Where The Devil Won't Go: A Lucas Peyroux Novel Read Free Page A

the bathroom
wearing a sexy red lace bra and matching panties. While cocooned in the
blanket, my head turned with a resigned smile. Her face sagged into a frown as
she crawled onto the bed and sat on her heels. Normally, this scene would start
my engine with no problem. She was so beautiful, not too skinny, smooth
flawless skin and expressive blue eyes.
    “No?” She pouted.
    I turned onto my side and propped my head
up on my hand. “My mind isn’t here.”
    “Still? Ever since the shooting – I
just thought that with your first day back, maybe things would get back to
normal. Between us, I mean.”
    “I’m almost there, honey. It’s
just that today was like taking two steps back. I’ve
been doing nothing but adjusting. This is the last adjustment. Soon, I promise.”
    “It would have to be a young
woman, wouldn’t it?”
    “It’s like a
ringing phone that I can’t answer.”
    She fell forward onto her side to face
me, glancing down at her cleavage. “Not even a comment about my boobs popping
out?”
    “Hard to believe.”
    Her fingers ran through my hair. “Well, whatever
you need, I’m here.”
    “I know.” I kissed the inside of her hand.
    “Cozy and her mother forgave you. They were
actually appreciative. You need to forgive yourself, and maybe your nightmares
will go away.” Before I could open my mouth, she whispered. “And don’t ask me
how. I don’t have the answer.”
    I nodded like a scolded
child and turned back onto my side as Heather changed into a T-shirt for bed.
She slid under the sheets and spooned me. Some primal instinct told me to push
away, to decline comforting, but my arms wouldn’t obey that command. How could
I? Heather and Alicia were the only things that kept me sane. They gave me a
reason to get up every morning.

 
    Chapter 4
    My
morning started with an hour of Muy Thai ,
a kickboxing class that included elbows and knees, eight points of contact
designed for close quarter fighting and was popular with the cops who liked to
stay in shape. After five minutes of warm up, I paired with Frank Harvin, a cop
from the Third District, who was considered opinionated in some circles and a
dick-wad in others. We traded rounds of pad holding while the other punched,
kicked, and blocked.
    So long as he stayed quiet and moved the
pads where I struck, we’d be fine. Muy Thai required total focus or else you
could seriously hurt someone or get hurt yourself, although with Harvin, I
really didn’t care.
    “Heard you were at the range yesterday,”
Harvin whispered as I threw a jab-cross at the pads he held high near his
shoulders.
    The owner must have blabbed. I let out a
breath with each strike, like the second half of a sneeze.
    “Seems like your punches land about as
good as you aim your gun.” He shook the pads up near his ears.
    “Who told you that?” I continued the
routine of jab-cross-hook-kick under the supervision of our instructor.
    “Word gets around. You sure you want to
be carrying a firearm when you can’t aim worth shit?”
    My punches became harder. With satisfaction,
I heard him give a small wheeze of effort as my kicked knocked him off balance.
“Maybe you should mind your own business.”
    “No one wants to work with you. You
should retire for the public good.”
    “Thanks for the advice, douche-bag.” My
leg whipped into the pads at his hip.
    “Who would want to work with a guy who
shot an innocent girl?”
    I threw another kick instead of a cross,
catching Harvin in the stomach. When his pads came down, my glove landed on his
jaw. He dropped to his knees. His glassy eyes wandered the room.
    “Asshole.” I left for the locker room
under the stares of the remaining members of the class.
    #
    While on telephone hotline duty at
Headquarters, I kept expecting a reprimand from the Captain at the Third
District about pummeling Harvin at kickboxing, but none came. My day consisted
of deciphering the real calls from the hoaxes pertaining to my River Doe.