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.
He pulled her closer and her hands automatically came to his stomach. “Feb.”
She tipped her head back. “He’s been in my house.”
“I know, baby.”
“He’s read my journals.”
“Keep it together for me.”
“He knows everything about me.”
“Feb, keep it together.”
She shook her head.
Then she closed her eyes tight and a tear slid out the corner of her left eye to trace wetness for an inch before it dropped off her cheekbone.
When she opened her eyes she said, “Wilson was here. Wilson’s friendly. He probably touched my cat.”
“Feb, you gotta keep it together.”
Her hands curled into his shirt and she sucked in breath.
“I wanna run, Colt,” she whispered, now her voice was trembling.
“I know you do.”
“I’m freaking scared.”
“I know, baby.”
“He was here,” she whispered and then fell forward, planting her face in his chest and her fearful shaking turned to tearful shaking and Colt slid his arms around her.
Day f**king five, five f**king crying jags.
He wanted to kill this f**king guy.
“We need to get you out of here. I’m gonna take you back home,” he told her.
She nodded, her face sliding against his chest and he wondered if she could breathe, she had it so tight against him.
He drew her away, led her out, secured the apartment and took her to his car.
They were almost home when she said, “I should have said something earlier. I feel like an idiot. I should have –”
“Don’t do that, Feb.”
She lapsed into silence.
Colt let her into his house and went right back out to the RV. He didn’t f**k around but pounded on the door.
Jack, shirtless and wearing jeans, hair wild, eyes wilder, threw it open.
“You got your gun?” Colt asked.
He watched Jack’s eyes slice to the house; he looked back at Colt, swallowed and nodded.
“Get it. Killer’s been in her house, not lately, weeks ago. Team’s headin’ there now. I wanna be there while they work. You need to be inside with Feb.”
Jack didn’t say a word, disappeared, came back wearing boots, a t-shirt and he had his snub-nosed revolver in his hand.
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.
He pulled her closer and her hands automatically came to his stomach. “Feb.”
She tipped her head back. “He’s been in my house.”
“I know, baby.”
“He’s read my journals.”
“Keep it together for me.”
“He knows everything about me.”
“Feb, keep it together.”
She shook her head.
Then she closed her eyes tight and a tear slid out the corner of her left eye to trace wetness for an inch before it dropped off her cheekbone.
When she opened her eyes she said, “Wilson was here. Wilson’s friendly. He probably touched my cat.”
“Feb, you gotta keep it together.”
Her hands curled into his shirt and she sucked in breath.
“I wanna run, Colt,” she whispered, now her voice was trembling.
“I know you do.”
“I’m freaking scared.”
“I know, baby.”
“He was here,” she whispered and then fell forward, planting her face in his chest and her fearful shaking turned to tearful shaking and Colt slid his arms around her.
Day f**king five, five f**king crying jags.
He wanted to kill this f**king guy.
“We need to get you out of here. I’m gonna take you back home,” he told her.
She nodded, her face sliding against his chest and he wondered if she could breathe, she had it so tight against him.
He drew her away, led her out, secured the apartment and took her to his car.
They were almost home when she said, “I should have said something earlier. I feel like an idiot. I should have –”
“Don’t do that, Feb.”
She lapsed into silence.
Colt let her into his house and went right back out to the RV. He didn’t f**k around but pounded on the door.
Jack, shirtless and wearing jeans, hair wild, eyes wilder, threw it open.
“You got your gun?” Colt asked.
He watched Jack’s eyes slice to the house; he looked back at Colt, swallowed and nodded.
“Get it. Killer’s been in her house, not lately, weeks ago. Team’s headin’ there now. I wanna be there while they work. You need to be inside with Feb.”
Jack didn’t say a word, disappeared, came back wearing boots, a t-shirt and he had his snub-nosed revolver in his hand.
