For You

by Kristen Ashley

  “I’ll be late,” I called to his back, “pull the covers back for me, baby.”

  He stopped with the door open in his hand, his eyes sliced to me and it was a wonder I didn’t cower under his dark look but he didn’t hesitate before he openly gutted me. “Honey, you know I’d do anything for you.”

  The door closed him from sight and the bar was silent for a good four beats before the murmur of conversation jumpstarted my muscles.

  Morrie slid close to me. “Feel like talkin’ about Colt yet?”

  “Fuck off, Morrie,” I snapped.

  “Didn’t think so,” Morrie muttered but there was laughter in his voice and I just caught him exchanging a smile with Joe-Bob before they wiped their faces clean and I got down to the business under more than a dozen curious eyes of wiping the bar top, every fucking inch so spotless it was sparkling.

  * * * * *

  Colt lay on his back in the dark on the couch with the light he left on for Feb outside shining through the blinds he closed at the windows. He’d discovered that sitting on his couch it felt just fine, but lying on it, even not the pull out, it was lumpy.

  Feb’s cat, who had given him a wide berth in the short time he was home before he settled on the couch, jumped up at Colt’s feet. The animal rightly hesitated before he made his way up Colt’s leg to his stomach then to his chest. Then he stood there for a moment before he lay down on his belly.

  Colt wanted to shift the damn thing off him but instead his fingers went to the cat’s neck and he rubbed it behind its ears. The purring started immediately.

  Trying to keep his blood pressure down, Colt didn’t think of February and their fight that day.

  In the attempt to do the same thing, he kept his thoughts off Susie and the idea that her behavior at J&J’s might have scratched her name on a hit list.

  Instead, he thought of Amy Harris.

  He’d gone to the bank that morning only to find she’d called in sick. Dave Connolly, her manager, wasn’t put out by this, he was worried. Dave told Colt that she’d been working there forever, before he was even hired there, and as long as he’d been there she’d only taken half a day off once, in order to go to her grandmother’s funeral. She came in even if she had a cold or a headache and since she lived close she was always the first one there when it snowed because she’d leave early and walk.

  With no Amy to be had at the bank, Colt went to her house. Her car was in the drive and even though he saw movement at her draperies she didn’t answer the door when he rang the bell. Not the first ring, or the second, or the third.

  Colt was a cop in a small town. Years ago not much went down, speeding tickets, kids joyriding, a party at someone’s place that got too rowdy, a fight at J&J’s. Every once in awhile there was a domestic disturbance, sometimes folks would call with their concerns about how their neighbors were treating their kids.

  Now there were more drugs, not just kids experimenting but adults flat out using. This meant more crime all around. He’d seen a lot, heard a lot, knew people did some shitty things to their neighbors, their partners, their kids, themselves.

  Still, he didn’t have the relentless experiences a city cop would have.

  Regardless, that didn’t mean he hadn’t learned from what he saw and one of the first things you learned when you were a cop was to watch the way people behaved. Not what they said but what they did, the expressions on their faces, the tone of their voice and always go with your gut.

  And that ice-cold feeling Colt felt assaulting him last night came back when Amy disappeared after surprisingly showing at J&J’s, essentially the scene of a crime, and behaving the way she did, especially when it came to Feb. His gut was telling him something about Amy wasn’t right. He couldn’t break down her door but he could dig and that’s what he spent his afternoon doing after the incident with Susie and Feb.

  He found Amy had good credit; was current on all her bills; was close to paying off her house because, a lot of the time, she made double payments (which meant on a teller’s salary she didn’t have a whole helluva a lot of other shit to spend her money on); and never even had so much as a parking ticket.

  Earlier that night, he called Dave Connolly at home and asked if he’d heard word from Amy, telling Dave she came around to J&J’s last night, didn’t look sick but was acting peculiar and he was checking up on her that day because he was concerned.

  Dave, Colt discovered, needed to take management classes. As long as Colt knew him, he’d always been a talker but even though she was an employee, with just a little coaxing, Dave didn’t hesitate in talking about Amy.

