Colt didn’t touch me as he went straight to the coffee and I tried not to be disappointed. Instead, I pulled out plates.

“Feb’s giving us an impromptu Frittata Morning,” Mom announced, hitting the kitchen and the coffeepot too, wearing her Mom nightgown that was cotton and had cap sleeves, little flowers embroidered around the neck. It hit her at her knees and made her look like the Mom she was.

“Yeah?” Colt answered and the far away way he said this made my eyes move from the cutlery drawer to him.

He was leaning against the kitchen counter, one fist wrapped around the handle of a coffee mug, this held up and forgotten. His other hand was out, his fingers poking at my jewelry. Something about him doing this, and the way he was, his neck twisted and bent, his eyes on my jewelry, his mind definitely elsewhere, made me stop and watch.

He pulled my choker free, carefully straightening it so it was flat on the counter top. He picked out my earrings, placing them together by the choker. Next came the rings, which he set in a row. He did this with what seemed like a strange reverence, fascinated by the process, his touch light on my jewelry and I felt it on each piece, as if his fingers were at my knuckles, my ears, my throat. It felt nice.

“Coffee, Jackie, I’m flaggin’,” Dad said as he slid his boxer-clad ass onto one of Colt’s stools.

I pulled myself together and dumped the cutlery by the plates, turning to grab the mountain of buttered toast I’d made and then turning back to place it up on the bar by Dad.

Mom gave Dad his coffee and I pulled the frittata out of the oven then switched it off then grabbed a plate and a spatula to start serving.

“You ever have Feb’s frittata, son?” I heard Dad ask Colt and I didn’t look to see if he was still engrossed in my jewelry.

“Nope,” Colt answered and his voice was no longer far away.

“In for a treat,” Dad muttered and I slid Colt’s piece on a plate, twisted and handed it to him.

“It’s just essentially scrambled eggs,” I said to Dad, not looking at Colt but feeling him take the plate.

“Yeah, scrambled eggs injected with a slice of fuckin’ heaven,” Dad replied.

I went back to serving up frittata and decided to change the subject.

“Dad, can you go by my place after the frittata and pick up my yoga mat?” I asked, still serving and handing Mom a plate which she moved to set in front of Dad.

“Sure thing, darlin’, after my mornin’ constitutional.”

I handed Mom her plate, grabbed my coffee and turned to Dad.

“After frittata, your constitutional, you goin’ over to my pick it up and coming back, me doing yoga and then getting a shower, I’ll be late to open.”

“Don’t miss my constitutional, February,” Dad said and this was true.

“You can have it when you get back,” I told him and this was true too though I doubted he’d go for it as nothing messed with his morning schedule. Not even a daughter who seriously needed the relaxation of yoga.

“Feb –”

“I’ll get it,” Colt said and my eyes went to him, most of his frittata was gone, he had a forkful arrested halfway to his mouth and was looking at Dad. “There may be crime scene tape on the door and it’s best I go in for it.”

I forgot about that.

“Don’t you have work?” I asked.

“Won’t take fifteen minutes,” Colt answered. “I’ll get it, bring it back and then get to work.”

I couldn’t argue with that and didn’t want to. It was nice of him and I was beginning to like the nice things he did for me. I’d been taking care of myself for awhile, keeping myself to myself, I hadn’t had that in a long time.

“Thanks,” I said quietly and looked away.

“Jesus, darlin’, you outdone yourself with this one,” Dad proclaimed, mouth full.

“It’s scrambled eggs, Dad.”

“It’s fuckin’ beautiful, Feb.”

“Whatever,” I whispered, feeling embarrassed. This was, of course, the effect I was going for, for whatever reason, but getting it made me uncomfortable.

“Why aren’t you havin’ any?” Colt asked and my eyes went to him and then skittered over his shoulder.

“I don’t eat before yoga,” I informed him.

“Missin’ out, baby,” he said softly and my eyes skittered right back and I felt a warm heaviness hit me in three different places in my torso and I wondered if my camisole was holding up or if everyone could see my nipples had gotten hard.

They ate in silence and then Colt moved to take his plate to the sink. He turned, reaching around me to grab a slice of toast off the stack. He was behind me and I felt his hand hit the small of my back.

“Walk me to the door, Feb,” he said in my ear.

I followed him to the dining table where he stopped, the toast in his teeth, to shrug on his holster and blazer then I followed him to the door.

He took a bite of the toast and as he chewed his other hand came to the top of my neck, under my jaw, his thumb jutting out to press under my chin and lift my face.

“Great mornin’, baby,” he whispered and that heady heaviness in my breasts and between my legs got headier. “Which means me askin’ this is gonna suck.”

“Oh shit,” I said.

“Sully says Nowakowski wants you to make another list. The fifteen years you been away.”

I pulled in breath through my nostrils then I let it go and nodded which wasn’t easy with his thumb at my chin.

“They’ll need to know where to find ‘em so if you know, even last known whereabouts, you add that to the list.”

I nodded again.

He took in a breath before he said, “It’ll help them to know what they did. They might be able to lock down a victimology, try to guess who’s next. You’ll need to record that too and try and be thorough.”

I didn’t like doing this at all, but the last part I really didn’t like.

“Give yourself some time, do it after yoga,” Colt said. “You finish, you call me. Have someone walk it down to the Station when you get into the bar.”

I nodded again.

