As for Sully, to be fair to Feb, Colt thought it was her choice if she wanted to share. He’d fucking well like to know what she said, make no mistake, but she should be the one to choose to tell him.
Walking into J&J’s, he knew he was likely jumping straight out of the frying pan into the fire. But Feb had said she’d cried in the bar when she’d heard about Puck and that meant the killer was in the bar to see her crying and therefore Colt was going to be in J&J’s scrutinizing the crowd.
It was Friday night and J&J’s like always on Fridays was packed. Darryl and Jack were working the bar, Feb and Ruthie, Morrie and Feb’s only other employee outside Fritzi who came in every morning to mop and clean, were both out amongst the tables, dropping drinks.
Morrie was nowhere to be seen.
Feb glanced up, saw him and dipped her chin like he’d seen her do to hundreds of customers, saying hello, asking, nonverbally, “What can I get you?” or “You want another?”
Colt felt exactly as he felt that morning when she’d denied him the jaw tilt for the first time since he could remember. He felt like he felt when she called him Colt for the first time something he’d repeatedly told her to do but something he found he fucking hated when she finally did it.
He felt like throwing something.
But instead he dipped his own chin and hid his response just as he kicked himself for being such an enormous jackass in the bathroom the day before finally losing it about her calling him Alec and taking away the only good thing they shared anymore.
Or so he thought.
After she denied him the jaw tilt that morning she threw a minor hissy fit about him being off the case. Colt had no idea if she was doing this because she thought The Feds were insulting him or if she wanted him working the case or both. He kept hearing her saying, “He’s a good cop,” over and over in his head and he liked the sound, too fucking much, but there was no denying he did.
And there was also no denying that her reaction to the possibility that he would get hurt, not to mention the death of his dog, had been spectacularly more mammoth than the tears she’d shed over her asshole ex-husband. They’d thought they’d need to sedate her, hell, he’d thought it too. She was completely out of control.
But she’d let him calm her. Not her Dad, or her Mom, nor had she pulled herself together on her own. Colt had done it.
Feb could lose it. She had her mother’s temper which was volatile, though quiet, but making matters worse she was also emotional, again just like her Mom. Both Feb and Jackie could descend into righteous indignation or inconsolable tears at the slightest provocation. Like Jack with Jackie, Colt had been the only one back in the day who could calm February.
And that day, he’d done it again.
And last, she wasn’t avoiding his eyes anymore or his touch. That morning, after her drama and him helping her to pull herself together, she’d stood in his arms and started a conversation about how he should get a new dog. When Warren interrupted the moment, Colt’s hands itched to wring the man’s neck. But when Colt finally let Feb go, she didn’t step away, gain distance. She stood close then met his eyes before walking away.
He had no idea what any of this meant or if it meant anything at all and it was only her way of coping during a seriously shitty situation. He’d give her her lead and he’d wait.
What he wouldn’t do was let Sully, Jack or Morrie piss all over it. If something good came of this mess, a détente between the two of them, he was going to take it and he wasn’t going to let anyone piss on it.
No fucking way.
He slid onto his stool at the end of the bar and scanned the room.
“Off duty?” Jack asked and Colt nodded.
He heard the hiss of the cap coming off the beer and the thud of the bottle landing in front of him and he forgot until then how much he missed hearing Jack ask, “Off duty?” then the subsequent hiss and thud.
It sucked why the family was back together but he couldn’t deny he was glad they were.
“Where’s Morrie?” Colt asked, watching Feb talk to a table full of kids who looked too young to be sitting in a bar.
“Shoulda come in three hours ago, you missed World War Three,” Jack’s amused answer brought Colt’s eyes to him.
“World War Three?” Colt asked the smiling Jack, not sure whether he was more surprised to see Jack smiling indulgently or to see that indulgent smile aimed at his daughter.
