Kristen Ashley - For You

Colt thought about these visits. They were short and they were all the same, every one of them. The news was met with amusement, the upsets history, so slight they were barely remembered. Then Sully and Colt gave them more information and the amusement died and the fear set in. He wasn’t surprised at the end response. Two of them said the same exact words, “Poor Feb.”

Not, “Oh my God,” and not, “Poor Angie.”

Angie was known, she managed to hold down her job but by most of the townsfolk she wasn’t respected, she was tolerated. Some may have felt sorry for her but most simply didn’t think about her and, when they did, they didn’t think much.

Feb, that was a different story.

“They’ll keep it quiet, for how long, don’t know,” Colt answered then he caught his friend’s eyes. “You need to move back in with Delilah.”

Morrie grinned. “Shit, tell me somethin’ I don’t know.”

Colt shook his head, Morrie wasn’t getting it.

“Far’s I can tell February loves few people in this world. Jack, Jackie, Jessie, Meems, their families, your kids and you.”

Morrie’s grin faded.

Colt continued. “Angie and Feb had a stupid, teenage girl fight years ago and Angie bought it. You think Dee might not be on that list, this guy thinks he’s takin’ care of Feb’s business, this guy thinks Dee hurt you and, through that, hurt Feb?”

Colt watched Morrie’s entire frame grow tight.

“Talk to her, move back in with her, explain it,” Colt pushed. “You need me to come with you, I’m there. She’ll let you move in, least until this is over.”

“You got time tonight?” Morrie asked.

“All the time you need,” Colt answered.

“Let’s go,” Morrie said.

“Hang on two shakes,” Jack said, his eyes on Colt. “This business is pressin’, so I’ll let you two go. That don’t mean we don’t got shit to talk about.”

“Jack –” Colt started.

“I saw what I saw in that bathroom, Colt. We all did,” Jack stated.

He could guess what Jack thought he saw. What Colt saw and felt leaking into his shirt was Feb crying her eyes out at the death of some jackass that beat her to shit and tore the last bits of February Owens away. Not that there was much left after whatever caused her to turn, but they were there. They’d come out once in awhile. After Pete was through with her, they vanished. Only the jaw tilt was left and rarely her laughter wouldn’t be guarded and you could almost hear the old Feb in it. But that was rarely and only happened when she was with Morrie’s kids. Not with Morrie, her parents, even Jessie and Meems. Not that he’d seen and, he hated to admit it, but for two years and any time she was home the earlier fifteen, he’d been watching.

“Due respect, Jack, you think you saw what you wanted to see,” Colt told him.

“Due respect, Colt, I saw what everyone saw. You experienced what you had to experience to hold yourself back,” Jack returned.

That pissed him off.

“Not me holdin’ back.”

“You been holdin’ back for twenty years.”

“We aren’t havin’ this conversation,” Colt declared.

“We are, just not now. You and Morrie got a daughter-in-law of mine to protect. See to that, we’ll talk about this later.”

Colt bit back his response, Jack meant too much to him to say what he wanted to say. They still weren’t going to have this conversation, now, tomorrow, next week or ever.

Colt nodded anyway.

Jack nodded back.

“Let’s go,” Morrie was impatient.

Colt took another pull from his beer and slid off the barstool, repeating. “Let’s go.”

“I’m Agent Warren, FBI.”

He was good-looking, Agent Warren, and he knew it.

He extended his hand to me and I took it. He probably had dozens of handshakes he’d practiced over the years. This one was firm but reassuring.

“This is Agent Rodman,” Agent Warren motioned to the man at his side, yin to Agent Warren’s yang.

Warren was mocha-skinned black, bald, his thick, long eyelashes declaring that he shaved his head rather than lost his hair, his tall frame was lean but not slight. Rodman was white, showing signs that he needed to lay off the donuts, was obviously balding and didn’t hide it and had the widest, most brilliantly gold wedding band I’d ever seen in my life.

Agent Rodman’s handshake was just as firm and just as reassuring.

They were not my enemy. They were here to help.

This was good to know.

I saw movement out the corner of my eye and Colt and Sully were walking up. It cost me but I caught the jaw tilt before it even began.

“Colt,” I said when he made it to me and Sully’s body jerked at my word.

