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

After
writing down the name of the twenty-third caller, I dropped my pen onto the
desk and leaned back. “You say your girl was abducted in Montana?”
    “Yes, sir,” the elderly female voice
said. “When she was three years old.”
    “Missing since she was three?”
    “The news said the woman has brown hair.
My baby has brown hair.”
    “Yes, ma’am, the victim was a brunette.”
    “You need to check that this girl ain’t
my daughter. Sarah Mancini,” she annunciated.
    I jotted the name down. “I have all your
information on file, and I promise to look into it.”
    “You’ll call me back?”
    “If it does turn out to be your daughter,
I promise we will call you immediately.”
    I wiped my face, not knowing how many
more calls like that I could take. Whether they were false leads, jokes, or
optimistic family members, it drained my life force. My desk phone lit up.
    “Peyroux.”
    “Cozy Robicheaux is here with her
mother,” the downstairs desk clerk said. “She’s asking for you.”
    Throat.
Bullet . I squeezed my
eyes shut. “Can you tell them I just left on a call?”
    “They came all the way from Manchac.”
    “I know that, Rudy.”
    “Awright. No problem.”
    “Thanks. I owe you one.”
    Positioned on the second floor, I peeked
through the window at Cozy and her Native American mother, Aponi, as they moved
toward the parking lot. Cozy was a beautiful seventeen-year-old with flowing
brunette hair and her mother just as striking. I watched them disappear under a
cloak of oak trees.
    Minutes later, the desk officer appeared
on my floor with a gift basket of wine and cheeses wrapped in cellophane and a
Mardi Gras colored bow of purple, green, and gold. He placed it on my desk,
giving me the stink eye, and left without saying a word. The card on the basket
read:

 
    Detective
Lucas,
    Avoid
me all you want. I’ll never stop thanking you .

 
    It had several hearts drawn on it. I fell
back into my chair, rubbing my neck and staring at the brown, wicker basket. And
I called Harvin the douche-bag.

Chapter 5
    Manchac, sixty miles
outside of New Orleans
    The flimsy back door burst open and the
cackling of familiar voices flowed in. Cozy Robicheaux backed up a step and
froze in speechless awe as her boyfriend, Ash, and his entourage of three
sweaty yahoos swung a fifteen-foot alligator onto the stainless steel table.
They laughed in celebration, breathing heavily. This reptile would warrant a
big payday from Ash’s dad, Mr. Paul, the seafood-store owner.
    “I thought you were going to see your
detective in New Orleans,” Ash said.
    Cozy put her fingers on the small scar on
her neck. “He was busy. We got back early.”
    “You haven’t seen him since the
hospital.”
    “I know.”
    Two of the rednecks exited to hose out
the pickup bed, but beefy Tray and lean-framed Ash hung back. The smell of
bayou and body odor filled the back room, overpowering the normal atmosphere of
shrimp and crab boil. Ash disappeared in the bathroom as Tray took one final
picture of their conquest. He pointed the cell’s camera at Cozy, who shot the
bird finger at him.
    Tray’s biceps rippled, causing the
opposite of attraction in Cozy’s mind. Repulsion .
His sleeves had been ripped off a plaid shirt that clashed with a tight,
discolored tank top.
    His jaw jutted at the reptile. “Big,
right? Biggest one I ever seen.”
    Cozy looked to the bathroom door for Ash.
    “Things don’t have to be weird between
us.” Tray scraped at his lips, then spit in the industrial sink.
    Her teeth gritted tightly. “You raped me.”
    His fists clenched and his jaw tightened.
“No one thinks it was rape except you, so stop saying it. If you hadn’t been
saved by that detective – that would
have been rape.”
    Cozy secured the cleaver off the wall and
held it by her thigh. “I was in no shape to say no to you guys . Doesn’t mean
I wanted it.”
    Tray’s cheeks burned red. “Maybe if you
remembered what happened, you’d know