Jack had kept his mouth shut throughout the last two decades but Colt knew Feb felt his condemnation. He knew it because she couldn’t miss it, everyone saw it. Jack loved his daughter, always had, always would. They’d been close once, as fathers and daughters should be. Feb was Jack’s little girl, not like Susie was a Daddy’s Little Girl, what Jack and Feb had was special and it was beautiful.
But Jack took her breakup with Colt and her subsequent behavior, marriage and defection as a personal affront to the family he built. He’d accepted her and her decisions as that was Jack’s way, but he didn’t like them and he didn’t pretend to. Colt had seen him smile at his daughter, laugh with her, but he hadn’t seen that indulgent smile in twenty years.
Colt’s gaze moved back to February who now had her tray tucked under her arm and she was scrutinizing one of the boy’s driver’s licenses. He watched as she said something then tipped her head his way. The boys all went pale in the dim lights of the bar and looked uncomfortably at him, some of them twisting in their chair to do it. Feb said something else and they quickly grabbed their jackets, the legs of their chairs scraping so desperately on the floor the noise could be heard over the music. Through their hurried departure Feb tapped the now-confiscated license against her palm, her eyes went to her father and she rolled them.
Colt stopped breathing.
Jack burst out laughing.
Feb used to roll her eyes all the time. The world was full of idiots doing idiot things that Feb thought worthy of an eye roll, mostly the idiot things she did herself.
He’d always loved it that she could laugh at herself and all the trouble she got herself into because she was so fired up to suck all the life out of the world that she could get in her. She never blushed when she did something stupid or crazy or embarrassing, she’d just roll her eyes, throw her head back and laugh.
“I’m guessin’ you won’t shut us down, officer, since Feb didn’t serve those young ‘uns,” Jack said, his voice vibrating with his chuckle. “Good you kids got so much practice flashin’ your fake IDs and getting yourself into liquor stores, bars and trouble. Means Morrie and Feb can sniff ‘em out from a mile away.”
Colt was listening but he was watching Feb move to another table, her chin lifting, giving them a hello-what-can-I-get-cha.
“World War Three…” Jack said, capturing Colt’s attention again and he turned to look at the man, “happened when Feb found out Morrie moved home. She doesn’t know why, she thinks it’s a trial reconciliation. Three hours ago she told Morrie to go home, help his now full-time workin’ wife with dinner, help her with the dishes, help their kids with their homework and then to bed then he could come back here.” Colt thought this was good advice and Jack kept talking. “Morrie told her his kids are ten and twelve years old and they don’t need no help gettin’ to bed and Dee’s been doin’ the dishes since she was a kid.” Colt thought this was a very stupid response and Jack kept right on going. “Feb lost her mind, told him to stop bein’ a jackass and get home to his family.” Colt wished he’d seen that. “Morrie told her it was Friday and ain’t no way he was leavin’ this bar on a busy Friday night.” Colt wished he’d been here to kick his friend up the ass. “Feb told him he had a choice, he could take care of his customers or he could keep his family.”
When Jack stopped talking, Colt remarked, “No choice really.”
“Yep,” Jack grinned at him. “That’s why Morrie ain’t here.” Jack’s gaze sought his daughter and his voice was softer when he spoke again. “Ain’t seen Feb act that way in too long.
” He didn’t look at Colt when he finished. “Seems this situation has scared some life back in her. Ain’t gonna thank the fucker for doin’ it but I’m glad all the same.”
Colt remained silent but hid it behind a pull off his beer.
Jack took that time to turn his attention to Colt. “Seems to me there’s advantage to be taken, son, and ain’t no one in a hundred mile radius would blame you for takin’ it.”
Colt dropped the beer and opened his mouth but Jack threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender.
“That’s all I’m sayin’. You’re a man now, you play it as you see fit.”
Before Colt could speak, Jack’s eyes went over Colt’s shoulder and he followed something around Colt’s back.
Colt twisted and saw Feb heft up the hinged portion of bar and slide through, dropping it behind her.
Her eyes caught Colt’s and before she turned away she said, “Hey.”
Another new one.
She never said anything in greeting, not even “hey”.
