Lore’s gaze slid in my direction but it went right through me before he looked back at Colt.

“Clear,” Lore said.

“You see Marty, give him fair warnin’, he better avoid me for awhile.”

“Marty’s fucked,” Al muttered to Jimbo.

Lore stared at Colt for awhile before he jerked his chin, his eyes moved to Dad and his expression turned hangdog as it hit him he might have just made enemies of Colt and my Dad, not enemies you’d want to have especially since they were your friends and you liked them. The circumstances were admittedly extreme but Lore realized then that he hadn’t thought this through. The way he treated women, he didn’t care about me. But his actions had shown disrespect to two men who deserved it and no one in that bar, or any of the folk who would undoubtedly hear about this by morning, would give him an inch, not for awhile. You didn’t call Jack Owens’s daughter a cunt no matter what she might have done and you didn’t get in Alexander Colton’s face and make him lose control and Lore understood, just then, he’d given his own reputation a hit he wouldn’t live down, not for a good long while.

Not to mention he made an ass of himself and got bested without even lifting a fist.

After dropping his head, Lore hit the exit with all due haste.

Colt’s ass rang again and he cursed under his breath, his eyes locked on the closed door before he yanked out his phone, flipped it open and put it to his ear.

“Okay, is it me, or is anyone else having a problem with deciding whether to have a heart attack or an orgasm?” Meems asked.

“Orgasm,” Jessie said instantly.

“Yep, same here,” Dee put in.

“Fuck,” Al muttered.

Jimbo shook his head but grinned at his wife.

“Well, that was a buzz kill,” Morrie noted.

It was then I realized I was shaking.

“Got it, later,” Colt said into his phone as he walked up to the bar, his eyes on me, he flipped his phone shut and shoved it in the back pocket of his jeans. “You okay?”

“Lore just called me the c-word,” I told him.

“I know, you okay?”

“He said it more than once.”

Colt bit his lip then let it go. “All right, but you okay?”

“He said it loud.”

“Feb –”

“I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

“I’m okay.”

Or as okay as anyone could be who was called the c-word more than once.

“You’re not gonna go half-cocked on me?” Colt asked.

I sighed before I repeated, “No, I’m okay.”

“You’re not gonna get a wild hair and haul ass?”

I rolled my eyes, leaned forward and said slowly, “Colt, I said, I’m oh… kay.”

He grinned. “Last time you rolled your eyes at me, baby, I kissed you.”

I sucked in breath and if I wasn’t mistaken so did Dee, Meems, Jessie and Joe-Bob.

I thought it best to quit speaking and just remain silent maybe for the rest of my life.

Colt turned to Dad. “I got work, Jack, callout. I’m not done, you’ll stay in the house with Feb?”

“Absolutely.”

Colt looked at Dee. “Sorry to miss the pizza.”

“I’m sorry too,” Dee whispered, her eyeballs darting back and forth between me and Colt so fast it was a wonder she didn’t give herself a seizure.

“We’ll save you a slice,” Morrie offered, slapping a hand on Colt’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze at the same time he tugged it back and forth.

“I like it hot,” Colt replied, aiming another grin at me. “Feb ‘n me’ll order another one on her night off.”

I sucked in breath again and considered throwing my drink at him but he said, “Later,” and was walking out of target distance before I could put my thought into action.

As I glared at the door, Morrie walked around to the back of the bar and slid his arm around my shoulders, tugging me into his side.

“Family’s here, Feb, friends, it’s all good. You ready to talk about Colt yet?” Morrie asked.

I looked up at my brother. “Fuck off.”

Al guffawed and I looked at him.

“You can fuck off too.”

Al, Jimbo and Morrie burst out laughing.

I rolled my eyes, caught the roll, vowed I’d never roll my eyes again and belted back my drink.

* * *

Colt walked into his house to see Jack and Jackie planted in the den in the recliners, the TV on. Jack’s recliner was flat and his snoring was constant but muted. Jackie turned to the door when he walked in and she gave him one of her warm welcoming smiles. Jackie Owens had a lot of smiles, some of them were so big they split her face, making light shine out. This one wasn’t as big but it was sweeter, speaking lots of words, most of which had to do with love and home.

