by Danae Ayusso
A small smile pulled at the corners of Cat’s mouth. “Sorry, I didn’t used to have that effect on people. Since being in Montana I’ve really allowed myself to breathe and to relax and let go.”
Colt cocked an eyebrow and slid his hand under his pillow then pulled it back out with a Beretta in his hand. “More relaxed, huh?” he scoffed.
She smiled wide. “Yeah, more relaxed.”
He handed her the gun and she set it on the nightstand behind her. “If this is you relaxed, I’d hate to see what you’re like when wound tight.”
Cat hugged her pillow and shrugged. “I was a ball breaking bitch, but I had to be. I worked my ass off for everything I had, but around every corner some mafiosi…someone was there trying to take it from me. I was nothing but a pentito in their eyes, but I was untouchable. They hated me for it, but it was my… It doesn’t matter, Fury,” she said, catching herself as she desperately tried to reel her accent in. “That was a lifetime ago and I’ve moved on.”
Colt nodded his understanding, but her admittance, opening up, and her slips, only made her that much more interesting to him, and it was progressively getting harder and harder to reel the detective in. He wanted nothing more than to unravel the mystery which was Cat Rogers, but at the same time, he wanted to pull her into his arms and reassure her that he’d never hurt her and that it was okay to let her guard down and open up.
Both were a first for him.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked even though her eyes were closed.
“Trying not to play detective,” he admitted.
She huffed, but a small smile founds its way on her face. “How’s that working out for you?”
“Not very well.”
She sighed and opened her eyes. “I’m not your type, Fury. Sure, I’m tall, dark haired and light eyed, not to mention, hot as Hell, but that’s the extent of what fits into your preference.”
He smirked. “Are we really going to have this conversation at one in the morning while in bed?”
“Is there a better time?” she countered and his smirk fell. “Didn’t think so.”
Colt looked at her for a while, his eyes moving over her face many times before he seemingly found a way to counter her. “What is your type, Ma’am?”
Cat scoffed, trying to keep from swooning because of the heavy drawl he has when calls her Ma’am. “I never had one, but I can confidently say that you are a hot piece of Montana ass.”
He huffed causing her to open her eyes to regard him.
“You constantly underestimate my responses,” she said, sounding slightly disappointed.
“And yet you wonder why it’s a struggle to keep my detective in check.”
She closed her eyes again and smiled. “Not in the least. You are an interesting man, Fury, with demons hidden in the closet to the likes of nothing I could imagine, and yet you are trying to figure out my demons instead of dealing with your own. We’re the same, hypocrites that expect those to do as we say and not as we do. But I warn you now,” she said, opening her eyes, all the mirth stolen from her, “don’t go digging up my skeletons because they aren’t truly dead, and more often than not, they’re armed. It will only hurt you.”
The rain hadn’t let up from the night before and it melted the late spring snow, turning the ground into a muddy bog. The trees surrounding the clearing looked as if they belonged in a long cemetery. Bark was muted as snow striped charcoal, and branches were bare of anything living and lush, made them appear more skeletal in nature. The wind was absent and caused the musk of moisture rich vegetation and death to coat his tongue and flood his nostrils with the malodor.
Carefully Colt trudged through the mud, desperately trying to keep the bog from sucking his boots from his feet as he headed towards the seemingly glowing white beacon in the middle of the marked off area.
The angel’s white skin was free of mud, her hair curled away from her like black ribbons, and full lips were a pale shade of mauve that were slightly open, most likely from exhaling her last breath. Her eyes were wide open, the light blue was completely gone and replaced with milky white. The angel’s breasts were full and rode high on her chest with soft pink nipples that pulled Colt’s attention from the gruesome words carved into her flawless skin to the inviting peaks of taut flesh. His eyes moved over her still form from her breasts down her slender waist and slightly defined abs. The swell of her hips caused a stir in his groin, and the soft black curls marking the junction of her thighs caused his throat to tighten.
“Are you just going to stand stroking your cock or are you going to catch the sonuvabitch that killed me?”
Colt’s eyes snapped up to the milky white eyes looking at him.
The corners of her mauve pink lips were turned up on one side, and the deep cuts in her chest started to bleed profusely. The angel uncrossed her legs, ripping free the barbwire securing her ankles together in the process, and spread them wide.
“What’s wrong, Detective?” she purred. “Scared that I might bite?”
Colt swallowed the lump in his throat as he watched the blood pool around her. The thick, crimson puddle flowed over the uneven mud as if it were billowing fog rolling over a frozen lake. When it reached the trees encircling the bog, it snaked up the white and charcoal striped trunks painting them a dark shade of crimson. Each slithering tendril of red wrapped around the skeletal branches before, seemingly as one, the branches exploded with thick leaves in carmine, sangria and faul red, showering the ground under them in rich color.
Colt turned in a circle as he watched the area turn from a muddy crypt to a Montana summer. When his circuit was complete, he turned to regard the body and jumped back, startled when he found her standing in front of him. The barbwire crown of thorns pushed into her head blemished her white face with ribbons of blood. Her long hair blew wildly in a phantom breeze making it appear as a flowing halo of black. Milky white eyes narrowed and her top lip snarled upward.