Then she turned away and walked down the bar. Colt’s eyes followed her ass as she did it. Then they sliced to Jack who he caught grinning at him.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“Not smart, old man, gettin’ your hopes up,” Colt told him quietly.
“My age? Hope’s about all I got left,” Jack returned and headed down the bar.
Jack was so full of shit. The man had everything.
Colt nursed his beer and scanned the bar, cataloguing the customers, going through what he knew about them in his mind and understanding Feb’s hesitation at pointing the finger at anyone. Most everyone there he knew. Most of those he knew his whole life.
There were a few drifters. Jack was a biker, he’d owned a hawg all the time Colt knew him. He had a “biker friendly” sign in the front window. He liked his Harley brethren to come in, take a load off, shoot a game of pool and drink a few rounds in his place.
Morrie and Feb continued the tradition.
Morrie owned a Fat Boy and Feb had more Harley Davidson t-shirts than were probably carried in a single store. At the back, under the collar, if she lifted her hair up or, in the summer or when the nights got too busy and she pulled it into a knot or ponytail on the top of her head, you’d see the story of her last fifteen years laid bare there. In a small decal under the collar, Harley tees announced what store in what city and what state the tee came from. She’d been to Harley stores all over the country. Hell, she had several from the Harley golden triangle, Deadwood, Rapid City, and the granddaddy of them all, Sturgis. She’d worn one the other night and tonight she had on a Sturgis Motorcycle Rally t-shirt, its army green fabric featuring a display of grinning skulls interlinked with flowers at the chest.
Her choker tonight had oblong brown beads.
She was four people down when she felt his eyes on her.
She lifted her head then pointed her chin at his beer. “You want another?”
This wasn’t unusual. She may not have been exactly friendly for the last two years but she owned a bar, she’d brought him a beer.
“Yeah.”
She came closer, grabbed a beer out of the fridge, stuck it in the bottle opener under the bar and yanked off the cap. She placed it in front of him and surprised him by lifting his old bottle and eyeing the swirling dregs in the bottom. Then with practiced ease she tossed it with a crash into the tall, thin, gray plastic glass recycling bin.
Her eyes came to his. “Jack chaser?”
This was unusual. She may have brought him a beer but she hadn’t cleared the old one away and she never furthered the discourse in any way.
“Feelin’ like keepin’ my faculties tonight,” he told her.
She nodded, her gaze sliding away. “Good call. Feds in town. Psycho on the loose. Faculties would be good.”
Jesus. Who was this woman?
Before he could figure it out, she said, “Yell if you change your mind. Stayin’ in Mom and Dad’s RV with them tonight. You feel like gettin’ a buzz on, Dad’ll pour you in the back of my car.”
She started to move away but he caught her by calling her name.
She turned back to him and he asked, “Why’re you stayin’ in the RV?”
She’d looked at him but again her eyes slid away though not before he saw them light in the dark.
“Jimbo’s a bit allergic to cats. Woke up with his eyes matted shut, sneezin’ like crazy.” She looked back at him after she’d hid her humor at this piece of news and said, “Jessie wanted to kick Jimbo out but I explained that a psycho would probably not be afraid of two women wielding one of her many cans of hair spray and a lighter. Wilson and me are homeless for awhile. Slummin’ it in the RV.”
Colt didn’t find this funny.
“Jesus, Feb, just move in with me.”
Feb’s expression told him she did not find him funny either though his intention wasn’t to be funny.
“Colt –”
He cut her off. “There’s no reason to fuckin’ argue.”
She took a step toward him and lowered her voice. “You’re off the hook. Mom and Dad and me are movin’ into Morrie’s if things go okay with Dee and this reconciliation lasts longer than a night.”
“You know how I feel about Jack but he’s not a young man anymore.”
“Maybe not but he’s not stupid either. Something happens he’ll know what to do.”
“Not like a cop would know what to do.”
Her head tilted with her question and her burgeoning impatience. “How much do you reckon I have to be worried?”
“None, you stay with me.”
