Thicker than Water

by Danae Ayusso

  Colt continued to lay there, looking up at her. Last night they stayed up and talked...actually, Colt talked and Cat listened, and he finally said all of the things that he’d been keeping inside regarding Vicks’ death. He tried not to, but he cried a little, not that Cat acted as if she noticed. By the time three in the morning came around, Colt was emotionally and mentally drained, and when Cat came back from the kitchen after refilling their coffees, he was fast asleep on the couch. Exhausted herself, but having no real longing to crawl into bed alone, she sat on the other end of the couch and sipped her coffee, and before she knew it, he was using her lap as a pillow and she was caressing his silky blond hair.

  “Thank you for putting up with me last night,” Colt said and pinched her lips together when she opened her mouth to interrupt again. “Let me finish, bossy Sicilian. I’m not one of those people who vent or talk about their emotions. Case in point, I hid away in a cabin for five years not saying one word simply because I couldn’t articulate myself and feelings. You, somehow, got me talking about things that I would have never, in a million years, talked about with myself, let alone, someone else. It annoys the hell out of me, but not enough to not say thank you, so thank you.” He released her lips and looked at her, as if waiting for her to laugh at him.

  Cat nodded her understanding. “You’re welcome. I used to have someone that I could talk to about everything, even when I didn’t want to talk about anything at all. We’d bounce life off of each other and were always there when we needed someone. Talk cas…stuff out, lend each other a second set of eyes for a fresh perspective. So trust me when I say I get it, and it isn’t thankworthy.” She slid out from under him and picked up the coffee cups and plate then headed towards the kitchen. “Why don’t you take a shower, since you know where it is already, and I’ll make you some breakfast for the road? I’m sure that the entire force is excited to see you again.”

  Colt’s head tilted to the side and he pushed his falling hair out of his eyes as he watched the sway of her hips with each step she took.

  “Stop staring at my ass, it’s rude,” she said without turning to regard him.

  “Sorry,” he instantly apologized but didn’t stop looking.

  Cat chuckled. “Don’t be. It’s kind of hard to miss,” she said then gave her backside a little shake causing Colt to smile. “Take a shower, don’t play detective in my stuff, and you can take my vehicle since I’m going to crawl into bed as soon as you’re gone.”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” he said and headed the opposite direction to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

  Cat warned him not to play detective, but it was near impossible to reel Detective Fury in when he stepped inside the bathroom. Along the deep windowsill making up half of the vanity were display heads with wigs on them—each wig style was the same—and a hairbrush sat next to them. On the vanity were a box of latex gloves, size medium which were much too small for Colt, and a box of single use, disposable toothbrushes and some single use combs still in their packaging. The trashcan under the sink only had wrappers in it. The makeup kit contained a collection of theater makeup with French labels he couldn’t translate. Disposable contacts were labeled with a week for their use and neatly tucked away in the bottom drawer of the makeup kit. Testing a hunch, he took one of the makeup brushes and loaded it with some of the fine, alabaster powder and carefully dabbed it on the jar. When he found nothing, he tried the sink facet, and again found nothing.

  “Interesting,” Colt mumbled, replacing the brush and jar of powder and carefully wiped away the dust.

  The knock at the door startled him.

  “I better not catch you dusting for prints in there,” Cat said through the door.

  Colt pulled the door open and looked at her. “It would be futile,” he agreed. He’d only seen the puzzling woman twice without gloves; she removed them to cut his hair yesterday, while he changed she cleaned up and most likely wiping her prints as well, and last night while they talked on the couch.

  “When you don’t want to be found, you take the extra steps to ensure that you won’t be found,” Cat said as if it were obvious, and handed him a towel.

  Colt took it and crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a look. “You tell me to keep my detective in check, and yet you keep taunting him with everything you do.”

  She smirked. “Keep him under control, Fury.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “You lie as bad as Frankie,” she chuckled and headed back to the kitchen.

