For You

by Kristen Ashley

  “Thanks,” I said quietly and looked away.

  “Jesus, darlin’, you outdone yourself with this one,” Dad proclaimed, mouth full.

  “It’s scrambled eggs, Dad.”

  “It’s fuckin’ beautiful, Feb.”

  “Whatever,” I whispered, feeling embarrassed. This was, of course, the effect I was going for, for whatever reason, but getting it made me uncomfortable.

  “Why aren’t you havin’ any?” Colt asked and my eyes went to him and then skittered over his shoulder.

  “I don’t eat before yoga,” I informed him.

  “Missin’ out, baby,” he said softly and my eyes skittered right back and I felt a warm heaviness hit me in three different places in my torso and I wondered if my camisole was holding up or if everyone could see my nipples had gotten hard.

  They ate in silence and then Colt moved to take his plate to the sink. He turned, reaching around me to grab a slice of toast off the stack. He was behind me and I felt his hand hit the small of my back.

  “Walk me to the door, Feb,” he said in my ear.

  I followed him to the dining table where he stopped, the toast in his teeth, to shrug on his holster and blazer then I followed him to the door.

  He took a bite of the toast and as he chewed his other hand came to the top of my neck, under my jaw, his thumb jutting out to press under my chin and lift my face.

  “Great mornin’, baby,” he whispered and that heady heaviness in my breasts and between my legs got headier. “Which means me askin’ this is gonna suck.”

  “Oh shit,” I said.

  “Sully says Nowakowski wants you to make another list. The fifteen years you been away.”

  I pulled in breath through my nostrils then I let it go and nodded which wasn’t easy with his thumb at my chin.

  “They’ll need to know where to find ‘em so if you know, even last known whereabouts, you add that to the list.”

  I nodded again.

  He took in a breath before he said, “It’ll help them to know what they did. They might be able to lock down a victimology, try to guess who’s next. You’ll need to record that too and try and be thorough.”

  I didn’t like doing this at all, but the last part I really didn’t like.

  “Give yourself some time, do it after yoga,” Colt said. “You finish, you call me. Have someone walk it down to the Station when you get into the bar.”

  I nodded again.

  His face changed, I couldn’t put my finger on how but, I swear to God, it seemed like he looked like he was proud of me.

  “I’ll call you when I get a reservation, tell you the time,” he said.

  I nodded yet again.

  “‘Tween then and now, honey, I suspect lots of shit is gonna go through your brain.”

  He wasn’t wrong.

  “Colt –”

  He cut me off. “Ignore it.”

  I closed my eyes and opened them again when his lips touched mine.

  He lifted his head an inch away and stated quietly, “This is good.”

  He wasn’t wrong about that either.

  “Promise me, whatever marches through that head of yours, you stick with me. Tonight we’ll talk it out.”

  “Colt –”

  “Don’t say my name, give me your promise.”

  I sucked in breath and when I let it out, I whispered, “I promise.”

  His thumb left my chin to trail along my cheek.

  Then he said, “I’ll be back soon as I can with your mat.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Later, baby.”

  “Later.”

  Then he let me go, unlocked the door and disappeared.

  I turned to my parents and they were both openly watching me and more than likely had been openly watching Colt and me.

  “Don’t start,” I warned.

  “Got nothin’ to say,” Dad replied, “you know how we feel.”

  I did and that didn’t help that feeling of fear that kept gnawing at my belly. Though it did make that feeling of happiness that was coating the region of my chest intensify more than a little bit.

  “February,” Mom called when I dropped my head to look at the floor as I walked to the kitchen.

  I lifted my head to look at her.

  “No matter what, we love you, you know that?”

  My step stuttered but I recovered. Then I swallowed.

  Then I said, “I know that.”

  “Now, can I have the last of the frittata?” Dad asked, eyeing my piece left in the skillet.

  “Jack! That’s for Feb,” Mom scolded.

  “She can make another one.”