When Colt turned to close the door, he saw Feb sitting on a stool in front of the kitchen bar on the dining area side. She had her hand flat on a book on the bar, in the other hand she had her fingers curled around a pen, one of her long legs dangling, the other one bent up high and her heel was in the seat. She was wearing loose but short shorts, a cardigan and socks that were slouchy, looking too big on her feet. She had her torso twisted to him and she was giving him a scan with her eyes.

He closed and locked the door then turned again and headed to the kitchen, eyes on Feb as he went. She ducked and tilted her head, giving him the impression she was reading him from across the room. Then she turned, dropped the pen, picked up a ribbon, put it in her book and closed it. She hopped down from the stool and was in the kitchen doorway two steps before he got there.

“Bourbon or beer?” she said to him.

Yeah, she’d read him.

“Bourbon.”

“Like last night?”

“Yeah.”

She went to the cupboard and he turned and retraced his steps, walking out of the kitchen. He shrugged off his jacket, threw it on the back of the chair, pulled his badge off his belt and slid the shoulder holster down his arms, dropping both on the dining room table before he went back. By the time he got there, the Jack was on ice and she was fixing herself a rum and diet. She stopped what she was doing to hand him his glass and finished making her drink.

Then she turned, put the heels of her hands to the edge of the counter and hefted her ass up onto it, settling in and grabbing her glass. She was wearing a white, ribbed tank under her cardigan. It hugged her torso and didn’t leave a lot to the imagination. Her choker was gone, so were her earrings but the necklaces were tangled at her throat and she still had on her rings.

Her eyes came to him and they said, tell me about it.

Colt suspected she’d perfected that look, an occupational hazard. Though, he also suspected no one ever got that exact one. The looks she’d give customers would make them want to sit back, stay awhile and drink a lot. The look she was giving him told him she wanted to return the favor he’d done for her last night. He had a weight on his mind and she was willing to help him bear it.

He leaned a hip next to her knees and took a swallow of bourbon.

When he didn’t speak, she said, “You got lots of work for a small town.”

He nodded. “Someone’s dumpin’ bodies.”

“Read about that in the papers.”

“Yeah, Monica Merriweather was there tonight. Thinks she’s Lois Lane,” Colt said.

Monica Merriweather worked on the local paper. It was a weekly and mostly reported community news. Monica wrote practically every article, she was everywhere; high school games, church raffles, fundraising bridge tournaments. The woman didn’t sleep much and when she did Colt thought she probably lay in bed with her camera around her neck.

“How many is it now?” Feb asked and Colt took another drink of bourbon.

“Five in two months.”

“That seems a lot.”

Colt looked at February.

Susie never talked about his work. Melanie had a delicate constitution so Colt had learned to shield her from it. He’d had other women since Feb, between her and Melanie then between Melanie and Susie and during his breaks with Sooz. Some of them were steady, none of them were women with whom he felt compelled to share.

Feb was currently caught up in a shit storm of epic proportions and still, he thought she could handle it.

“It is. Same every time. They’re done elsewhere, don’t know where, bodies dumped remote, the woods, a creek, always when it’s raining, evidence washed away. Never the same place but also not far from each other but somewhere they would easily be found.”

“The one yesterday?”

“Yeah, yesterday and today. It’s escalating.”

“What are you thinking?”

“Don’t know what to think. Working with the Indianapolis Metropolitan PD and they’re scratchin’ their heads too. Dump sites are clean, no footprints, no evidence, no witnesses. He goes in, does his business, gets out. All the victims are gang bangers, all black, none of them older then twenty-one, not big players. Bullet to the forehead, no signs of struggle, no marks on the body, wrists, ankles, they haven’t been bound. It’s like the killer took ‘em by surprise, they were facin’ him when it happened, saw it comin’, it came fast and he’s a damn fine shot.”

“Gang war?”

“Gang boys, they don’t cart a body fifteen miles from the city into the sticks and dump it so it’ll be found.”

“Hate crime?” Feb asked.

“Maybe,” Colt answered though he didn’t believe that. Racism was prevalent in their town, no denying it, but he doubted that was the motivation. If these boys had infiltrated the town, started recruiting, he could see it. But their territories were in the city, likely murdered there and transported. Someone had gone hunting.