Colt didn’t move, his expression revealed nothing. Even so, his eyes were locked on me in a weirdly intense way that made me fight back a squirm.

“Feb,” Colt said back.

“Sully,” I said to Sully, noting he looked a bit better and his voice, when it said my name, wasn’t near as nasally.

“Feb.”

Neither of them called me February which I was surprised about. I thought in front of the FBI they’d want to appear official.

Then I realized I was not February to them in front of the agents. I was Feb, they knew me. I was one of their own, a citizen of their town but more than just some unknown someone they’d sworn to protect.

That was good to know too.

“You should know, Ms. Owens, that Lieutenant Colton has bowed out of the investigation,” Agent Warren, clearly Speaker for the FBI, put in smoothly.

This surprised me too but I didn’t hide that surprise because underneath it was an irrational fear that was impossible to control.

Therefore I also didn’t catch my response.

“Why?” My tone held clear accusation. I meant it to and it was directed at the Speaker for the FBI.

I watched Warren’s dark brows draw together over his girlie eye-lashed eyes. “Lieutenant Colton explained you two have history.”

I doubted Colt had explained that history thoroughly but I also didn’t care.

“He’s a good cop.”

“That’s not in question,” Warren stated.

“In fact, him stepping aside on his own proves your statement true,” Rodman spoke for the first time.

I wasn’t comprehending nor did I want to.

“He’s a good cop,” I repeated.

“Feb,” Colt said but I didn’t look at him.

“He could prejudice the case,” Warren told me.

“He wouldn’t do that,” I informed Warren.

“Maybe not but we can’t take that chance and he doesn’t want us to,” Warren replied.

It was then I realized what I was saying, what I was doing and that I had no clue what I was talking about.

So finally, I shut up.

“Lieutenant Sullivan is local primary,” Warren said. “Colton will be kept informed and will remain on the case in a consultative capacity.”

He was giving me FBI-speak, in other words, I had no fucking clue what he was talking about with his “consultative capacity” bullshit and I couldn’t ask him, not now, not in front of Colt and not ever to anyone because if they told someone else how much I wanted to know and what that said about how much I wanted Colt on this case, they might jump to conclusions that weren’t right.

I didn’t like it much but I kept quiet.

“There are a few more people I want you to meet,” Warren said. “Then I’m afraid we’ll have to take a fair bit of your time this morning.”

The FBI had taken over the conference room which was a glass walled room to the side of the bottom floor.

The Police Station in town used to be the town library before they built a bigger library that was modern and situated closer to the schools. The Station was an old, handsome brick building. They’d made the front of it look like an old time police department including two black light poles sitting on the wide cement railings at the bottom of the front steps on top of which were big, round, white lights with the word “Police” written on their fronts.

I’d taken Palmer and Tuesday on a tour years ago when I was home as they’d opened it to the public. I was curious as to where Colt worked even though I told myself I was doing it for Palmer who wanted to be like his Uncle Colt when he grew up.

There were cells and lockdown in the basement. A vast open space on the first floor with files, a big counter facing the front door, some desks behind it, the conference room at the side, a few cubicles down the other side, offices at the back. In the back corner in a little, soundproof, windowed room was dispatch. Equipment down the middle of the room, two desks facing each other with an upright in between with knobs and dials. The dispatchers sat opposite each other with headphones on, like Connie McIntyre and Jo Frederick were doing now. The top floor was what I heard Colt refer to as the bullpen, but it was officially known as the Investigations Unit, where the few detectives had their desks and where the interrogation rooms were. They had lockers up there, a big bathroom with some showers and they had a supply room up there too where they kept guns and ammo, bulletproof vests, shit like that.

Sully came with the agents and me to the conference room but Colt didn’t glance my way as he headed toward the stairs.

I met the profilers and I spent some time repeating a lot of what I already told Colt. Their questions were more thorough and they went over stuff often, shit I’d already answered then I answered it again, and again. I tried to remain patient and managed it mainly because Doc had given me some sleeping pills and I’d slept from nine o’clock last night to just after eight this morning when Mom woke me in Jessie’s double bed (she’d spent the night on Jessie’s pull out couch) and told me that Colt had called and the FBI wanted me at the Station as soon as I could get there.