His face changed, I couldn’t put my finger on how but, I swear to God, it seemed like he looked like he was proud of me.

“I’ll call you when I get a reservation, tell you the time,” he said.

I nodded yet again.

“‘Tween then and now, honey, I suspect lots of shit is gonna go through your brain.”

He wasn’t wrong.

“Colt –”

He cut me off. “Ignore it.”

I closed my eyes and opened them again when his lips touched mine.

He lifted his head an inch away and stated quietly, “This is good.”

He wasn’t wrong about that either.

“Promise me, whatever marches through that head of yours, you stick with me. Tonight we’ll talk it out.”

“Colt –”

“Don’t say my name, give me your promise.”

I sucked in breath and when I let it out, I whispered, “I promise.”

His thumb left my chin to trail along my cheek.

Then he said, “I’ll be back soon as I can with your mat.”

“Thanks.”

“Later, baby.”

“Later.”

Then he let me go, unlocked the door and disappeared.

I turned to my parents and they were both openly watching me and more than likely had been openly watching Colt and me.

“Don’t start,” I warned.

“Got nothin’ to say,” Dad replied, “you know how we feel.”

I did and that didn’t help that feeling of fear that kept gnawing at my belly. Though it did make that feeling of happiness that was coating the region of my chest intensify more than a little bit.

“February,” Mom called when I dropped my head to look at the floor as I walked to the kitchen.

I lifted my head to look at her.

“No matter what, we love you, you know that?”

My step stuttered but I recovered. Then I swallowed.

Then I said, “I know that.”

“Now, can I have the last of the frittata?” Dad asked, eyeing my piece left in the skillet.

“Jack! That’s for Feb,” Mom scolded.

“She can make another one.”

“Jack!”

I hit the kitchen, grabbed the skillet and tipped it over Dad’s plate, sliding the last of the frittata onto his.

“We’re even for last night,” I said when I completed this task.

“What I saw at that door, girl, we already were,” Dad replied.

Damn, but I was definitely stupid.

* * *

Colt collected Feb’s mat, took it to his house and took advantage of the fact that her father was in one bathroom, her mother in the other and she was alone. Therefore, he spent some time necking with her pressed against the wall at the side of the front door. He did it until she moaned in his mouth and then he stopped, partly because he liked the idea of turning her on and then coming back to her later after she had time to let it stew. Mostly, because he liked her moaning in his mouth and if he didn’t stop, he wouldn’t have.

He wasn’t going to think about what happened between him and Feb last night or that morning. He was going to wait and see where their conversation led tonight. For his part, he was willing to set the past where it belonged and move on from there and he was going to do everything he could to get Feb to come around to his way of thinking.

He drove to the Station, parking out back, going in the backdoor and up the backstairs. He checked in, checked his voicemail then he walked down the front and saw Sully in the conference room with what had to be Marie Lowe’s parents.

He only gave them a glance, didn’t want to get caught in what could seem like a stare. It wasn’t right nor was it kind to stare at someone who’d just been tossed into the pit of grief.

He noted a lot in his glance.

He saw they were from money which meant the house was likely not just Denny providing for his wife but his wife being a trust fund baby.

The father had finally given into age, he was letting himself go, had put on weight, didn’t hold it even sitting down like he was comfortable with it in his flesh. The mother hadn’t given in, she’d had work done on her face, she was ten pounds underweight and she spent a goodly amount to keep her hair that healthy and blonde. Their clothes were expensive and likely designer but they didn’t shout it. Marie’s parents didn’t have anyone to impress, the company they kept knew they were society. Even heading down to a small town on the news that their daughter had been murdered, they were put together well. Not because they gave a shit what anyone thought about them. It was habit, it was ingrained.

In his glance he also saw they were destroyed. They loved their daughter, it was clear to see and this had broken them. They weren’t young anymore but they had life left in them and for the rest of it this break would never heal.

Denny Lowe had caused that and the second after Colt slid his gaze away from Marie’s parents, he felt a swift rage burn through him, worse than anything he felt at what Denny did to Feb or Jack and Jackie, Morrie and him. When they caught that fucker, his family’s fear and anguish would fade, time would heal their wounds. It’d leave a scar but it’d be a scar, a reminder, not an open, bleeding gash that would never close.

Only one thing Colt could do about his rage was what he intended to do. He headed out the front door and started toward the bank. It was two blocks and still, normally he would have driven it. But he hadn’t been to the gym since this business started and he found he had an abundance of energy. This shit wasn’t happening, he’d be taking the day off and working out that energy in his bed with Feb. Unfortunately, this shit was happening.

Dave Connolly was in his office with some clients when Colt got there. Colt scanned the teller’s stations and the name plates sitting on the high counters showed there were two Julies.

His scan also showed there was no Amy.

Colt gave Dave a chin lift and Dave gave Colt a “one minute” gesture with his hand. Colt nodded, headed back out, crossed the street and went to Mimi’s to get a coffee. Mimi eyed him the minute he came in and so did half of the dozen patrons she had in line and at her tables.

“Hey Colt.”

“Meems.”

Her eyes sparkled but then they usually did. Mimi VanderWal didn’t often get in bad moods not since he could remember. This was likely the cause of Al’s extreme devotion. Any man would count his lucky stars he woke up to that sparkle every day and went to bed beside it every night.

The sparkle turned playful and she asked loudly, “How’s Feb?”

Colt shook his head but answered, “Doin’ good.”