  “Jack!”

  I hit the kitchen, grabbed the skillet and tipped it over Dad’s plate, sliding the last of the frittata onto his.

  “We’re even for last night,” I said when I completed this task.

  “What I saw at that door, girl, we already were,” Dad replied.

  Damn, but I was definitely stupid.

  * * * * *

  Colt collected Feb’s mat, took it to his house and took advantage of the fact that her father was in one bathroom, her mother in the other and she was alone. Therefore, he spent some time necking with her pressed against the wall at the side of the front door. He did it until she moaned in his mouth and then he stopped, partly because he liked the idea of turning her on and then coming back to her later after she had time to let it stew. Mostly, because he liked her moaning in his mouth and if he didn’t stop, he wouldn’t have.

  He wasn’t going to think about what happened between him and Feb last night or that morning. He was going to wait and see where their conversation led tonight. For his part, he was willing to set the past where it belonged and move on from there and he was going to do everything he could to get Feb to come around to his way of thinking.

  He drove to the Station, parking out back, going in the backdoor and up the backstairs. He checked in, checked his voicemail then he walked down the front and saw Sully in the conference room with what had to be Marie Lowe’s parents.

  He only gave them a glance, didn’t want to get caught in what could seem like a stare. It wasn’t right nor was it kind to stare at someone who’d just been tossed into the pit of grief.

  He noted a lot in his glance.

  He saw they were from money which meant the house was likely not just Denny providing for his wife but his wife being a trust fund baby.

  The father had finally given into age, he was letting himself go, had put on weight, didn’t hold it even sitting down like he was comfortable with it in his flesh. The mother hadn’t given in, she’d had work done on her face, she was ten pounds underweight and she spent a goodly amount to keep her hair that healthy and blonde. Their clothes were expensive and likely designer but they didn’t shout it. Marie’s parents didn’t have anyone to impress, the company they kept knew they were society. Even heading down to a small town on the news that their daughter had been murdered, they were put together well. Not because they gave a shit what anyone thought about them. It was habit, it was ingrained.

  In his glance he also saw they were destroyed. They loved their daughter, it was clear to see and this had broken them. They weren’t young anymore but they had life left in them and for the rest of it this break would never heal.

  Denny Lowe had caused that and the second after Colt slid his gaze away from Marie’s parents, he felt a swift rage burn through him, worse than anything he felt at what Denny did to Feb or Jack and Jackie, Morrie and him. When they caught that fucker, his family’s fear and anguish would fade, time would heal their wounds. It’d leave a scar but it’d be a scar, a reminder, not an open, bleeding gash that would never close.

  Only one thing Colt could do about his rage was what he intended to do. He headed out the front door and started toward the bank. It was two blocks and still, normally he would have driven it. But he hadn’t been to the gym since this business started and he found he had an abundance of energy. This sh
it wasn’t happening, he’d be taking the day off and working out that energy in his bed with Feb. Unfortunately, this shit was happening.

  Dave Connolly was in his office with some clients when Colt got there. Colt scanned the teller’s stations and the name plates sitting on the high counters showed there were two Julies.

  His scan also showed there was no Amy.

  Colt gave Dave a chin lift and Dave gave Colt a “one minute” gesture with his hand. Colt nodded, headed back out, crossed the street and went to Mimi’s to get a coffee. Mimi eyed him the minute he came in and so did half of the dozen patrons she had in line and at her tables.

  “Hey Colt.”

  “Meems.”

  Her eyes sparkled but then they usually did. Mimi VanderWal didn’t often get in bad moods not since he could remember. This was likely the cause of Al’s extreme devotion. Any man would count his lucky stars he woke up to that sparkle every day and went to bed beside it every night.

  The sparkle turned playful and she asked loudly, “How’s Feb?”

  Colt shook his head but answered, “Doin’ good.”

  “She wup your ass at pool last night?”

  “She took a game.”

  “How many’d you have?”

