Peter Decker 3-Book Thriller Collection: False Prophet, Grievous Sin, Sanctuary

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Faye Kellerman

Год написания книги

2019

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“I know you are.” Her voice became soothing and seductive. “I can feel your pain through the phone wire.”

Mike Hollander’s words shot through Decker’s throbbing head. With an emphasis on the very, very part. Point of fact was, the woman was beautiful and in pain—a dangerous combination.

“Lilah, I don’t want this to sound harsh, but if we’re going to work together, we need to set a few ground rules. One, you don’t call me at home for any reason—”

“Afraid I’ll upset the little woman?”

Above all, Deck, you’re a professional.

“If you have to get in touch with me, you call the station house and they’ll call me. Do we have an understanding here?”

“Are you coming out to the ranch or not?”

“I’ll come this one time.”

“Oh, Peter, thank—”

“I know it’s been hard for you and I’ll do it this one time. But after this one time, if you need to talk to me, if you just want to talk to me, you call me at the station. Call me ten times if you want, but call the sta—”

“You flatter yourself, Peter.”

“Because I, like you, don’t want my business intruding upon my personal life.”

“Considering my circumstances, I hardly consider my call an intrusion.”

“If you don’t feel you can adhere to the ground rules, Lilah, I’ll be happy to assign the case to another detective—”

Decker heard the receiver slam and then a dial tone. Slowly, he hung up the phone.

“You okay, Dad?”

Decker turned around. “Morning, Sammy.” He went over and kissed the top of the boy’s head. “You’re looking better.”

“I feel a lot better.”

“Great.” Decker gave him a hug. “Your mother made a huge breakfast. What would you like? Eggs? Toast? Pancakes and syrup?”

“Eema’s ticked off.”

“Yeah, I think she is.”

“She’s mad at you?”

“I think so.”

“Anything I can do?”

“No. It will work itself out.”

Jacob walked into the kitchen, his eyes still glazed with sleep. His black hair was full of cowlicks, a yarmulke resting on the left side of his head. He was wearing his school uniform, but the blue shirt was only partially tucked inside the navy slacks. Fringes from his tzitzit—a religious garment worn under his shirt—peeked out, fanning over his hips.

“Hi,” he croaked.

“Morning, Jake.” Decker put his arm around his younger stepson. “Sleep okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I get you something to eat?”

“Just a bowl of cereal.”

“I’ll make it,” Sammy said to Decker. “You can go talk to Eema.”

“I can make my own cereal,” Jacob said. “Why are you talking to Eema, Pete—uh, Dad. I can call you Dad, too, right?”

“Of course. I’m thrilled that you want to.”

Jacob sloughed off the sentimentality. “Is Eema mad at you or something?”

“Something,” Decker said.

“Yeah, she seemed a little uptight this morning. She sure gets mad a lot. That’s ’cause of all the hormones, right?”

“Sometimes. And sometimes she has regular reasons to get mad.”

“I wish she’d just have the baby already,” Jacob said. “First it was the barfing. Now it’s her getting mad and crying for no real reason. Is that normal?”

“Very normal,” Decker assured him.

Jacob just shook his head and poured some Fruit Crunches into a bowl. “Is she gonna get upset that I’m eating sugar cereal and not the healthy stuff?”

“Why don’t you take a pancake?” Decker suggested.

“Eema made pancakes on a school morning?” Jacob pushed the bowl aside. “That’s not normal, either. But at least, that’s good.”

“If you boys don’t need me, maybe I will have a word with your mother.”

“Do we have any syrup?”

“It’s on the table, Yonkel.”

Jacob turned to Sam. “You ever remember Eema making pancakes on a school day?”

“I think once or twice.”

“When?”

“I don’t know. But I think she did.”