  Frankie? He wondered, closing the bathroom door. Cat didn’t mention a Frankie last night. Is he her best friend, the one she’d talk through problems with, or is he Cat’s ex? he speculated as the showerhead worked the knots out of the back of his neck. The few hours of sleep he’d gotten were some of the soundest he’s had in the past five years, but they were over much too soon, not to mention, his nightmares now had a new face: Cat’s.

  This isn’t good. Cat is Pope’s type…for the most part. Cat isn’t passive, delicate, or weak in the least, and she isn’t quiet, timid or shy. If anything, she’d give Pope a run for his money. A beautiful woman who would finally fight back… Stop it! You’re not going to dangle Cat out there for Pope. Besides, she doesn’t leave the cabin without her costume on. I wonder what her real name is. I’m pretty damn sure it isn’t Cat. She doesn’t look like a Cat at all, and I’ve never heard of an Italian named Cat before. Who is she running from? The mob possibly… She’s obviously from New York and Italian…not that all Italian New Yorkers are part of the mob, but she knew who John Cicero was and what happened to him, not that I knew what happened to him or had thought about him once he was someone else’s problem, but she knew.

  Damn it. Cat’s on the run from the mob. She must have seen something she wasn’t supposed to. Is Frankie her ex? Is she running from him? Did he hurt her…

  Better question; why am I thinking about Cat and not Pope or the latest victim?

  Colt turned off the water and pulled his hands over his face in frustration. “You can take the detective out of the field, but you can’t take the detective out of the man,” he grumbled under his breath, his mind racing. As if Pope wasn’t enough to worry about, now he was consumed with Cat and her supposed past, and Vicks, and having to notify another family that their daughter, their child, was dead since James could never stomach doing it.

  He wrapped the towel around his waist and ran a hand across the steam-covered mirror and scowled at his reflection. For a brief moment, he didn’t entirely recognize the man staring back at him. Never had he worn shoulder-length hair before, not before he hid up in the mountains, and he wasn’t sure if he liked it or not, but the feeling of his longer locks wrapping around Cat’s fingers as she absently twirled them was heavenly….

  “Heavenly?” he mumbled under his breath in disbelief.

  Men don’t use the word heavenly to describe something. You only call something heavenly if you…

  “Oh this is bad,” he choked with wide eyes.

  ****

  Cat set the thermos of cappuccino down on the counter and quickly wrapped up the toasted bagel sandwich in wax paper before sitting it next to the coffee.

  “Anything else?” Cat mumbled to herself, looking around the kitchen while chewing on her thumbnail. She cleaned up as she went, and while Colt showered she retraced each of her steps and wiped everything down for fingerprints and forensic evidence. It was foolish and possibly dangerous, but there was something about him that she trusted, needed to trust, and needed to have. It had been too long since she just sat and talked to someone, laughed and goofed around…

  It had been too damn long since she felt so completely at ease with someone.

  “That’s not right,” she mumbled under her breath and pulled her hands over her face in frustration.

  Fury…Detective Fury, shouldn’t be here. It doesn’t matter that he’s a good cop, great guy, really emotionally damaged, has more baggage then I do, and is sexy as h
ell, I shouldn’t have let him in, I shouldn’t have let him drive, and I shouldn’t have made him breakfast.

  This will end badly for both of us. There’s no way that it won’t. If they find me…it will kill him, most likely literally.

  “Damn it,” she huffed under her breath.

  “This isn’t at all embarrassing,” Colt said from behind her and Cat jumped, startled, and spun around to face him. He stood there in a pair of jeans and nothing else with his shirt in hand. “I ripped it,” he grumbled under his breath, motioning towards the shirt.

  Cat looked from his face to his shirt, allowing her eyes to linger on all of the muscular skin in between. His chest was broad, the light coat of soft, golden hair did very little to guise the strength in his chest and the natural definition of his abs. His jeans rode low on his hips and tortuously teased her by revealing the top band of his boxers. “That’s too bad, but if you went out looking like that, you might cause some woman-on-woman crime as they fight to get to you,” Cat eventually said, looking up at him.

  He snorted and gave her a look.

