs darting back and forth between me and Colt so fast it was a wonder she didn’t give herself a seizure.

“We’ll save you a slice,” Morrie offered, slapping a hand on Colt’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze at the same time he tugged it back and forth.

“I like it hot,” Colt replied, aiming another grin at me. “Feb ‘n me’ll order another one on her night off.”

I sucked in breath again and considered throwing my drink at him but he said, “Later,” and was walking out of target distance before I could put my thought into action.

As I glared at the door, Morrie walked around to the back of the bar and slid his arm around my shoulders, tugging me into his side.

“Family’s here, Feb, friends, it’s all good. You ready to talk about Colt yet?” Morrie asked.

I looked up at my brother. “Fuck off.”

Al guffawed and I looked at him.

“You can fuck off too.”

Al, Jimbo and Morrie burst out laughing.

I rolled my eyes, caught the roll, vowed I’d never roll my eyes again and belted back my drink.

Colt walked into his house to see Jack and Jackie planted in the den in the recliners, the TV on. Jack’s recliner was flat and his snoring was constant but muted. Jackie turned to the door when he walked in and she gave him one of her warm welcoming smiles. Jackie Owens had a lot of smiles, some of them were so big they split her face, making light shine out. This one wasn’t as big but it was sweeter, speaking lots of words, most of which had to do with love and home.

When Colt turned to close the door, he saw Feb sitting on a stool in front of the kitchen bar on the dining area side. She had her hand flat on a book on the bar, in the other hand she had her fingers curled around a pen, one of her long legs dangling, the other one bent up high and her heel was in the seat. She was wearing loose but short shorts, a cardigan and socks that were slouchy, looking too big on her feet. She had her torso twisted to him and she was giving him a scan with her eyes.

He closed and locked the door then turned again and headed to the kitchen, eyes on Feb as he went. She ducked and tilted her head, giving him the impression she was reading him from across the room. Then she turned, dropped the pen, picked up a ribbon, put it in her book and closed it. She hopped down from the stool and was in the kitchen doorway two steps before he got there.

“Bourbon or beer?” she said to him.

Yeah, she’d read him.

“Bourbon.”

“Like last night?”

“Yeah.”

She went to the cupboard and he turned and retraced his steps, walking out of the kitchen. He shrugged off his jacket, threw it on the back of the chair, pulled his badge off his belt and slid the shoulder holster down his arms, dropping both on the dining room table before he went back. By the time he got there, the Jack was on ice and she was fixing herself a rum and diet. She stopped what she was doing to hand him his glass and finished making her drink.

Then she turned, put the heels of her hands to the edge of the counter and hefted her ass up onto it, settling in and grabbing her glass. She was wearing a white, ribbed tank under her cardigan. It hugged her torso and didn’t leave a lot to the imagination. Her choker was gone, so were her earrings but the necklaces were tangled at her throat and she still had on her rings.

Her eyes came to him and they said, tell me about it.

Colt suspected she’d perfected that look, an occupational hazard. Though, he also suspected no one ever got that exact one. The looks she’d give customers would make them want to sit back, stay awhile and drink a lot. The look she was giving him told him she wanted to return the favor he’d done for her last night. He had a weight on his mind and she was willing to help him bear it.

He leaned a hip next to her knees and took a swallow of bourbon.

When he didn’t speak, she said, “You got lots of work for a small town.”

He nodded. “Someone’s dumpin’ bodies.”

“Read about that in the papers.”

“Yeah, Monica Merriweather was there tonight. Thinks she’s Lois Lane,” Colt said.

Monica Merriweather worked on the local paper. It was a weekly and mostly reported community news. Monica wrote practically every article, she was everywhere; high school games, church raffles, fundraising bridge tournaments. The woman didn’t sleep much and when she did Colt thought she probably lay in bed with her camera around her neck.

“How many is it now?” Feb asked and Colt took another drink of bourbon.

“Five in two months.”

“That seems a lot.”

Colt looked at February.

Susie never talked about his work. Melanie had a delicate constitution so Colt had learned to shield her from it. He’d had other women since Feb, between her and Melanie then between Melanie and Susie and during his breaks with Sooz. Some of them were steady, none of them were women with whom he felt compelled to share.

Feb was currently caught up in a shit storm of epic proportions and still, he thought she could handle it.

“It is. Same every time. They’re done elsewhere, don’t know where, bodies dumped remote, the woods, a creek, always when it’s raining, evidence washed away. Never the same place but also not far from each other but somewhere they would easily be found.”

“The one yesterday?”

“Yeah, yesterday and today. It’s escalating.”

“What are you thinking?”

“Don’t know what to think. Working with the Indianapolis Metropolitan PD and they’re scratchin’ their heads too. Dump sites are clean, no footprints, no evidence, no witnesses. He goes in, does his business, gets out. All the victims are gang bangers, all black, none of them older then twenty-one, not big players. Bullet to the forehead, no signs of struggle, no marks on the body, wrists, ankles, they haven’t been bound. It’s like the killer took ‘em by surprise, they were facin’ him when it happened, saw it comin’, it came fast and he’s a damn fine shot.”

“Gang war?”

