“We should,” Nowakowski affirmed, straight-faced and how he didn’t laugh or even crack a smile Colt would never know. “So you gave her the DVDs?”

Ryan nodded then sat forward, eye contact back, earnest now. “Candy, she’s gonna freak. She likes him, thinks he’s a good guy, thinks we’re doin’ right. And really, stripper or not, she’s nice. Seriously. Maybe you could be… um, gentle with her. Okay?”

“We’ll take care of Candy, Ryan.”

Colt looked at Sully and they both walked from the room.

“Bet you a thousand dollars Candy Sheckle’s the spittin’ image of Feb,” Sully said as they headed down the hall to the bullpen.

“I’m puttin’ a security system in today, Sul, not gonna take a foolish bet,” Colt replied and caught Warren’s eye as they got to the bullpen. “Name’s Cheryl, not Candy,” he told Warren who was on the phone.

“That would be Cheryl Sheckle,” Warren said into the phone.

“Cheryl Sheckle, shit, her parents musta hated her,” Sully muttered.

Colt stopped by his desk and leaned a hip against it. Sully stopped with him.

“Okay, Sully, breakin’ this shit down, where the f**k are we now?” Colt asked. “Months before the murders, he’s got a whole operation set up to spy on Feb and me. He’s impersonating me, insinuated himself into two lives, both of which cost him big money. When did the withdrawals start?”

“Last coupla months.”

“But he’s been workin’ this shit for six.”

“I’ll go back over the statements. See if other withdrawals increased.”

“My advice?” Colt offered. “Get Marie’s too. I reckon she had her own account, money from her parents. And talk to her neighbor again. See if Marie told her she was giving him money.”

“Christ, you think he took his wife’s money to keep his girl on the side and set up a Feb Watch?” Sully asked.

“I think he’d do anything,” Colt answered. “He’s a man without a moral compass, Sully. Drug me, okay, I’m a big guy, I can take it and get mine back if I have that inclination. Feb? She’s got me, Morrie, Jack, Jackie, an army of support. Amy? Puck? Total innocents. Defenseless. He mowed through them and when he brought low Amy, Craig said the f**ker laughed.”

Sully got close and his voice got quiet. “Speakin’ of that, I had a talk with Nowakowski before he went in. Explained a few things. He’s considerin’ helpin’, if you ask, see if he can find a way to bypass some channels, you find out that adoption Amy fixed was closed.”

Colt didn’t want to talk about this, not now, and he didn’t want Sully talking about it to anyone either.

“Sully –”

Sully lifted up his hand. “That’s another night, another bottle of Jack, I know. Just sayin’.”

Colt felt his blood start heating. “You think I should approach a twenty-one year old kid and let him know he’s the product of… whatever the f**k?”

“I think you’re my partner and a damn good friend and if you decide you want to find your boy, I’ll do whatever I can to help. That’s what I think, nothin’ more, nothin’ less.”

“What I think is that enough of this shit is spreadin’ around,” Colt said. “Amy’s dead and everyone knows her as a quiet, good woman. She doesn’t need that coloring anybody’s memory of her.”

Sully shook his head. “That won’t happen. Craig’s promised to keep it quiet and you know anyone else who knows will. Including Nowakowski.”

“All right, Sully, all I’m askin’ is, you just keep it that way.”

“To the grave,” Sully promised, lifting his hand like he was taking an oath.

“Jesus, you’re a pain in the ass,” Colt told him and meant it. Sully could definitely be a pain in the ass.

“A pain in the ass that helped score multiple counts of unlawful entry on the sick f**k who’s makin’ your and Feb’s life a livin’ hell, not to mention whatever else we can pin on him through that shit,” Sully grinned. “I’m thinkin’ a nice shot of single malt from you, or two, and an invitation to sit in on Feb’s next frittata.”

“Feb’ll make you a frittata every day for a year, you find this guy.”

Sully kept grinning. “Once is enough, every day’s too much of a good thing.”

He was wrong, he hadn’t had her frittata.

Then again, if Colt had it every morning then when would he have her stuffed French toast?

* * * * *

Colt was walking back to the Station from a very ticked off Mimi’s with his muffin in a white bag and his Americano when his phone rang. He shifted the bag into the same hand as the coffee, yanked out his phone and saw the display said “Feb Calling”.

He flipped it open one-handed and put it to his ear.

“Yeah baby.”

“You owe me.”

Her voice came at him, husky and still full of sleep. She’d called him first thing after waking up, her mind on what she did to him with her mouth. That knowledge and the sound of her voice hit him direct in the gut and scored straight down to his dick.

She was right, he did. He owed her big.

That was why he smiled into the phone, stopped at the foot of the steps to the Station, dropped his bag and set his coffee on the stone balustrade.

“You just wake up?” Colt asked.

“Yeah, after you hit the shower, I slept clean through until Chip started banging away.” She didn’t sound pissed. She sounded slightly surprised though he’d only hit the shower three hours ago.

“Sorry about that, honey. New locks. New alarm.”

“That’s okay,” she said softly.

He took a sip of his coffee, waiting for her to say more, she didn’t so he asked, “There a reason you’re callin’?”

“Yeah, I’m running out of clothes. Is it okay if Dad or Morrie take me to my place to pick up more?”

Yes, it’s f**king okay, he thought.

“Sure,” he said then warned, “but honey, it was swept. It’s probably gonna be a little less than your usual clean.”

“Great,” she muttered.

“Then again,” Colt teased, wanting to take her mind off it, “most operating rooms are less than your usual clean.”

“I like order,” she replied, “especially when my life is chaos.”