Colt flipped his phone closed and looked at Sully.

“Victimology is wrong,” he said to Sully, pushing his phone in his pocket and tearing the paper off the pad. “He’s not going after Grant because Grant never f**ked her. He’s going after anyone who f**ked her.”

“This Reece guy?”

“Was he on the list?”

“Nope.”

Colt headed to the door, Sully trailing. “That’s because he’s an ex-lover and he never did anything to her.”

“But he’s wreaking vengeance for her,” Sully said as they hit the hall. “He told us himself.”

“He’s wreaking his vengeance, not vengeance for her. Angie never did her wrong, not really.”

“Why the f**k would he kill her then?” Sully asked.

“Who the f**k knows?” Colt answered and he stopped at Rodman who was hitting a button on his phone. “This is the next victim’s phone number,” he handed Rodman the paper. “Taos, New Mexico. Graham Reece. He’ll be renting, not a long term resident and likely workin’ a bar.”

“Sheckle’s been sending gift packages,” Rodman surmised, hitting buttons on the phone, the paper held up in front of him, his eyes scanning, multitasking.

“Only person Feb knows in New Mexico, they’re close.”

“He do her wrong?” Rodman asked.

“Nope, he just did her. Lowe wants to erase from the earth anyone who touched her,” Colt answered.

“She needs to make a new list,” Rodman said.

“She does, only name left on it would be mine.”

Rodman blinked at him then mouthed, “Voicemail.”

“I’ll run a check, see if I can pull up an address or employment records on Reece,” Sully said and hoofed it to his desk.

“Graham Reece,” Rodman said into the phone, turning and starting to walk away, “this is Special Agent Maurice Rodman of the FBI. You’re not in trouble and I need you to call this number the minute you get…”

Colt stood there alone in the bullpen which was filled with activity all around and he didn’t have a f**king thing to do but wait.

* * * * *

An hour later Cheryl Sheckle sat in a chair across the room, her purse in her lap, her arms wrapped around it, her head turned to the side, her face set in stone.

She’d pulled her hair back in a ponytail and she’d taken off all her jewelry, every last piece. If she could, he knew, she’d change her clothes, erase the Feb Impersonation that’d been forced on her, start finding the way back to herself.

Colt saved the file on Amy Harris he was finishing, got up and walked over to Cheryl. She didn’t indicate in any way that she knew he was approaching except her body grew stiffer with his every step.

“Got a ride home?” he asked, standing over her. The Audi had been impounded.

“Mom’s comin’.” Short, precise, neither word she wanted to say.

“She gonna be awhile?”

“Probably.”

“Want coffee?”

She looked at him, tipping her head back, her eyes hitting his before she clipped, “No.”

“Get up, Cheryl. There’s a place a coupla blocks away from here. I’ll buy you a coffee and you’ll want a brownie from there. At least a cookie. You can call your Mom and tell her to pick you up there.”

“So, what? You’re Mr. Nice Guy?” she snapped.

Colt shook his head and said, “Same guy done us both wrong. I thought least we could do since we share something like that, somethin’ neither of us wanted to share and it was neither of our choice, we could share a great coffee and a f**kin’ good brownie. That would be our choice and, trust me, it’s worth the walk.”

He saw her jaw work as she clenched her teeth through making a decision.

“Better’n sittin’ around here,” she finally mumbled as she stood, hitching the purse on her shoulder.

“Place’s called Mimi’s Coffee House,” Colt said as he passed a Sully who had his brows raised and his eyes on Colt. “Call your Mom. Just a couple blocks up from the Station.”

Colt walked by her side as they made their way out of the Station and down the sidewalk. She called her mother as they went and he listened as she drew out the conversation with her Mom in order not to have to speak to him. She flipped the phone shut just as they hit the counter where a wide-eyed Mimi stood. Colt had already shaken his head to Meems in order to shut her up. He needed her ribbing him about February right then like he needed a hole in the head.

“Caramel latte, a large one, and one of those turtle brownies,” Cheryl ordered.

Mimi nodded and smiled then she looked at Colt. “Regular for you, Colt?”

“Right, Meems.”

“Take a load off, I’ll bring ‘em out,” Mimi told them.

Colt led Cheryl to a table at the window not wanting her near Feb’s place or the scratches that declared it so. Cheryl had enough to deal with, she didn’t need to see that Feb belonged in a warm, welcoming coffee house with a proprietress who smiled and made orgasmic f**king brownies though he suspected she already knew if she watched any of the tapes. But she didn’t need to know the fact that Feb belonged in a place like this so much, her name was etched into the furniture.

Cheryl sat with a view to the street. Colt sat with a view to the door.

They were silent until after Mimi left their order on the table and walked away.

“I know you think I’m a moron,” Cheryl told Colt, her mouth hard, her eyes though, now on him, held hurt.

“Trusting someone nice to you doesn’t make you a moron. It makes the person who f**ked you over an ass**le,” Colt replied.

She jerked her eyes from him and looked out the window.

“Feds talk to you about protection?” Colt asked and Cheryl didn’t acknowledge his question so he went on. “Denny’s behaving erratically, Cheryl, be good for you to take your son and disappear for awhile.”

“Got a friend in Ohio, he doesn’t know about her,” she muttered, eyes at the window, “already called her.”

“Good,” Colt said and leaned forward, took out his wallet, pulled out a card and slid it across the table to her before he put his wallet back and leaned back in his chair. Cheryl eyed his card but didn’t touch it.

“You take that card, Cheryl,” he said quietly and her eyes came to his but her body didn’t turn to him. “You find another man, you call me. I’ll run a check on him, see he’s clean.”