  Not that there was much to say outside of what he already told Colt at the bank. She was a dependable employee, he could count on one hand when her drawer came up not balanced at the end of the day, she was just social enough to be liked by her colleagues but not social enough to call any of them friends and mostly she kept to herself.

  “So shy, it’s ridiculous. It’s a miracle she can talk to the customers,” Dave said. “Don’t even know if she has any friends, never talks about them or what she does on the weekend. Know she’s close to her Mom and Dad but they live in Arizona now. Think she collects butterflies because all the girls get her shit with butterflies on it if they’re her Secret Santa or crap like that. Seriously, Colt, she’s so fucking shy, I’m surprised she’d walk into J&J’s without getting hives.” He hesitated before saying, “Damn shame. She’s fine. Pretty little thing, everyone thinks so.”

  That sounded like Amy. He hadn’t paid much attention but what he could remember, that was the way she was in school too.

  It also sounded strange in a way Colt didn’t fucking like when people were getting murdered and Feb and his necks were on the line.

  And last, with no friends and no family close, it meant, unfortunately, he had no leads on Amy.

  He heard the key in the door and he knew Feb was home.

  The minute she entered, her cat deserted Colt and walked across the room, still purring.

  He heard the rings on her hand sliding on the wall as she searched for the light switch and then the outside lights went out. Feb wore silver at her neck and ears, often at her wrists and she wore it on her hands too, always had on a variety of silver rings, could be a few fingers, could be almost all of them.

  He wondered if she wore those rings to bed.

  The purring escalated and moved and Colt knew Feb had picked up her cat and was on the move too.

  She was in the hall when he heard her whisper to her cat, “Quiet, Mr. Purrsie Purrs. I know you’re glad I’m home.”

  Jesus, she called her cat “Mr. Purrsie Purrs”. Colt didn’t know much about cats but he knew hers wasn’t a stupid one and if the damn thing understood English and recognized this affront to his dignity he’d scratch her eyes out.

  She closed the door to the bedroom but the house hadn’t been built out of high quality material, you could hear everything. Therefore he heard the toilet flush and the tap in the basin switch on and off, on and off, on and off, washing her hands probably her face, brushing her teeth.

  Then silence and he knew she’d climbed into his bed.

  “Christ,” he muttered in the dark.

  His phone on the coffee table rang and vibrated, both loudly, and he shifted and snatched it up, seeing Sully’s name on the display before flipping it open and putting it to his ear.

  “Sully.”

  “I wake you?”

  “Nope.”

  Sully was quiet then he said, “Shit, Colt, we got another one.”

  Colt closed his eyes and sat up in the couch. “Talk to me.”

  “Guy’s name is Butch Miller. From the history Feb gave yesterday, she’d worked at his bar years ago. Idaho Springs, Colorado. His body was found by his girlfriend. The minute it hit the system, it came up with big, honking ping. Warren and Rodman are already on a plane.”

  “God dammit,” Colt swore. “I’m guessin’ it’s the same MO.”

  �
�Down to the letter to Pete’s,” Sully told him, “including the tulips and the frickin’ Pottery Barn vase. Means this guy did Pete, came up here, did Angie, spent the last two days takin’ a road trip and did this Butch guy.”

  “Also means he knows her better than we expected, he’s goin’ after folks from the last seventeen years, not just folks in town,” Colt replied.

  “Yep.”

  “This is not good,” Colt stated the obvious.

  “This is not good,” Sully repeated.

  “Are you getting anywhere?”

  “Lore’s in town and has been without leaving, alibis for every move he makes. You know Lore, he’s not much into bein’ alone.”

  This wasn’t a surprise. “What about the other three?”

  “Two, we’ve had conversations with. They’re unlikely. Denny Lowe, though, right now is prime suspect.”

  Colt thought about Denny Lowe.

