by Danae Ayusso
“My problem?” James shouted. “My problem?! You brought a goddamn...I don’t know what...to interview the family!”
“Going without you,” Colt interrupted, getting in James’ face, “presented an interesting bit of information that might be crucial to the case.”
“You’re insane!” James shot back. “You brought a damn civilian into the case and allowed them to speak to the family of the victim. That isn’t protocol and you damn well know it!”
“If that was the case,” Colt cut him off, “then it was a good move because information that you, the goddamn sheriff, neglected to think was important was brought to light! How in the hell could you not remember seeing the damn victim only hours before her body was discovered?! Did it not occur to you that it might have been important?”
James leaned back, never had Colt actually yelled at him, or anyone for that matter, before. “I didn’t think of it because it didn’t matter. She came by and asked if anyone had reported seeing or complaining about an ankle biter. I told her no and if I heard of anything I’d call her parents. That was it. I didn’t even remember who it was until you said something. But the point remains, Colt; you brought Cat with you when you should have brought me! She isn’t a cop. She isn’t FBI. She isn’t on the case...she better not be on the damn case, Colt.”
Colt cocked an eyebrow. “Cat Rogers isn’t on the case, that I can promise you.”
James looked at him skeptically then sighed; never had Colt lied and he knew he wasn’t about to start now. “Sorry, but still.”
“If you say but still one more time,” Colt warned, “I’m going to knock you upside the head and leave you out here for Chelsea to play with.”
He chuckled. “I’ll attempt it. Why did you take her?”
“Who said I did?” Colt countered and headed up the porch steps.
James glared at Colt’s retreating form before following. “When I called to set a time to speak with Mr. Hubbard, he informed me that the Detective from New York and the special consultant with him already had.”
Colt scoffed. “Why would he think I was from New York? I don’t sound like a New Yorker, don’t carry myself as one... I’m a born and bred Montanan.”
James hadn’t thought of that. “I’m not sure,” he admitted and scratched his head. “So you didn’t bring Cat out there?”
“I did not bring Cat Rogers to the Hubbards in order to question them,” Colt repeated for the hundredth time and threw the front door open. “Emma!” he called out as he headed towards the kitchen, following the smell of something mouthwatering.
James followed, tossing his jacket on a chair in passing. “Come on, Colt. Don’t be pissed at me. I told you I’m not a very good Sheriff. Usually I only have to worry about drunk driving and domestic violence. Occasionally there’s a rape, but that doesn’t take much police work since they know the offender in most cases. Come on, I said I was sorry.”
Emma stepped out of the kitchen with a bottle of wine in hand and met them in the dining room. “What are you two going on about now?” she asked.
“Nothing,” they mumbled in unison.
“Uh huh,” she huffed. “It’s like high school all over again. I swear you two are brothers. Go clean up then finish setting the table for me. Cat cooked something from her homeland and we’ll need some more wine...this one I drank,” she said with a smile and waved the nearly empty bottle at them.
James groaned. “Dang it, Grandmother, you know you’re not supposed to be drinking,” he scolded and tried to grab the bottle from her but she smacked him. “I’m telling the doctor.”
Colt looked between them. “Why can’t she drink?”
“Blood pressure medication,” James explained. “It started getting high again so he put her on a strict no drinking regiment because she gets mouthier when she drinks.”
Colt snorted. “I never thought it possible for her to get mouthier, this I’ve got to see,” he said, trying to look around them to the kitchen.
Emma smirked. “And that’s why you’re my favorite,” she informed him, smacking James again for reaching for her wine. “Cat, get your round ass in here with dinner!” she called out, noticing Colt trying to sneak a peek at her.
Colt gave her a look. “Mouthier is an understatement,” he said and she smiled with a wink.
Dinner was inarguably awkward for two of the four sitting at the table. No one really said anything aside from Emma and her endless gossiping. Colt and Cat didn’t look at each other, even though they were sitting across from the other. The food was delicious, someone commented on it more than once, but after each thank you their silence resumed and Emma continued rambling.
There were a million questions that Colt wanted to ask, better yet, demand, but he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to ask them, and the company was less than right for it. He was irritated at James for being the world’s worst sheriff, he was irritated at himself for not being able to reel his inner detective in, but he was most irritated at not being able to blame any of his bad mood on Cat. Yes, she was the source of a good part of it, but she wasn’t the reason behind it. He’s pissed off at himself because he obviously cares for her much more than he should, and he isn’t entirely sure what to do or think about that.
“I made dessert,” Emma said, pushing her chair back from the table. “And when you’re done, James, go home.”
“Why?” James whined, following her into the kitchen.
Cat opened her mouth, but promptly closed it when Colt shook his head, warning her against it.
They continued to sit in silence at the dining room table, neither looking at the other, while James and Emma argued in the kitchen, their voices carrying throughout the house.
“You don’t give a damn about my health, Jimmy,” Emma said before the sound of a wine bottle shattering against the wall made Cat jump, and she snaked her hand behind her and wrapped her fingers around the grip.
Colt shook his head, silently conveying that this was normal.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” James said sarcastically, “never mind me, your dang grandson! Yes, drink yourself stupid and thin your blood to the consistency of water, because that’s what will happen! You cannot drink with your dang medication. If you get cut or something, you could bleed to death.”
