Then again, that had always been the way with Colt and Feb. Always.
Her hand slid through his hair to curl around his neck, she tipped her head back and in his ear, she whispered, “Since I was three, there’s never been a day when I wasn’t in love with you.”
Colt didn’t answer. He just closed his eyes, held her closer and kept swaying.
And he didn’t stop, didn’t let her go, not even when Seger started singing “Night Moves”.
But he did let Darryl have her for “Rock and Roll Never Forgets” and Colt went back of the bar because Morrie was also now swinging Delilah around. Colt watched and saw that Darryl was nowhere near as good as Joe-Bob but he was also no slouch. Morrie had always liked dancing to anything, he was a natural and it was obvious, with practice borne from time, Dee knew his moves. But Jack and Jackie had also joined them and it wasn’t hard to see where Morrie and Feb got their talent. Jack and Jackie could fucking cut a rug.
Colt heard a call and saw that Ruthie was busy but Tony Mancetti was at the bar and had a bill folded lengthwise in his hand. Colt got Tony a beer, Ruthie got him change and Colt’s eyes went back to the dancers in the middle of the floor just as Feb’s laughter pierced the air in a direct trajectory, the sound stabbing him in the chest. It was painful, but it was a beautiful pain.
He’d been right the day before. Twenty-two years of her laughter, her smile, her body, her jewelry on his kitchen counter, he might have gotten used to it and moments like this would have been lost on him.
Now he knew that he’d never miss these moments and he’d always feel that beautiful pain because he’d always understand how precious they were.
*
They were in bed in the dark, Feb pressed to his side, Wilson draped over their ankles.
She was drawing mindless patterns on the skin of his chest, her hand moving slower and slower as her body settled into his.
“Feb,” he called and wished he didn’t have to do it.
“Yeah, babe?” Her voice was quiet, tired. It was passed three in the morning and she’d worked and partied all night, both hard.
“Tomorrow, I want us to go into protective custody.”
The weight of her body changed and he knew the relaxation of impending sleep had disappeared.
She lifted her head to look at his face in the dark. “I thought we –”
“Found out today that it’s highly probable that Denny killed two more people.” He heard her pull in breath through her nose and he continued. “No one you know, unless you know a man named Jayden Whelan.”
He saw the shadow of her head shake in a “no”.
“Random victims, baby, he’s getting out of control and we’re pretty sure he’s headed up here.”
“But –”
“Feb, they’ll get him.”
“But –”
“And I want you safe until they do.”
“You can keep me safe.”
“Yeah, I can, by talkin’ you into protective custody.”
She looked away then back and said, “I don’t want him to have any more of my life.”
“And I don’t want him to have all of it.”
“Colt.”
He gave her a squeeze with the arm he had around her waist, lifted his other hand and hooked it around the back of her neck, bringing her face closer before he whispered, “Baby, I’m askin’ you to do this for me. Will you do it for me?”
She hesitated only a second before she whispered back, “I’ll do it for you.”
No argument. There it was. That was his girl.
He brought her mouth to his for a short kiss and he let her go. She settled back in, head to his shoulder and started to draw her patterns on his chest. Colt stayed awake until her hand stopped and her weight became heavy against his side.
Then he fell asleep at about the time Chris Renicki, sitting in an unmarked car on the street one house down from Colt’s, poured his second cup of coffee out of the thermos he’d brought.
Chris took a sip then glanced into the night surrounding Colt’s neighborhood, doing a scan for about the fiftieth time since he got there, seeing nothing.
Chapter Twelve
February
I jerked awake thinking I heard my brother shouting the word “frittata”.
I knew this wasn’t the residue from a bad dream when I heard Colt mutter, “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him,” before he threw the covers aside, knifed out of bed, grabbed his jeans from the floor, yanked them on and stalked out of the room buttoning them.
Wilson trotted out after him, tail straight in the air.
Before Colt got to the front door, I heard Morrie shout, “Frittata!” again and then there was loud knocking through the four beeps of Colt disarming the doors and windows.
Then the knocking stopped and Colt said loudly, “Seriously?”
Then Morrie said, also loudly, “Dude, I missed the last one.”
Then Tuesday shouted, “Hey Uncle Colt!”
Then Palmer, so like his father, shouted, “Auntie Feb, frittata!”
Then a lot of noise as the kids ran inside, likely straight to the pool table. Before I’d been to Colt’s house I’d heard a lot about the pool table from the kids. It was nearly as legendary as the boat. Colt having these two things was more likely the reason Palmer wanted to be like his Uncle Colt than the coolness of Colt being a cop.
Then I heard Dee saying, “Sorry, Colt, I tried to stop him.”
I thought I heard Colt grumble something and I looked at the clock. It was nine-oh-eight.
I rolled to my back, mumbling, “Fucking hell.”
Firstly, I mumbled this because I was going into protective custody with Colt and I wanted to have a lazy Sunday morning in bed with him. His bed. Our bed. Secondly, I mumbled this because I was going into protective custody at all. Lastly, I mumbled this because I wanted to sleep more.
I was up on an elbow with the covers pulled over my chest when Colt stalked back in and announced, “Command performance, February.”
By the look on his face I was guessing he was about as happy as I was to have early morning Sunday company.