  Denny had lived in that town most of his life. Pipsqueak of a kid, no meat on him, always had greasy hair, grew up late, took a whole helluva lot of shit in the meantime and was teased viciously, mostly by Susie Shepherd and her gang. But when he grew, he grew. Susie had graduated by then but everyone was shocked at how he’d turned out. Good-looking guy, not tall, average height, built lean but tough. He was painfully shy like Amy, but once he came into his own, he seemed to shake it off. He wasn’t the most popular kid in school but he wasn’t a whack job either. Sully’s search into him showed he’d gone to Northwestern and got out doing something with computers, moved home, making a mint, lived on The Heritage in a big house off the golf course with a wife, no kids. Colt didn’t see him much, sometimes at Frank’s having dinner with his wife, sometimes at the grocery store, again always with his wife, a couple of times at the liquor store, not with his wife.

  He’d been in J&J’s but he was nowhere near a regular. Colt hadn’t seen him there in years. Definitely not since Feb got back.

  Still, he fit the profile.

  “Colt?” He heard Feb call.

  He was looking at his lap and thinking about Denny Lowe and missed Feb coming out of his room. His head came up and he saw her dark silhouette in the hall.

  Damn it all to hell, now he was going to have to tell her about this.

  “Give me a second Feb,” he muttered, twisted and turned on the light behind him then twisted back, saw her wearing nothing but a big t-shirt, her cat in her arms. He aimed his eyes at his lap so he wouldn’t get another glimpse of her legs and said into the phone, “Why’s Denny on your hook?”

  “He’s disappeared. His wife has too. No one answering the door and he’s not been to work. They said he has the week off.”

  “So maybe he’s on vacation.”

  “Maybe. His car sure as fuck is gone but no airlines have him or his wife on their reservations list. Family and friends don’t know anything about a vacation. And you use your credit card on vacation. No transactions on hers or his. Funny thing, though, last coupla months Denny Lowe has been making hefty withdrawals from their joint account. Sum total, he withdrew fifteen G’s.”

  That cold slithered around his chest and he asked, “Where’s he got his account?”

  “County Bank.”

  Shit, where Amy worked.

  “Sounds like that hook’s in deep,” Colt remarked.

  “Deep enough for you to talk to Feb about him,” Sully said.

  Fucking shit.

  He lifted his head, found her eyes, noticed she’d leaned a shoulder against the wall and her cat was purring as she scratched his neck and said, “She’s here. Just in from J&J’s.”

  “After the scene at the Station maybe you should get some bourbon in her before you do it.” Sully was trying to make a joke.

  Colt didn’t feel like laughing. “Feb drinks rum.”

  “Right,” Sully still thought it was funny. “Heard about today at J&J’s, man. That shit’s flying around town faster’n snot. I know you like that house, hope you two can live under the same roof without that roof blowin’ clean off.”

  Colt was losing patience. “You wanna chat or you want me to talk to Feb?”

  “Get the rum. Talk to Feb.”

  “Later.”

  Colt started to take the phone away from his ear but Sully’s call stopped him. “Colt?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I know you don’t wanna hear it but I’m gonna say it. Accordin’ to Lorraine, you two were born to be together. And what I heard Feb say yesterday…” He let that hang but before Colt could get in word one, Sully continued. “You don’t sort your and her shit out, man, it’ll be a tragedy.”

  “You done?” Colt asked.

  “I’m done.”

  “I’ll call you if there’s something to report. Later.”

  “Later.”

  He flipped his phone shut and threw it on the coffee table. His eyes went to Feb and she was still leaning against the wall, holding her body like she was bracing.

  “You still drink rum?” he asked her.

  “Just tell me,” she replied.

  He threw back the blanket and got up, walking to the kitchen. He flipped on the lights and went to the cupboard where he kept his spirits. Dee drank rum like Feb, he knew he had a bottle and he was right. He pulled it down along with the Jack and grabbed some glasses.

  “Colt, seriously,” she said to his back.

  “What do you cut it with?” he asked.

  He heard her sigh then she said, “I’ll get it.”