“Gang boys, they don’t cart a body fifteen miles from the city into the sticks and dump it so it’ll be found.”

“Hate crime?” Feb asked.

“Maybe,” Colt answered though he didn’t believe that. Racism was prevalent in their town, no denying it, but he doubted that was the motivation. If these boys had infiltrated the town, started recruiting, he could see it. But their territories were in the city, likely murdered there and transported. Someone had gone hunting.

Feb read him again. “Vigilante?”

She was quick.

“That’d be my guess.”

“Is it gross?”

“What?”

Her voice dipped quiet. “The bodies. Is it gross?”

Something about that made him smile. “My opinion, dead bodies are gross all around, honey, even if it’s your Grandma laid in a casket. Dead bodies who’ve had a hole blown through the back of their heads, definitely.”

The bottom half of her face scrunched up, wrinkling her nose and he couldn’t help but chuckle. He reached out and wrapped his hand around her knee, giving her a squeeze before letting her go.

“Gonna get this man to bed,” Jackie announced and Colt and Feb looked to their sides to see Jackie guiding a stumbling Jack to the side door using both her hands on him.

Jack emitted a rumble and muttered, “’Night kids.”

Jackie gave them a smile and they disappeared through the door.

Colt stared at the door long after it closed then his eyes cut back to Feb when he felt her move in a fidget.

“This is getting to you,” she said softly.

Colt nodded. “Most of those boys don’t have a high life expectancy. They survive the street, they usually end up doin’ time then gettin’ out only to get caught and go back in again. Every once in awhile one of ‘em will get their shit together and pull themselves out. Any one of those boys we found could have been one of those who eventually got their shit together. What they do with their lives is no good but you never know when life will turn. Those boys didn’t get the chance to have the epiphany that led them to gettin’ their shit straight and I don’t like it.”

She put down her drink then her hand lifted high, toward his face then it hesitated and dropped down. He felt it settle at his neck, her fingers curling around and she leaned in, slightly, but she came closer.

He’d been right. Feb touched him and his mind went blank.

“You should know, people sleep easier knowin’ you do what you do,” she told him and he shook his head but she kept going, her hand tightening at his neck. “I don’t mean generally, Colt. People sleep easier knowin’ it’s you doin’ what you do.”

Christ, he wanted to kiss her.

Before he could do it, she dropped her hand, hopped off the counter and gave him a smile that was a challenge.

“Bet I’d kick your ass at pool,” she said.

Again before he could move or say a word, she grabbed her glass and walked out of the kitchen.

He watched her ass sway while she did it and then he poured himself more bourbon and followed her.

Colt came awake with a jolt; this was because Feb was shaking his shoulder.

He knifed double on the couch and stared at her silhouette in the dark.

“What?”

She leaned into him to reach around, the light flashed on and he blinked at the sudden brightness.

“My journals,” she whispered.

She was crouched beside him at the couch wearing her big t-shirt and she surged to her feet, her hand going to her hair, yanking it from her face. Her movements were rough. She was agitated.

She kept talking. “Awhile ago, not long, weeks?” she asked, her voice high, strange, stressed, “I went home. Felt funny, I didn’t know, just felt something weird.”

That cold started curling around his chest; he threw back the blankets and stood up, his movements taking him close to her.

She tilted her head back to look at him and dropped her hair but her hand waved to the side, palm up, a gesture that seemed both scared and helpless and it made that cold slither closer.

“Why’d it feel weird?” Colt asked.

She shook her head but said, “My apartment just didn’t feel right. It happened a couple of times actually. Didn’t think, forgot all about it, thought I was bein’ stupid. A woman, livin’ alone, thinkin’ stupid shit…” she shook her head again then said, quieter this time, that fear and vulnerability stark in her voice, “the thing was, one of those times, I found a journal on the floor of my closet.”

The cold started clawing.

Since he could remember, Feb had diaries. She didn’t hide when she wrote in them. When she was a kid and a teenager she’d be in Jack and Jackie’s living room, her legs thrown over an armchair, her journal at her thighs, her pen scratching on the page. When she broke up with him, had her turn and he didn’t understand why, he considered stealing one, reading it to find out why, but he knew that was a betrayal she’d never forgive. He’d hoped back then whatever had caused her to change would reverse and she’d come right back but she never did and then it was too late.

She still did it, he knew. He’d been into Meems’s to get coffee enough times to see she hadn’t changed. She’d be at her regular table, the book in front of her, her head bent, one hand holding her hair away from her face at the back of her neck, the other hand writing on the page, her coffee cup in front of her, muffin remains on a plate. Hell, she’d even been at his kitchen bar writing in one that night.

“I’m guessing you don’t keep your journals on the floor of your closet,” Colt prompted when she said no more.

She shook her head again. “I’ve kept them all, starting from the diary Mom gave me when I was twelve, the little one with that lock on it you could break with your thumbnail.” She licked her lips then said, “They’re in a box at the top of my closet. I thought nothing of it, don’t know why, it was weird but you don’t think someone will…”

Her voice trailed away, her eyes drifted and he lifted an arm, put his hand behind her neck and gave it a squeeze to get her attention.

She focused on him and whispered, “Someone’s been in my house, Colt.”

“Let’s go.”

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 together, 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.