  “Hold on, I might have something that’ll fit you,” she said and stepped around him and hurried to her room. “My tits are impressive but nowhere near big enough for you to fit in one of my shirts without ripping it, but I have some of Frankie’s old shirts. He wasn’t as big as you, but he was a strange guido who preferred baggier workout clothes over fitted ones.”

  “Is that him?” Colt asked, once again, startling her.

  Cat looked at him. “Is who who?” she asked.

  He gave her a look and pointed to the picture frame across the room on the nightstand.

  She didn’t need to look to know what he was pointing at; it was one of three pictures she took with her against her better judgment. “Yeah, that’s Frankie. We had to get away for a weekend so we went to Mardi Gras. He got more beads than anyone, it was ridiculous, but the women always swooned for his accent, light eyes, dark skin and hair.”

  Colt nodded. “Is that what you like?”

  Cat chuckled. “I really never thought about it. Mio padre would have jumped for joy if I settled down with a Sicilian, mio madre, she didn’t care as long as I was happy. Frankie was…” her words trailed off and she returned to her duffle bag and pulled out a heather gray shirt and tossed it to him. “It should work until you get something else more work appropriate.”

  Colt nodded and pulled the shirt over his head. He looked at the navy logo on the center of his chest. “What’s NYPDPA Center Point, Queens?” he asked.

  “Just a thirty-acre plot of land that was finally developed,” Cat said as uninterested as possible. “Try not to rip it when you flex,” she teased. Even though the shirt wasn’t stretched to the point of tearing on his broad frame, it still expertly presented his strong physique.

  “I’ll keep it safe and change as soon as I get the chance,” he assured her, trying to keep his mind from picturing her in the shirt and how it’d drape over her round backside, appearing as a short, comfortable dress. With her hair disheveled from sleeping on it wrong, she’d be the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen…. Natural was beautiful to Colt.

  “I should get going,” they said at the same time when the awkward silence had gotten to be too much for them.

  Cat chuckled. “You have a killer to catch after all,” she instantly cringed upon hearing the words aloud. “Sorry, that isn’t what I meant.”

  Colt nodded. “It’s okay. I…you’re right, I need to catch this bastard before he strikes again. He wanted me off of the mountain, well, he got me. Now it’s time to put an end to his game.” His words were low and grumbled, but they were passionate—Cat learned last night that when Colt grumbles, it means he’s struggling to keep it together.

  “Tell you what,” she said, “let me take a shower and power-nap, and stop by after work with your notes and we’ll go over the case. Maybe a fresh set of street wise eyes will help put something into context…or something.”

  Colt looked at her intently, his eyes moving over her face many times. He’d been struggling to find the courage to ask her for help, but in good conscience he couldn’t subject another to the horrors contained in the case files. The M.E.’s report alone was enough to give someone nightmares. “You don’t have to do that,” he assured her, but he wanted to take her up on the offer more than anything.

  Cat snorted and dismissively waved him away. “Already done. I made you coffee and a sandwich. It’s nothing special, just toasted Italian bagel with a poached egg, pancetta, prosciutto, softened Agrì di Valtorta cheese, roasted red peppers and tomato slices with oil olive and black pepper to taste. Nothing major. Go do your thing and let me get a few hours of sleep…keep this between the two of us, understand?”

  He gave her a look. “Obviously. I’d never say anything to anyone, you know that.”

  “Do I?” she teased.

  “Yes.”

  Cat cocked an eyebrow. “Someone got up on the wrong side of the couch this morning. Your coffee and breakfast is on the counter. Try not to hit anyone, or shoot them for that matter, and I’ll see you tonight.”

  Colt nodded and followed her back into the living room and put his socks and boots on. “I’ll send Rookie over at noon with copies of the case files. Did you want me to bring a pizza or something when I get off?” he asked; it was a subtle way of asking her to dinner without being so straightforward, not to mention, he desperately wanted to spend more time with her.

  “Montana pizza?” she scoffed. “Please, you haven’t lived till you’ve had pizza New York style. You bring the Cokes and I’ll take care of dinner. See you around six?”

