Feb read him again. “Vigilante?”

She was quick.

“That’d be my guess.”

“Is it gross?”

“What?”

Her voice dipped quiet. “The bodies. Is it gross?”

Something about that made him smile. “My opinion, dead bodies are gross all around, honey, even if it’s your Grandma laid in a casket. Dead bodies who’ve had a hole blown through the back of their heads, definitely.”

The bottom half of her face scrunched up, wrinkling her nose and he couldn’t help but chuckle. He reached out and wrapped his hand around her knee, giving her a squeeze before letting her go.

“Gonna get this man to bed,” Jackie announced and Colt and Feb looked to their sides to see Jackie guiding a stumbling Jack to the side door using both her hands on him.

Jack emitted a rumble and muttered, “’Night kids.”

Jackie gave them a smile and they disappeared through the door.

Colt stared at the door long after it closed then his eyes cut back to Feb when he felt her move in a fidget.

“This is getting to you,” she said softly.

Colt nodded. “Most of those boys don’t have a high life expectancy. They survive the street, they usually end up doin’ time then gettin’ out only to get caught and go back in again. Every once in awhile one of ‘em will get their shit together and pull themselves out. Any one of those boys we found could have been one of those who eventually got their shit together. What they do with their lives is no good but you never know when life will turn. Those boys didn’t get the chance to have the epiphany that led them to gettin’ their shit straight and I don’t like it.”

She put down her drink then her hand lifted high, toward his face then it hesitated and dropped down. He felt it settle at his neck, her fingers curling around and she leaned in, slightly, but she came closer.

He’d been right. Feb touched him and his mind went blank.

“You should know, people sleep easier knowin’ you do what you do,” she told him and he shook his head but she kept going, her hand tightening at his neck. “I don’t mean generally, Colt. People sleep easier knowin’ it’s you doin’ what you do.”

Christ, he wanted to kiss her.

Before he could do it, she dropped her hand, hopped off the counter and gave him a smile that was a challenge.

“Bet I’d kick your ass at pool,” she said.

Again before he could move or say a word, she grabbed her glass and walked out of the kitchen.

He watched her ass sway while she did it and then he poured himself more bourbon and followed her.

* * *

Colt came awake with a jolt; this was because Feb was shaking his shoulder.

He knifed double on the couch and stared at her silhouette in the dark.

“What?”

She leaned into him to reach around, the light flashed on and he blinked at the sudden brightness.

“My journals,” she whispered.

She was crouched beside him at the couch wearing her big t-shirt and she surged to her feet, her hand going to her hair, yanking it from her face. Her movements were rough. She was agitated.

She kept talking. “Awhile ago, not long, weeks?” she asked, her voice high, strange, stressed, “I went home. Felt funny, I didn’t know, just felt something weird.”

That cold started curling around his chest; he threw back the blankets and stood up, his movements taking him close to her.

She tilted her head back to look at him and dropped her hair but her hand waved to the side, palm up, a gesture that seemed both scared and helpless and it made that cold slither closer.

“Why’d it feel weird?” Colt asked.

She shook her head but said, “My apartment just didn’t feel right. It happened a couple of times actually. Didn’t think, forgot all about it, thought I was bein’ stupid. A woman, livin’ alone, thinkin’ stupid shit…” she shook her head again then said, quieter this time, that fear and vulnerability stark in her voice, “the thing was, one of those times, I found a journal on the floor of my closet.”

The cold started clawing.

Since he could remember, Feb had diaries. She didn’t hide when she wrote in them. When she was a kid and a teenager she’d be in Jack and Jackie’s living room, her legs thrown over an armchair, her journal at her thighs, her pen scratching on the page. When she broke up with him, had her turn and he didn’t understand why, he considered stealing one, reading it to find out why, but he knew that was a betrayal she’d never forgive. He’d hoped back then whatever had caused her to change would reverse and she’d come right back but she never did and then it was too late.

She still did it, he knew. He’d been into Meems’s to get coffee enough times to see she hadn’t changed. She’d be at her regular table, the book in front of her, her head bent, one hand holding her hair away from her face at the back of her neck, the other hand writing on the page, her coffee cup in front of her, muffin remains on a plate. Hell, she’d even been at his kitchen bar writing in one that night.