  “Four.”

  Her smile went huge. “From what I hear, that’s four to you, one to her.”

  There it was, Mimi announcing to the entire place that after years of avoidance Colt and Feb were now spending their time together playing pool. Most of them knew something was up, now Meems handed them another nuance.

  It was time to put a lid on it. “Got work, Meems, can you get me an Americano?”

  “Sure thing, you want a muffin?”

  Colt decided to give her and his audience a bonus. “Nope, not hungry, had Feb’s frittata this mornin’.”

  Mimi’s eyes got wide, she knew exactly what Feb making a frittata instead of some eggs and toast meant and she hooted, “Oowee, a February Owens Frittata Morning! Don’t tell Morrie, he’ll be pissed.”

  Colt was done and his voice lowered when he said, “My coffee, Meems.”

  She grinned when she replied, “Gotcha.”

  When she finished his coffee and handed it to him as usual he reached for his wallet.

  And as usual she said, “Colt, like I always say, money’s no good here. You serve and protect, I keep you caffeinated while you do it.”

  And as usual he dug in his wallet, took out several ones and shoved them in the tip jar.

  But not as usual when his fingers wrapped around the cardboard that surrounded the paper cup, Mimi didn’t let go.

  “Cheerin’ for you, Colt,” she said quietly, words meant for him not her customers, “both you and Feb.”

  Then she let his cup go and turned away before he could say a word.

  When Colt returned to the bank, Dave was free and he didn’t hesitate in waving Colt into his glass-fronted office.

  The minute Colt closed the door, Dave launched in, not sounding worried, sounding excited, fuck, the man was nearly jumping up and down in his chair. “Amy’s no call-no show today.”

  Jesus, there it was. Amy was in thin air.

  Colt, unlike Dave, was worried.

  Seeing Angie Maroni and Marie Lowe and crime scene photos of Pete Hollister and Butch Miller would do that, considering instinct was telling him Amy was caught up in this shit. Colt barely knew her but he was learning about her and she lived her life protecting herself in a bubble of shyness. He found her hacked, he had no idea why, but it’d cut him deep.

  He hid his reaction and took in Dave.

  Some folk wanted nothing to do with cops or crime or crime investigation. Some did it when they had to but it was obvious they’d prefer their life had not veered down a course which would take them to a place they were involved. Some, like Dave, got off on it, their lives so small they welcomed any involvement in something bigger even if it had to do with hacked up bodies. Dave had no idea what this was about and he didn’t care. He was willing to play his role in this drama no matter what it was and he was going to play it to the full.

  “Julie McCall in today?” Colt asked.

  “Sure, she’s in,” Dave answered, ever helpful.

  “Sorry to trouble your business, Dave, I know you’re busy but you got a place where I can talk to Julie in private?”

  Dave did what Colt expected he’d do. He jumped up and rounded his desk, bobbing his head. He didn’t care if his customers had to wait in line for a teller. He just cared that his life, which was mostly the same every day and he was too lazy to do shit about it to make it better, was suddenly filled with something more important, no matter he didn’t know what that something was.

  “Conference room,” Dave motioned to a big windowed room in the corner of the bank.

  “Private, Dave.”

  Dave’s eyes got big. “Oh! Yeah, right.” He thought about it and Colt clenched his teeth, thinking the guy was half moron. He had to know the bank like the back of his hand. “Staff room!” Dave announced. “Basement. No windows.”

  Jesus, this guy was annoying him. Unfortunately, he also needed him.

  Dave led Colt to the windowless, vacant room and said he’d be right back with Julie. He didn’t lie. Five minutes later Dave walked in with one of the two Julie tellers.

  “I’ll leave you to it,” Dave said with extreme consideration and closed the door behind him.

  Julie McCall eyed him up the way a lot of women did, interest and appreciation clear on her face and she was sure to take in his ring finger. He’d had that kind of thing all his life, even when everyone knew his mother and father were drunk and no good and even when everyone knew that he was taken by Feb or, later, Melanie.

