For You (The 'Burg #1)(53)

Her eyes came to him and they said, tell me about it.

Colt suspected she’d perfected that look, an occupational hazard. Though, he also suspected no one ever got that exact one. The looks she’d give customers would make them want to sit back, stay awhile and drink a lot. The look she was giving him told him she wanted to return the favor he’d done for her last night. He had a weight on his mind and she was willing to help him bear it.

He leaned a hip next to her knees and took a swallow of bourbon.

When he didn’t speak, she said, “You got lots of work for a small town.”

He nodded. “Someone’s dumpin’ bodies.”

“Read about that in the papers.”

“Yeah, Monica Merriweather was there tonight. Thinks she’s Lois Lane,” Colt said.

Monica Merriweather worked on the local paper. It was a weekly and mostly reported community news. Monica wrote practically every article, she was everywhere; high school games, church raffles, fundraising bridge tournaments. The woman didn’t sleep much and when she did Colt thought she probably lay in bed with her camera around her neck.

“How many is it now?” Feb asked and Colt took another drink of bourbon.

“Five in two months.”

“That seems a lot.”

Colt looked at February.

Susie never talked about his work. Melanie had a delicate constitution so Colt had learned to shield her from it. He’d had other women since Feb, between her and Melanie then between Melanie and Susie and during his breaks with Sooz. Some of them were steady, none of them were women with whom he felt compelled to share.

Feb was currently caught up in a shit storm of epic proportions and still, he thought she could handle it.

“It is. Same every time. They’re done elsewhere, don’t know where, bodies dumped remote, the woods, a creek, always when it’s raining, evidence washed away. Never the same place but also not far from each other but somewhere they would easily be found.”

“The one yesterday?”

“Yeah, yesterday and today. It’s escalating.”

“What are you thinking?”

“Don’t know what to think. Working with the Indianapolis Metropolitan PD and they’re scratchin’ their heads too. Dump sites are clean, no footprints, no evidence, no witnesses. He goes in, does his business, gets out. All the victims are gang bangers, all black, none of them older then twenty-one, not big players. Bullet to the forehead, no signs of struggle, no marks on the body, wrists, ankles, they haven’t been bound. It’s like the killer took ‘em by surprise, they were facin’ him when it happened, saw it comin’, it came fast and he’s a damn fine shot.”

“Gang war?”

“Gang boys, they don’t cart a body fifteen miles from the city into the sticks and dump it so it’ll be found.”

“Hate crime?” Feb asked.

“Maybe,” Colt answered though he didn’t believe that. Racism was prevalent in their town, no denying it, but he doubted that was the motivation. If these boys had infiltrated the town, started recruiting, he could see it. But their territories were in the city, likely murdered there and transported. Someone had gone hunting.

Feb read him again. “Vigilante?”

She was quick.

“That’d be my guess.”

“Is it gross?”

“What?”

Her voice dipped quiet. “The bodies. Is it gross?”

Something about that made him smile. “My opinion, dead bodies are gross all around, honey, even if it’s your Grandma laid in a casket. Dead bodies who’ve had a hole blown through the back of their heads, definitely.”

The bottom half of her face scrunched up, wrinkling her nose and he couldn’t help but chuckle. He reached out and wrapped his hand around her knee, giving her a squeeze before letting her go.

“Gonna get this man to bed,” Jackie announced and Colt and Feb looked to their sides to see Jackie guiding a stumbling Jack to the side door using both her hands on him.

Jack emitted a rumble and muttered, “’Night kids.”

Jackie gave them a smile and they disappeared through the door.

Colt stared at the door long after it closed then his eyes cut back to Feb when he felt her move in a fidget.

“This is getting to you,” she said softly.

Colt nodded. “Most of those boys don’t have a high life expectancy. They survive the street, they usually end up doin’ time then gettin’ out only to get caught and go back in again. Every once in awhile one of ‘em will get their shit together and pull themselves out. Any one of those boys we found could have been one of those who eventually got their shit together. What they do with their lives is no good but you never know when life will turn. Those boys didn’t get the chance to have the epiphany that led them to gettin’ their shit straight and I don’t like it.”

She put down her drink then her hand lifted high, toward his face then it hesitated and dropped down. He felt it settle at his neck, her fingers curling around and she leaned in, slightly, but she came closer.

He’d been right. Feb touched him and his mind went blank.

“You should know, people sleep easier knowin’ you do what you do,” she told him and he shook his head but she kept going, her hand tightening at his neck. “I don’t mean generally, Colt. People sleep easier knowin’ it’s you doin’ what you do.”