“You did this to me,” Cat hissed in his face, her ice cold breath raking over his skin like claws of ice. “You killed me!”
Colt’s eyes snapped open and he struggled to catch his breath. He could still feel her icy breath constricting around this throat, could still taste the pungency of death and decay on his tongue, but most importantly, he could feel her warmth enveloping his side.
“Stop killing me and come back to bed,” Cat mumbled, her voice thick with sleep as she shimmied tighter against him.
Colt looked down at the olive toned face of the woman nuzzling against the crook of his neck, one of her legs was thrown across his hips, and her breasts were pressing against his arm while her arm stretched across the width of his chest so her fingers could absently twirl a lock of his hair around them in her sleep.
He wasn’t entirely sure how they ended up like that. The last he remembered she was on one side of the bed complaining under her breath about the wind and rain with her eyes closed tightly while he watched her from the other side. He didn’t remember falling asleep, and he really didn’t remember maneuvering to the middle of the bed so Cat could wrap herself around him…
Strangely, he wasn’t complaining about the latter.
“I don’t mean to kill you,” Colt grumbled under his breath.
Cat chuckled. Their close proximity caused her warm breath to wash across his skin, and the stir in his groin was back. “I didn’t think you were,” she said. “In case you were wondering, you talk in your sleep.”
Colt was unaware of that, but considering he’d never shared a bed with anyone before it was to be expected. “Sorry for waking you up.”
“I’ll let it slide this time,” she said before yawning. “There’s still a couple of hours until sunrise and I’m comfortable so shut up and go back to sleep.”
Colt chuckled and she smiled. “Yes, Ma’am,” he said with a heavy drawl, which caused her to moan.
Of course that soft, womanly sound of inadvertent contentment caused a stir within h
im and a pleasant warmth he’s never known before coursed through his body, and he fought the urge to pull her on top of him and capture her mouth with his.
Cat’s brows pulled together and her lips went taut. “Do you always get hard when killing people in your dreams?” she asked.
Colt’s eyes widened and he looked down. “Oh…um…not usually,” he admitted, sounding and feeling like a teenager with their first erection in the middle of class.
Her brows relaxed and she smiled. “So I’m to assume that it’s because of me?”
He didn’t like the amusement in her tone, but he expected his embarrassment and discomfort to amuse her.
“Yes,” he grumbled.
“Good,” she said and snuggled closer to him. “Get some sleep, if you can, we have a lot of work to do and not a lot of time to do it.”
She’s going to kill my self-restraint…or lack thereof. There’s no way in hell I can sleep now!
Colt continued to lay there with Cat wrapped around him while she softly purred in her sleep. There was something innocent and adorable about her at that moment with her mouth slightly ajar and breasts pressing against his side with each breath she inhaled. Her long hair was disheveled and sticking up slightly on one side so he tenderly caressed her head to tame the unruly locks while her fingers absently caressed the patch of exposed chest hair at the collar of his tank top.
Never had Colt held a woman in bed before, Vicks was much too shy and religious to allow such contact without them being married. That was partially the reason why Colt moved into the cabin from the main house while in high school. Colt thought the temptation was bad when he was a teen and unbearable when he returned from the army, but all of that put together couldn’t remotely compare to the unimaginable temptation of Cat Rogers.
Cat’s hiding, from the mob. I know that without a doubt. But why? Is she hiding from Frankie? She’s said nothing but good things about him and there’s a sense of regret when she’s talking about him, remorse in her eyes almost...she’s too damn stubborn and independent to be in an abusive relationship with some mobster. Did she run the books or something of a clerical nature and saw or heard something she shouldn’t have? Are they trying to kill her...still?
These are the types of things I never had to think or worry about with Vicks...but strangely, I’m okay with that. I know that Cat isn’t a bad person. She’s smacked Mickey more than once upside the head for breaking the law or protocol, and that’s proof enough that she’s a good person. Damn it! Why won’t she open up to me as I’ve opened up to her? She’s kicking my emotional ass and doesn’t even know it.
“D'Avanzo, don’t!” Cat shrieked in her sleep then whimpered. Her body shook and her fingers knotted in Colt’s shirt as tears stained her cheeks.
Colt kissed the top of her head and gently rubbed her back. “Shhh,” he whispered against her hair. “It’s okay, you’re safe.”
Her breathing shuddered in her chest and her body continued to shake.
“Wake up,” he mumbled under his breath, softly shaking her.
Cat’s eyes snapped open and suddenly a gun was pressing against the underside of Colt’s chin, forcing his head up.
“Calm down,” he said, trying to keep his voice level and non-threatening.
Cat looked from his face to the gun and back many times.
“Put the gun away,” Colt said with authority in his tone.
She dropped the gun and rolled away from him then scrambled off of the bed. “Sorry,” she mumbled as she hurried from the room, the bathroom door slamming shut a moment later.
