Free Where The Devil Won't Go: A Lucas Peyroux Novel by E.J. Findorff Page B

hand quickly slid into the
pocket and pulled out his phone. It needed a code for entry. She smashed it on
the sink, and then pulled out the battery and memory card for good measure. Closing
her eyes, she entered the other pocket and discovered a huge wad of twenties,
mostly unaffected by the hemorrhaging.
    She left the bathroom to find a pen and
paper and scribbled a list.
    Bleach,
plastic wrap, scouring pads, gloves, duck tape .

 
    Chapter 11
    The sliding sound of Heather’s slippers filled
the hallway as I ate my cereal at the kitchen table. Her thick, brunette hair
teased her face in a way that stopped my heart. She crossed behind me, but I
could still feel her stare. Her hands slid over my shoulders and ran down both
sides of my chest as she bent to kiss my neck. Her right hand went even further
south into the hole of my boxers, pulling it out. The sensation was so intense
that if a nail were driven through my foot, I wouldn’t have felt it.
    “Out here? Really?” I whispered.
“Alicia?”
    “No, we’re not going to do it out here. I
just want to do this for you. It’ll be quick. Alicia will sleep to ten at
least.”
    “That feels too good to argue.”
    “Just relax. You need this. Your hard-on
in record speed makes that obvious.”
    I put the spoon back into the bowl and
stood, signaling the bathroom door slamming in the back the house. I laughed in
frustration as Heather kept hold of my erection as if on pause.
    “I forgot.” Her bottom lip curled under.
“I’m taking her to soccer practice this morning. This will be going on all
summer.”
    “Of course.”
    “You know she always showers before breakfast.”
She squeezed. “We can shoot for virgin speed.”
    Alicia yelled from the bathroom. “Mom!
Can you come here a second?”
    “Damn,” Heather said, and shouted back, “Give
me a minute.”
    “You’ve been patient with me. Thank you. I
think I’m ready.” Flex .
    “It’s good to have you back.” Squeeze . My wife didn’t want to let go.
She gave it a final tug. “Till we meet again.”
    She left me standing alone as my man
pointed north. I pulled the hole of my boxers back around my erection and
returned to my soggy cereal, enjoying the fading sensation with disappointment.
Then, my phone rang. It was the medical examiner. “Peyroux here.”
    “You with Detective Gray?”
    “Not yet.”
    “You at the station?”
    “Not yet.”
    “Don’t matter. I have some info on Ms.
Robicheaux.”
    “Is it the caviar?” I took a spoonful of
soggy cereal.
    “You’re incredible.”
    “I do have superpowers, you know. My
other senses have been heightened ever since I lost the sense of sex.”
    “What?”
    “Nothing. Go ahead.”
    “It’s Almas Caviar.”
    “How do you know that?” My spoon hovered
between my mouth and the bowl.
    “Process of elimination. I actually did
some of your legwork on this one last night. I shot a close up and sent it to
Chef Chagnard at Naquin’s. Friend of mine. Once he got
over the fact that it came out of a dead woman’s stomach, he was quite
helpful.”
    “So, Almas Caviar? There must be lots of
restaurants and caterers that have it.”
    “No, they don’t. It’s the most expensive
caviar in the universe.”
    “Really? There’s caviar on other planets?”
    “Anyway, Chagnard says it comes from Iran
and distributed through England. There’s a website you can order it from.”
    “Something that rare and expensive should
be easy to trace.”
    “You’re welcome. I’ll take a case of
Abita Amber – cold.”
    “I’ll send Gray right to the Winn Dixie.
I’ll even throw in some moon pies.”
    I took my cereal to the laptop in the
living room and searched for Almas Caviar on the Internet. Almas meant ‘diamond.’
It came from the Beluga Sturgeon fish, common to the Caspian Sea. The Caviar
House & Prunier in London’s Picadilly was the sole outlet, selling a kilo
for over $27,000 a pop. Plus, according to the Caviar House website, the