Emma laughed. “Oh, I see where your concern is, the area rugs. Heaven forbid they get ruined as your old, fragile, incontinent grandmother bleeds to death and ruins your precious area rugs.”
Cat, getting antsy and bored, pulled her Walther out and started taking it apart at the table. She produced a small travel gun cleaning kit from her calf holster, and proceeded to clean the gun at the dining room table.
Colt watched amused, trying to keep from smiling at how peculiar, but completely normal, she is.
James groaned loudly. “They are handmade Victorian era area rugs,” he informed her. “They are antiques! Herati motifs of such detail and craftsmanship are impossible to find nowadays.”
Cat looked up at Colt and smiled. ‘Gay,’ she mouthed.
Colt rolled his eyes.
“Well I think they’re ugly,” Emma informed him and her grandson gasped. “I rather have French Provencal décor then Victorian. Just because I’m English doesn’t mean I want to surround myself with Old World English shit.”
“You take that back,” James shouted before he yelped when she hit him.
Colt was concerned that Emma and James fighting and arguing would have irritated or upset Cat, but the smile on her face told him more than she could have liked. She was actually enjoying their dysfunctional relationship and family. She wasn’t put off by it in the least. Perhaps it was because that’s how her family was, he speculated, and he wanted to know if he was right or not since he hadn’t been correct about anything he’s speculated about her yet.
Cat held her hand out and cocked an eyebrow.
Colt shook his head but handed his service weapon to her then watched her quickly dismantle his Glock 22 befor
e she took her time cleaning it.
After nearly an hour, the back door slammed shut and it was followed by the jeep peeling out, peppering the back of the Bronco with rocks.
Emma tossed an apple pie on the table. “I’m going to bed, you two go do whatever it is that you’re going to do. Jimmy will be pouting for a while.” She winked at them then left the dining room.
“And that concludes dinner theater,” Colt sarcastically said.
“You’re mad at me,” Cat surmised after Emma’s door closed down the hall, and handed him back his Glock.
Colt shook his head. “No, not in the least,” he assured her, holstering his gun then pushed back from the table. “I was going to apologize for the dysfunctional dinner theater but you weren’t put off by it in the least.”
She nodded. “Try being the only unmarried woman in a house full of Sicilians. Frankie’s brothers, uncles, cousins, dad, grandfather…when the game was on, you couldn’t hear yourself think, and most of the time they ended up either in the backyard knocking each other around or in the street knocking each other around. And more often than not, I was in the middle of it because someone had to protect him.”
“Good to know,” he said.
“Why you mad?” she asked.
Damn it, she knows me too well already.
“I’m pissed that Jimmy neglected to tell anyone that he saw Five the day she vanished,” he paused, realizing that he just called the victim the way that Cat does; a completely impersonal reference to keep them from being humanized. He wasn’t entirely sure if he liked that or not.
“And?” she pressed.
Stubborn woman!
“I’m pissed that I missed half of the stuff that I have in the other cases. I’m pissed that we haven’t caught Pope yet. I’m pissed that I’m not pissed at you in the least.”
Cat cocked an eyebrow. “You want to be pissed at me?” she asked, wanting to clarify that she heard him right.
“It’d be easier,” he admitted and motioned for her to follow him.
Not entirely sure what that meant, Cat followed him.
They went up the stairs to the second story and down a hallway. It smelled old and musky, unlived in even, and the hardwood floors were covered in a layer of dust. Each door was closed, no light came from under them, but it wasn’t hard to tell the reason why it reminded Cat of a crypt: no one had been up there since Vicks died.
Colt stopped in front of a door, and Cat joined him.
His hand trembled slightly as he caressed the white wooden door. “Emma’s room is on the main level, always has been because it’s an en suite, and the boys were on the opposite side of the hallway...up here. Vicks picked the middle room between ours so she wouldn’t have to choose between me and Jimmy, in essence. Twins are either best friends or worst enemies, luckily they were friends.”
Cat nodded; she was well aware of the connection between twins and how life changing, and dangerous, they could be.
Colt looked over at her and noticed she was absently rubbing her side while she looked at him. “When I turned seventeen, I moved to the cabin because the temptation was there, I was a teenager after all, but it was more than that,” he explained, sensing that she needed to know as much as he needed to tell her. “Jimmy and Vicks started fighting more and more, and I felt like it was my fault. Leaving helped, even if I was just in the backyard, but... I haven’t been in here since she died.”
Cat pulled one glove off and rested her bare hand on his. The contrast of his large, light tan hand and her long, slender, medium olive toned one made her feel small. Colt Fury always made her feel tiny and delicate, and a part of her liked that, the vulnerability that his all-consuming presence made her feel...she’d never felt either before and she wasn’t entirely sure if she liked it or not.
Colt looked intently into her eyes.
“You don’t have to do this,” she assured him.
He gave her a look.
“I know, stupid statement, but still. I don’t want you uncomfortable.”