Colt sat up and pulled his hands over his face. “Damn it,” he mumbled, trying to figure out what to do or say to calm Cat down; hysterical women were part of the job that he could never deal with properly. “Is she always so stubborn and paranoid?” he asked, turning to the picture of Frankie and Cat on her nightstand. “She’s a gigantic pain in the ass. Who in the hell is D'Avanzo and why did she...” his words trailed off as his eyes widened. “No!” he gasped and hurried after her.
Colt’s mind raced a mile a minute, trying to process what just happened and why, but everything thing was pointing towards the worst, the one thing he never imagined possible with someone like Cat, even though it apparently made complete sense: she was raped.
Softly he knocked on the bathroom door. “Cat?” he whispered and put his ear to the door.
From inside, he heard the unmistakable sound of heaving.
Colt opened the door and his heart sank when he saw Cat on the floor hugging the toilet as her head disappeared into the bowl. Her body heaved and contracted as it struggled to expel something, anything at all, but her stomach was empty. He wanted to comfort her, to tenderly rub her back and hold her in his arms; he wanted to promise her that no one would ever touch her again, and would never hurt her while he was there, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. In his experience, rape victims didn’t want to be touched or consoled, especially by a man, and it caused his heart to tighten in his chest.
“Will you get me a bottle of water?” Cat whispered, turning to look at him.
He forced a smile that fell before it even began and hurried to the kitchen. When he returned, Cat was sitting on the bathroom floor, leaning against the wall, her complexion pale and eyes rimmed in red.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, taking the bottle from him.
“You’re welcome,” he said and sat on the floor across from her. “Did you want to talk about it?”
“Not really,” she said with a chuckle before draining nearly the entire bottle of water. “I guess you’re not the only one who has nightmares. Are you ready for breakfast then off to the M.E. before hitting up Five’s family for a statement?” she asked, getting to her feet. She sounded completely normal and was all about business, but Colt couldn’t believe that she was back to normal just like that. She had to be putting on a front. There was no way she wasn’t.
“I can call the M.E. if you’ll let me use your phone,” Colt said, getting to his feet, keeping a cautious eye on her.
Cat chuckled. “You don’t have a cell phone, huh?”
He shook his head. “There was no need for one on the mountain.”
Again she laughed. “You’re adorable when you don’t mean to be,” she said, tucking her hair back under a scalp cap. “Stop looking at me like you’re waiting for me to completely lose it. It was a nightmare. We all have them. Obviously it isn’t a big deal. Get dressed so we can get to work.”
The corner of his mouth twitched when her accent flared. “If you ever need someone to talk to,” he started to offer, but she raised her hand to stop him. “Very well,” he grumbled and grabbed his bag from the vanity then hurried to the bedroom to change.
****
Cat waited in the Bronco while Colt hurried into the station to get the number for the M.E. since he couldn’t remember it for the life of him...at least that was his excuse.
“Probie,” Colt called out, motioning towards his back office.
Mickey hurried after him and closed the door behind him. “Detective, is everything okay?”
Colt handed him a piece of paper. “I need you to run this last name,” he said, keeping his fingers on the paper, “the spelling might vary so you’ll have to get creative to find the exact way of spelling it. Obviously it’s Italian. I need you to check for sexual assaults, sexual battery, domestic violence... Check New York and New Jersey for the past one to four years.”
Mickey’s eyes widened.
“No one’s to know, got it?” Colt warned.
He nodded.
“Good,” Colt said and relinquished the piece of paper to him. “I’m going to interview the family of the fifth victim. Where’s Jimmy?”
Mickey slipped the piece of paper in his pocket without looking at it. “He’s dealing with the FBI. They’re less than thrilled by the hotel arrangements and rental cars. The lead in the case was suddenly reassigned and she raised a stink about it. Now the replacement
is scrambling to get familiar with the case.”
Colt groaned. “Lovely. The FBI won’t be of use for at least a week now. Use my office for your research and make sure you hide your trail. You remember how to do that?”
Mickey nodded. “I tested surprisingly well in digital forensics in college.”
“I have no idea what that even is,” Colt admitted.
Mickey smiled wide. “It means that I’m a computer geek that won’t leave a digital trail. I got this, Detective. Let me know if you need anything else.”
Colt was impressed. “Thanks.” When he opened the door he stopped. “Mickey, you’ll make a great detective someday, regardless of what those brownnosers in the bullpen think or say.”
“Thank you, Sir!” Mickey called out as Colt let the door closed behind him.
Cat sat next to Colt on the couch in the living room of the Hubbards’ rental house. Mrs. Hubbard was medicated and sleeping, not a surprise to anyone—losing a child was something no parent wanted to experience.
Mr. Hubbard eventually joined them, his eyes were bloodshot and he was wearing the same thing he had on yesterday. He sat, his attention staying on Cat. “Are you the FBI?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I’ve worked with them and the force. I’m more of what you’d call a private consultant. We’re sorry for your loss,” she automatically said when he opened his mouth to press it. “You reported your daughter missing when she didn’t return from town. Correct?”
He nodded and sulked back in his chair.
“What was she in town for?” she pressed.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, looking at his hands.
A loud crashing from the back of the house pulled their attention.
“My other daughter,” Mr. Hubbard explained. “She isn’t taking the news very well. She looked up to her sister. They were best friends,” his words caught in his throat.