“Colt, you don’t even like me. Why the fuck would I move in with you?”
“Who says I don’t like you?”
She stepped back on a foot like he’d shoved her shoulders and her face carried an expression like he’d perpetrated a surprise attack.
“Feb –” Colt started.
“February! Woman, what’s it take to get a drink around here?” Sheila Eisenhower shouted from the other end of the bar, standing by Joe-Bob who was staring at her with mild affront and it was highly likely she’d interrupted Joe-Bob’s evening nap.
“I got her,” Jack called, hustling down to the other end of the bar, leaving a stunned Tony Mancetti staring at the half-pulled mug of beer that Jack left sitting on the bar in order to rush to shut Sheila up and give Feb and Colt time to have their conversation.
“Brilliant, just brilliant,” Feb muttered as she started toward Tony.
“Feb, we’re not done talkin’,” Colt stated, his tone short and clipped.
“We so are,” Feb threw over her shoulder and hightailed it to Tony’s beer.
Colt took an angry pull off his own beer mainly because the cool of the bottle soothed the itch he now had to wring Sheila Eisenhower’s neck.
Feb didn’t get near him for the next twenty minutes and Colt played the only card he had in his hand.
“Jack!” he called and Jack jerked his head at Colt to tell him he’d heard him, finished the order he was filling for Ruthie and then walked to Colt.
“She can stay in the RV with you tonight but I want Feb and you and Jackie with me by tomorrow night.”
“Son, your second bedroom is full of junk and Jackie and me slept on your pull out last Christmas. Hate to tell you this, boy, but it’s lumpy.”
“Pull the RV up outside but Feb’s inside.”
Jack pressed his lips together before he said, “Found out yesterday my girl’s got a problem with insomnia and, I’ll repeat, your pull out is lumpy.”
“I won’t pull it out when I’m sleepin’ on it.”
Jack’s eyes grew wide. “You’re givin’ Feb your bed?”
“A man with a hatchet comes into the house I don’t want Feb on the couch.”
Jack threw him a look that Colt just caught before Jack turned away.
Colt had seen that look from Jack many times in his life. After football games. The four proms he took Jack�
�s daughter to. After Colt graduated from Purdue. The first time Jack had seen him in a police uniform. The day they made him detective.
The weight he’d been carrying in his gut grew lighter.
Jack looked back at him. “She ain’t gonna like it.”
“She doesn’t have much choice.”
Jack grinned. “She comes with a cat.”
This was not a pleasant prospect. Colt was not only a dog person, he didn’t much like cats.
“It stays out of my way, I won’t skin it.”
Jack threw his head back and laughed so loud, February, bending to pick up a fallen towel from the ground all the way down the bar, twisted her head to look at them. She was too far away, the light too dim, Colt couldn’t tell if her expression was anxious or angry.
Probably both.
“I’ll have a word,” Jack said, still chuckling.
“Have as many as you need but get her ass in my house.”
Jack threw him another grin and Colt hated what he had to say next but part of his job was saying shit like this. He didn’t like doing it at all but he really didn’t like doing it with people he cared about.
“Don’t get too comfortable with all this, Jack. The profilers profiled the guy. I want her at my house because she’s not safe. You hear what I’m sayin’ to you?”
Jack sobered instantly and leaned in.
“I hear you, you got more to say?”
He did so he said it. “He’s her age, probably went to school with us. Highly intelligent, organized and fixated. A sexual deviant. Likely he has a good job and is good at doin’ it. It’s probable she knows him. It’s likely, with his level of intelligence, he doesn’t think anyone’s smart enough to catch him and he’s good at hiding his perversion. He wants her attention. She goes off target, does anything he doesn’t like, say, movin’ in with me, his focus can shift from those who did her wrong to what he perceives as her doin’ him wrong. This is a profile, not set in stone, but those guys are good at what they do and we’d be fools not to listen to what they say.”
“Maybe she shouldn’t move in with you.”
“Maybe not, but you happy with any other place she could be?”
For You Page 9