Colt nodded. “I want to move on. I have to accept that Vicks is gone and not coming back, but most importantly, that it wasn’t my fault,” he explained then, in a show of blatant intimacy he never knew he was capable of, he weaved his fingers through Cat’s and gave her hand a squeeze. “Thank you for assisting with the case...for helping me.”
This is bad, and it isn’t going to end well, Cat mentally groaned.
“It’s the least I could do,” she said and pushed the door handle down with their joined hands and the door opened with a creak.
The inside of the room was just as Cat thought it’d be; pink and white with lavender and lilac colored floral prints. It wasn’t her style in the least, and it reminded her of something that a young girl would have, not a woman who was in her twenties and engaged to one of, if not the, manliest man she’s ever seen. She honestly couldn’t picture Colt Fury being with someone who had dainty flowers on her bedspread and a pink bathrobe with daisies embroidered on it. Even the furniture reminded Cat of something you’d find in a consignment store for a child; white enamel and polished brass, vanity with a velvet pink and brass stool shoved under it, white wicker rocker with a teddy bear sitting on it, crystals and beads dangled from the pink silk lampshades on the nightstands on either side of the bed, and framed pictures were neatly displayed on the bookcases and dresser.
“It used to smell like her,” Colt said, pulling Cat’s attention. “Vicks always smelled of rosewater...her mother used to wear it to church on Sundays. When she died, Vicks found the bottle in her mother’s purse that was left in the car by mistake, and she wore a drop every Sunday behind each ear. By the time she was nearly thirteen it was nearly empty and she was upset about it. It took me months to find where they sold that exact brand so I could refill the bottle when she wasn’t looking. I’m sure she knew I was doing it since it never held less than twenty drops, but she never acted as if she knew. For the longest time she said that it was as if it was magic because the bottle never ran empty, and that it was a gift from the angels.”
That didn’t surprise Cat in the least. In her mind, she was already pegging Victoria Lake as an extremely immature and sheltered young woman who believed in happy endings and that sunshine and rainbows could solve everything.
Reel it in, she scolded herself. Keep the bitch in check.
Colt continued to hold her hand as he walked across the room to the vanity and picked up the small, clear glass bottle which housed a teaspoon of the light pink liquid. When he removed the silver stopper, the faint scent of rose rolled from the mouth of the bottle and mixed with the stale, musky smell of the room. His breathing shuttered in his chest so Cat squeezed his hand reassuringly and he nodded, replaced the stopper in the bottle and set it down on the vanity.
“Does everything appear as it should be?” Cat asked.
He looked around for nearly a half-hour without actually touching anything before he turned his attention to Cat and his face dropped. “Honestly, I didn’t come in here that often. Vicks and Jimmy were raised Catholic. Emma, not so much, but because her grandchildren were Catholic she took them to church every Sunday, and even after they were grown she kept going because it was good entertainment for her. Emma doesn’t listen to the sermons; she enjoys watching everyone and feeding her need for gossip.”
Cat snorted. “Huh, for some reason that doesn’t surprise me. What is she?”
He nodded. “She was born and raised Baptist.”
“Yeah, that totally makes sense,” she said and headed towards the nightstand, pulling Colt along behind her since he wouldn’t let go of her hand. “I’m going to open every drawer, flip through each book, search through her closet and dresser, and go through all of her things,” she warned. “Did you want to stay or did you want me to give you a report of my findings?”
Colt didn’t want to stay in the room, he didn’t even want to be in the house at the moment, and he especially didn’t want to be in the ro
om of the woman he once loved with the woman that he can’t stop thinking about. “I don’t...I’ll just sit on the bed.”
Cat nodded then forced him to sit and relinquish her hand so she could start processing the room.
Colt sat on the edge of the bed watching Cat process the room with the skill and experience of a seasoned professional. Of course she had latex gloves in her pocket, he quickly learned that she never left the cabin without them, and when she pulled a small notepad and pencil from the side pant leg pocket, Colt almost chuckled because he processed a scene the same way.
I shouldn’t be in here, especially with another woman. Yes, it could be important, processing the room which hasn't been touched since Vicks’ body was discovered, but still, it isn’t right. Hell, I hadn’t even been in this room for weeks, maybe even months, prior to Vicks’ death. It was more than the temptation; her room always reminded me of something a six-year-old would have, not a woman with a college degree. Vicks always said that she’d let me decorate our home so that I was comfortable, but she wouldn’t have been comfortable with my taste in the least…but Cat would have.
That really isn’t right! I shouldn’t be thinking about another woman while in the room of the woman I loved and was going to marry. This isn’t right…I know it isn’t but why aren’t I feeling guilty about it?
Colt watched Cat intently as she studied the pictures on the white painted bookcases on the far wall. Her head tilted to the side as she regarded each before picking up the picture she was looking at and examined the frame, pulled the backing off, searching for hidden notes or pictures.
At first Colt was sick to his stomach as he watched Cat violate, in essence, Vicks’ private space, but the nausea quickly turned to admiration as he watched her. Cat’s touch was delicate; each item she examined was replaced in the exact spot it was originally in. He fought the urge to follow her around the room, to look over her shoulder at the notes she was scribbling in her notepad, to feel the heat of her body as he pressed his against her from behind…