“Colt –”
He looked at the stamp, shut his eyes and bit his lip.
“Colt.”
That time she said his name quieter and a tremor slid through it.
He opened his eyes and looked at her.
“Stamped Colorado,” he told her and she looked down at the package. “You want me to open it?”
Her arms crossed her front and she grabbed her biceps, like Cheryl, protective. She did this never tearing her gaze from the package.
“Feb –”
“Open it,” she whispered.
He did and he slid out of the bubble envelope something wrapped and taped carefully in layers of tissue. He tore it away, cautious to keep tissue around his fingers and he looked at a frame which held a picture of Feb with a man he’d only seen dead in crime scene photos, tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed, good-looking. They were standing behind a bar and she had her arms around his middle, her front pressed to his side. He had his arm around her shoulders, tight, keeping her close. She had her head tipped back, her long hair splayed along his arm and running down her back and her lips were pressed to the underside of his jaw but, even so, she was smiling. He was smiling too, big and broad, straight at the camera, a man who, by the expression on his face, had everything he’d ever need held tight in the curve of his arm.
Across the glass written in black marker were the words, For you.
Colt felt his stomach roil and his blood heat as he turned it upside down and put it on the counter.
When he looked at her, Feb was staring at it.
“You don’t need to see that, baby,” he said softly.
She shook her head but said, “I know what it is, Butch kept that frame on his nightstand. It was there before I moved in and I left it there when I hauled ass.”
“February –”
Her eyes never moved when she cut him off, whispering, “He kept it.”
“Feb –”
“He kept it,” she repeated.
Colt slid his hand under her hair and wrapped it around the back of her neck, giving her a squeeze and her eyes lifted to his. Her face was bleak with pain and confusion.
“Baby,” he muttered.
“Why’d he cheat on me if he’d keep it?”
“I don’t know.” And Colt didn’t. The man in that photo was holding Feb like he’d fight to the death before he let her go. Some men were weak, like Cory, Colt knew it, he’d seen it time and again. They loved their wives, their partners, but they still played around. Maybe they wondered if the grass was greener. Maybe they preferred the thrill of the chase or liked the excitement when a fuck was fresh and new. Maybe they wanted something their partner refused to give. Maybe they were just assholes. Though, the likes of Cory’s wife Bethany were no Feb, still, maybe Butch was one of those but Colt sure as fuck wasn’t going to point that out to Feb.
She closed her eyes and turned her face away.
“This needs to go to the Station, get processed,” he told her.
She didn’t open her eyes or turn to him when she said, “Okay.”
He gave her neck a squeeze but she still didn’t give him her attention.
“You want, baby, once it’s processed, I’ll get a copy made for you before it goes into evidence.”
Her eyes came to him, her lips were parted and she just stared.
“You loved him,” Colt said, it took a fuckuva lot out of him but he said it.
“Yes,” she whispered and he knew that word took a fuckuva lot out of her too.
“You have that photo?” he asked.
“No.”
“You want it?”
“Colt –”
He squeezed her neck again and repeated, “Do you want it?”
Those dents formed above her nose, by her brows, before she asked, “You don’t mind?”
“Baby, he’s a dead man.” Her eyes closed again but she opened them when he used his hand at her neck to pull her closer. “I’m sorry, honey, that was harsh. The point is, he was dead to you long before Denny killed him. He’s no threat to me but he meant somethin’ to you. You want the memory in that photo, you should have it.”
Feb stared at him for what seemed a long time before she whispered, “I want it.”
“Then you’ll have it.”
She nodded and swallowed, her eyes flicking down to the counter before coming back to his.
“Can you…” she started and stopped, sucked in breath and said, “will you go through the rest of my mail? Open anything you want. I need to get out of these clothes and my feet are killin’ me.”
“You got it.”
She pulled in another breath then fell forward, the top of her head hitting his chest and her hands coming to his waist. He felt her bunch his shirt there and listened to her take in more breaths, each one deeper than the last. He kept his hand at her neck while she fought for control. Then she pushed away and tipped her head back to look at him again.
“See, ‘Dreams’,” she whispered the name of the song playing. “Soothing,” she finished and then tilted her head back further, got close and kissed the underside of his jaw, like he saw her do to the man in the photo except without the smile.
She pushed away, walked away and Colt watched, doing a scan of his feelings after she kissed him like that, put her mouth on him the same way she’d done to another man.
He found he didn’t feel jealous, resentful or angry.
He felt lucky.
*
“The picture came up clean,” Sully said to Colt, sliding into his chair at his desk across from Colt’s.
“No prints?”
“Wiped clean, nothin’.”
Colt sat back in his chair and gave Sully his full attention.