“I’m guessing you don’t keep your journals on the floor of your closet,” Colt prompted when she said no more.

She shook her head again. “I’ve kept them all, starting from the diary Mom gave me when I was twelve, the little one with that lock on it you could break with your thumbnail.” She licked her lips then said, “They’re in a box at the top of my closet. I thought nothing of it, don’t know why, it was weird but you don’t think someone will…”

Her voice trailed away, her eyes drifted and he lifted an arm, put his hand behind her neck and gave it a squeeze to get her attention.

She focused on him and whispered, “Someone’s been in my house, Colt.”

“Let’s go.”

She didn’t hesitate. She was down the hall double time. Feb took her clothes to the bathroom and he changed in the bedroom. He was in the living room, had his leather jacket on and his keys in his hand by the time she hit the room.

They went out to his GMC, climbed in and he drove them to her apartment.

He’d never been to her place but he knew where it was. She lived in an older complex, well-kept, tidy, rent was high, it was well-lit, there was good parking. The renters were young adults who had decent jobs who were starting out or old folks who moved there because their houses had gotten too much to take care of and they stayed there until they went into assisted living.

Feb had a ground floor door, pointed to the parking, exposed to the well-maintained grassy area in front, visible to the street and other apartments. There were some tall, full trees by the parking lot, planted smart to throw shade on the cars in summer, well-clipped shrubs hugged close to the building.

Someone walked up to her door, no way to hide.

Her hand shook as she tried to insert the key. Colt pulled the ring from her hand and let them in.

She hit a light and he was surprised to see it was a studio, not much space and it wasn’t cozy. No television set, a stereo, big bed, yoga mat rolled up and leaning against a wall, framed photos all around but nothing else to decorate it.

She didn’t spend time there, he realized, she was almost always at the bar. If not she was at Meems’s or with Jessie. She didn’t even have a couch, just a big, overstuffed armchair, ottoman in front of it with a table and standing lamp at its side, where she probably wrote in her journals and read.

She walked across the room and opened a door, pulling a string and the light went on. The studio was tidy, her closet was as well. A walk-in with shelves, clothes hung in an orderly way, organized carefully, jeans and pants in a section, shirts color coordinated, sweaters neatly folded and stacked on the shelves, shoes and boots arranged carefully.

She reached high, getting on her toes, and pulled down a box. She barely moved out of the closet before she dropped to her knees, the box in front of her and she stared inside.

Colt walked to her and looked down to see a bunch of mismatched books in a jumble in the box. Her head tipped back and he could see the tears glittering at the bottoms of her eyes.

“I was in a hurry, needed to get somewhere, I just threw the one that fell up into the box, thinking I’d go back and sort it and I forgot,” she whispered. “I didn’t even look.”

He knew what she was saying. “How many are gone?”

She looked back into the box. “I keep them tidy. Don’t know why, but I keep them tidy.”

He crouched beside her and his hand went back to her neck.

“February, how many are gone?”

She shook her head, not looking at him.

“Feb.”

She finally looked at him.

“I don’t know, a lot.”

Colt looked away and hissed, “Fuck!”

He moved his hand to her upper arm and pulled her up as he straightened. Then he put his hand right back to her neck, keeping her close, his fingers pressing deep, indicating she was not to move away as he yanked out his phone and called Sully.

“’Lo. Colt?” Sully said in his ear, Colt had woke him.

“I need you to get a team to Feb’s place. Apartment number three, complex on Brown.”

“Shit,” Sully muttered, being a cop a long time the sleep was already gone from his voice on that word. “What?”

“Guy’s been here. Took her journals.”

Sully was quiet a moment then he said, “Well that explains that.”

“Call the Feds, get a team here.”

“Done.”

Colt flipped his phone shut and shoved it in his back pocket. Feb’s neck was trembling under his hand.

“Honey.”

She shook her head, kept shaking it, her body trembling but she held it loose, her hands dangling at her sides. She was lost, vulnerable, she’d been violated and she didn’t know what to do with that knowledge.