  Colt tried not to, but he smiled. “I’ll see you at six. Lock up and keep inside today.”

  She gave him a look. “I’ll pretend you didn’t just say that.”

  He slipped into his jacket. “I’ll keep saying it,” he warned, heading for the door.

  “For some reason, that doesn’t surprise me.”

  Cat looked at her cell phone for a few minutes, flipping through the security feeds from the cameras around the property and those monitoring the exterior and interior of the cabin. Once she deemed it was clear, she unlocked the door for him and waved to the threshold.

  Colt ducked outside and looked around, for some reason it felt wrong to him. Leaving the extremely paranoid woman behind while a serial killer was on the loose, one that liked them tall, lean, dark haired, light eyed, just like Cat, felt wrong.

  “Be safe, Detective,” Cat said softly and tenderly patted his cheek then closed the door behind him, securing the locks.

  “You, too,” Colt whispered.

  “Your mother must be so proud,” Deputy Sheriff Ricky Paul said. “Her youngest son getting his ass handed to him by a woman must be the highlight of her life.”

  Mickey ignored him and the others who had been giving him grief since he opened the station at six. He knew it was coming, and Cat told him to ignore them, but it was getting harder to do. One would think that a serial killer running loose and another body would give them something else to focus on, but no, Mickey was, once again, their target.

  “Don’t forget, he let her escape as well,” Jack added from his desk where he absently balanced an overly sharp pencil on the tip of his finger.

  The bell above the door jingled and they all turned to regard who walked in.

  Instantly they were to their feet.

  “Good morning, Detective!” Mickey warmly greeted when Colt walked through the front door of the small Sheriff’s station.

  “Morning,” he mumbled under his breath, brushing the snow from his head. “Is Jim…Sheriff Lake in yet?”

  “No, Sir,” they answered in unison.

  “Do you need anything?” Jack offered.

  “Coffee?” Raven asked and hurried to the small coffee pot in the corner.

  “Got some,” Colt said, holding the thermos up.

  “Can I take your jacket?” Ricky offered.
/>   Was I this bad as a rookie? Colt wondered.

  He looked at Mickey, but the young man was looking around him, then his face dropped; Cat stood him up.

  “Probie,” Colt said and Mickey looked at him with wide eyes, “walk with me.”

  “Yes, Sir,” he said and followed Colt to Jimmy’s office, and he closed the door behind them.

  “I need you to do something for me,” Colt started, his voice low.

  Mickey nodded.

  “I need you to get copies of all of the case files on Pope…everything…and take them to the cabin behind the Paterson Estate. Do you understand?”

  The young man looked at him curiously. “Is that where you’re staying?”

  “No. Miss Rogers will be expecting you at noon,” Colt explained. “No earlier and no later, do you understand?”

  Mickey’s eyes lit up. “Yes, Sir.”

  “No one is to know, got it?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Not even the Sheriff,” Colt reiterated.

  Mickey’s mouth fell open with a popping sound.

  “No one,” Colt repeated and motioned him towards the door before James could open it. “I’ll talk with you later,” he said in a gruff voice and Mickey nodded and hurried past James and the others.

  James watched the rookie hurry from the bullpen and disappeared down a side hall. “You didn’t threaten him, did you?” he asked with a chuckle.

  “No,” was Colt’s only response.

  James closed the door behind him and pulled his jacket off. “You mad at me for something?” he pressed.

  Colt gave him a look. “Not unless you’re the sick sonuvabitch going around killing people, then no, I’m not mad at you. It’s snowing, in spring nonetheless, I’m tired, feeling very exposed and out of my element, and have to notify the next of kin that their daughter was brutally murdered by a sick sociopath who is toying with me simply because he can, so you tell me why I’m in a bad mood.”

  James chuckled. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear that you found a sense of humor while on the mountain. The Hubbards will be here soon, and the FBI is caught in the weather so they’ll be in early tomorrow morning. Did you want to order in and go over everything tonight before they get here and put their noses in our case?”