  He twisted to her. “You mix enough drinks. What do you cut it with?”

  She stopped moving toward the fridge, stood still for a moment then headed to the opposite counter. He watched her lean against it but drop her cat.

  “Diet,” she finally answered.

  He opened his fridge and couldn’t stop himself from saying, “Holy fuck.”

  The fridge was brimming with food and beverage. It’d never been that full, not even when Melanie lived there and Melanie loved to cook.

  “What?” Feb asked.

  “Jackie’s been here,” Colt answered, grabbing a couple of cans of pop, diet for her then he put his back, thinking he’d prefer his bourbon cut only with ice.

  He mixed her drink, poured his, dumped ice in, handed hers to her and stood close. She had her back to the counter; Colt had his side to it. She had her waist against it and he rested his hip beside her.

  He watched her take a drink, her eyes on the floor.

  “Don’t know if I can soften this, February,” he told her the God’s honest truth.

  “Don’t try,” she told the floor.

  “He did someone you know, in Colorado, guy named Butch Miller.”

  Her head twisted around so fast the drink in her hand shook and the ice clinked against the sides.

  “Colorado?” she asked quietly.

  Colt nodded.

  “Butch?” She was still being quiet.

  Colt nodded again.

  She took another drink, this time definitely a drink not a sip, and her eyes returned to the floor.

  “This guy do you wrong?”

  She licked her lips, kept studying the floor and nodded her head.

  “What’d he do?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “It does, Feb.”

  She twisted only her neck to look at him. She was losing it; he could see it plain on her face. “Yeah? Why?”

  “It was private, between you two, we need to know. It was public, that’s something else.”

  She held his eyes for awhile before she looked away and muttered, “Fuck, that makes sense.”

  “What’d he do?”

  She moved her neck in a circle then lifted a hand to pull the hair away from her face, holding it back behind her head then, fast and low, she said, “He owned the bar I worked at. We hooked up. It was good for awhile then it turned bad. I took off after it did.”

  “How’d it turn bad?”

  “He cheated on me.”

  “Were
you exclusive?”

  She dropped her hand but didn’t lift her eyes. “I thought we were but apparently he didn’t agree.”

  “Anyone know about this?”

  “Me, Butch, the woman he was screwing.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “No.”

  “You’re sure?”

  She looked at him then. “No, I’m not sure. Butch may have bragged about his escapades, she might have too. I didn’t know who she was and didn’t hang around long enough to chat. Just packed my shit and got out. What I saw, she looked like a snow bunny, probably a tourist or a city girl up the mountain with her lift ticket clipped to her parka. I was workin’ the bar, came home because I felt like crap and caught them in the act.”

  Jesus, and he thought his scene with Susie that day was bad. No comparison.

  “You lived with him?”

  Her eyes slid away but he caught the pain that sliced through her face. It wasn’t raw but it wasn’t easy to see either. “Just moved in the week before.”

  “Fuck, Feb.”

  She took a sip from her drink and said to the floor, “He was a handsome guy who owned a bar in a cool town. He knew how to have fun and liked to do it, obviously with anyone who struck his fancy.” She shook her head. “Even though it felt shit he cheated on me…” she paused, took another drink, shook her head again then whispered, “Butch.”

  Colt lifted his hand to the back of her neck and pulled her to him. She didn’t resist, just fell to the side, her shoulder hitting his chest and sliding along it until it was tucked under his pit and her temple hit his collarbone.

  He kept his hand at her neck but tightened it.

  He gave her a minute before he took his hand away but only to slide her hair out of his way so he could hold her there skin to skin. Again she didn’t resist, didn’t move away, even standing in his kitchen, in the middle of the night, her wearing nothing but a t-shirt, Colt wearing nothing but a pair of shorts.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “No.”

  He gave her neck a squeeze.

  “I know, Feb,” he said softly, “but you okay to keep talking?”

  Her head came back and she looked at him. “More to say?”

  “I gotta ask a few questions about Denny Lowe.”