He was there. He remembered that conga line. He remembered sitting in the back with Jason Templeton who was then a freshman at Notre Dame, both of them watching it and laughing their asses off. He remembered thinking he’d feel stupid, a sophomore at Purdue, coming home, taking his senior girlfriend to her prom. But he didn’t feel stupid.
She’d had a blast. Feb always knew how to have a good time and Colt loved it when she did. He remembered the conga line flowing by their table and Feb had grinned at him at the same time she sang the words to the song at the top of her lungs. Then she twisted her neck and looked back at Angie who had her hands on Feb’s waist. They’d laughed in each other’s faces and then Feb, in the lead, always the one who started the party, wound the conga line away.
“I didn’t want her dead, even back then, when we were fighting—”
“I know that.”
She stared him in the eye for a brief moment before dropping her head. “I can’t believe this.”
“Feb, think.” Colt brought the matter back to hand. “Anyone back then who took an interest in you, made you feel funny? Anyone that’s still around now?”
She kept her head lowered and shook it, her long hair sliding across his hand, more of it falling forward around her face.
Christ, there was so much of it, he’d never seen so much hair, he’d never felt anything as soft.
He took his hand from her neck and she lifted her head. She looked at his fallen hand before her eyes found his. They were soft and lost for a moment, telling him only he could make her feel found and he almost touched her again, put his hand back where she needed it, before she straightened, ripping that look away from him.
He wanted it back, so much he felt that weight shift in his gut and the flash of anger at her for taking it away, keeping him out. Fuck, even now she wouldn’t let him in.
He bit his lip, something he knew he did to control his anger. He had his father and mother in him, straight to his bones, and he held close to that control. He had to. Both of them could be ugly and violent, with words, with fists. Colt had it too. It came out twice without control, twice he’d nearly killed someone with his fists—one was his own father, the other Feb’s husband.
“No,” she answered. “No one.”
“February—”
“I’ll think, Alec. I’ll think about it. I need some time. But I promise, I’ll think and I’ll let you know.”
She was looking at him again, straight in the eye. She wasn’t lying. She’d think. But right now this was too much…for anyone. Most people would lose it just from finding Angie’s body. Feb was holding on.
His anger dissolved. It was no longer his place but he was proud of her.
“You’ve got my number?”
Those dents came back at her eyebrows and that lost look came back into her eyes before she masked it.
“Morrie’s got it.”
Colt straightened and dug in the back pocket of his jeans for his wallet. He pulled out a business card and handed it to her, flipping the wallet closed and shoving it back.
She stood, his card held in both hands by thumb and forefinger at both bottom edges, her head bent studying the print.
“I want you to have a care. Keep your cell on you all the time, keep it charged. Let people know where you’re going and when you get there. Don’t ever be alone. You feel something you don’t like, see someone who makes you feel wrong, it doesn’t matter they’re innocent, you tell me, Feb.” Her head came up and she looked at him. “Doesn’t hurt them for me to ask a few questions, dig around.” He watched her suck in her cheeks and he knew she was hesitating, Jack and Jackie’s daughter, through and through. “This is serious. This is murder, Feb. This is about Angie.”
She closed her eyes tight and looked away but not before he saw them get bright. Then she took in a breath and opened her eyes, the brightness gone. She’d locked onto her control. Looking back at him, she nodded.
Colt had one more piece of unpleasant business to deliver and he hated it, but he did it.
“Tomorrow, first thing, you need to write a list.”
“A list?”
“Anyone who wronged you. Anyone you felt slighted by—”
“Alec—”
“Anyone someone not in the know might think did you harm or upset you.”
Her eyes went bright again and her bottom lip quivered. “Alec—”
He hated to see her lip move like that, knowing her throat burned with the effort at fighting back the tears. But he had to be relentless, lives were at stake. “If this is about you, we need to lock it down.”
“People are gonna—”
“Freak.” Colt nodded. “But better they freak and stay breathin’ than—”
“They’ll hate me,” she whispered.
“They won’t. But if they do, they’re stupid. This isn’t about you. This is about a sick fuck who’s out of his mind. They blame you, you’re better off without them.”
“Easy for you to say, people like you.”
“People like you.”
Something in her face shifted. He couldn’t read it, it was there and gone. But whatever it was, it made that weight in his gut feel even heavier.
“Feb, I’ve no idea what this fuckin’ guy is thinking, but I’ve gotta—”