  He wasn’t interested in Julie McCall and there were a lot of reasons why. Most of them obvious but they also included the fact that she was unattractive and he knew she thought the opposite. She was lean and fit, not from being an athlete, from working out way too much to keep thin, going well past the good look of healthy to hit gaunt. She probably felt disgust for anyone overweight and had no problem saying it or showing it, mostly with her eyes, he was guessing. She was the kind to be able stare at anyone she thought inferior, do it openly and do it in a way that made them feel low. Her hair was two shades too blonde, looking false and not suiting her coloring. It was arranged in a style too young for her years and, unlike some women whose youthful personality let them not only get away with this kind of thing but it was appealing, it made her look desperate.

  Colt found even though he hadn’t spoken a word to her or she to him, he didn’t like her and he couldn’t have been more surprised that Amy apparently did.

  “How can I help you?” she asked, solicitous and even a bit suggestive, she had all day if he wanted to take it.

  “I’m Lieutenant Alec Colton.”

  She smiled and it was wincingly shrewd. “I know who you are.”

  Definitely suggestive and he didn’t like that she knew who he was when he didn’t know her. But then again, most everyone in town knew him. It came with his history and with the job. The last mainly because any time Monica Merriweather reported on a case he was working and she made certain his picture was included with the article in the paper.

  He motioned to the table. “If you don’t mind, Ms. McCall, I’d like to ask a few questions about Amy Harris.”

  Her eyebrows shot up, she might have thought a lot of things about him wanting to talk to her but pathologically shy Amy wasn’t one of them.

  “Amy?”

  “Yes, Amy,” he waited until she sat and he sat close to her, not because he wanted to but because playing her game would get him what he needed.

  “You want coffee?” he asked, his glance moving to the staff coffeepot in the corner.

  “Nah, that coffee’s terrible. I always wait,” she eyed his cup, “I usually go to Mimi’s on break.”

  Shared tastes, she was telling him, they had something in common.

&nbs
p; He took a sip from his coffee before stating, “Amy’s no call-no show today.”

  “Yeah, weird,” Julie said.

  “Dave says you two are close.”

  “Wouldn’t say anyone was close to Amy but, yeah, we have a laugh every once in awhile, me more than any of the other girls.” She was reconsidering her casual friendship with Amy, pleased that it finally bought her something she liked.

  Colt caught his lip curl and kept going. “You speak to her recently?”

  “Not since we left work Friday night.”

  “She seem to be acting different lately?”

  “How ‘different’?”

  “Anything.”

  She shook her head. “Nope, except she took that Maroni woman dying pretty hard.”

  “Yeah?” Colt prompted.

  Julie’s head tipped to the side, trying to read him, get a lock on what this was about. “Yeah. She was always nice to her. The rest of us…” she paused, her face showing her disgust as if a visit from Angie at her station tainted her in some way, “we did her business and got her to move on,” she leaned in and whispered, “Skank City.”

  Colt tried to ignore the feel of his blood heating and went on. “They friends? You know, outside the bank.”

  “Not that I know of. Amy went to high school with her. Told us all she was nice, always was, she just had a tough life. But Amy’s nice to everyone, much as she could be, seein’ as she’s screamin’ shy.”

  “She say anything about Angie?” Colt asked.

  “She wound up in this murder business?”

  Fuck. He didn’t want his investigating Amy to get around. He wasn’t worried about the town; he was worried about Feb finding out.

  “Nope, it’s just she came into J&J’s and she and I had a chat. She seemed distraught, I’m checkin’ up on her.” He forced a smile. “Occupational extra, got a worry about one of my citizens, I can do something about it.”

  He was talking out his ass. He just hoped she wouldn’t know that.

  She didn’t know it. She probably spent her evenings watching Survivor or Amazing Race and rooting for the biggest asshole in both, not watching cop shows.