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

Decker appraised her beautiful face and told her she looked fine. Which was the truth. There was still some bluing underneath her eyes. Other than that, she appeared good enough for the cover of Vogue … or Playboy. He felt his face go hot. If she noticed his embarrassment, she didn’t remark on it.

Lilah said, “Carl, saddle up High Time for Sergeant Decker.”

“Which one’s that?” Decker asked.

“The Appaloosa. The spotted horse, Peter. You’d better take your jacket off. It’s hot. You can ride shirtless if you want.”

“No, thanks.”

“That’s right, you’re a redhead. You’ll burn rather than tan. I don’t see why Mother pictured you as a cowboy. Redheads can’t be cowboys.”

“Your mother told you about our little chat?”

“No. Just that she thought you’d make a marvelous cowboy. Much better than a detective. Frankly, I don’t see you as either one.”

Decker shrugged and looked away. He took his jacket off and draped it over a saddle peg, watching Totes throw a western saddle on High Time. Totes’s face wasn’t registering any hostility; it wasn’t registering much of anything. He was just doing his job with trained efficiency. When the stable hand was done, Decker walked over to the horse and eyed him carefully.

“She doesn’t bite, Peter,” Lilah said. “Just don’t sneak up behind her.” She turned to Totes. “Carl, walk High Time out and show Sergeant Decker how to mount.”

His mounting was fine, thank you very much. But he followed Totes out and didn’t say anything.

Totes touched the stirrup. “Put one foot in here. Then put your other leg all the way over the horse and just set up. You don’t gotta do nothin’ else but set. You ken hold the reins but don’t go pullin’ on them. Horse’ll follow the Miss. You start pullin’ the reins, you gonna confuse her.”

“Got it,” Decker said.

Totes walked away unceremoniously. Decker mounted as the horse stood passively, her tail swatting at flies. Lilah came up to his left. He noticed she seemed tight and asked her if she was in pain. She told him she was much better—at least physically—tugged on High Time’s bit and the two of them were off. She rode sans saddle, sitting on some kind of Indian blanket.

Immediately, he felt the sun burning down on his scalp. Sweat filled his brow, his cheeks, and his armpits. The sky was smogless blue, the air stagnant and filled with flies and gnats and other things that buzzed. The mountaintops seemed to shimmer in the heat. About a minute into the ride, he realized he was actually grateful for this turn of events. Riding not only made him feel good, it made him feel in control.

Lilah said, “Thank you for accommodating me.”

“This one time.”

“Ye olde ground rules.” Lilah lowered her head. “I’m sorry if I upset your wife.”

Decker didn’t answer her. Instead, he rolled up his sleeves and took out a pen and notepad.

“I don’t believe it!” Lilah said. “You can’t take notes and ride at the same time.”

“Hey, Carl said I wasn’t supposed to do anything except sit on the horse. Besides, I’ve got an excellent sense of balance.”

“Your writing is going to look like scribbling.”

“It does anyway.”

“Don’t you ever stop working?”

“Are you going to tell me why I’m here?” Decker said.

Lilah slowed. “Can you give me a minute to work up to it?”

Decker looked at his watch. “We’re down to thirty-five minutes, Lilah.”

“You’re impossible!”

“Why aren’t you riding with a saddle?”

She turned and gave him a closed-mouth smile. “I like the connection with my animals … the feeling of their muscles working.”

Decker didn’t react. He never rode bareback, believing that even the most docile of horses were still animals. Saddles gave the needed support in rare emergencies.

They rode another five minutes without speaking. Her ranch was much bigger than he had remembered. Or maybe he just hadn’t seen the whole spread. Like his, it was backed by the San Gabriel Mountains, but she had much more. A dusty path divided the property into halves, the trail disappearing into a thick copse of eucalyptus trees about three hundred feet ahead. On his immediate right were the fruit groves, behind them another structure that could have been a guesthouse. On the left was the garden—at least an acre’s worth of leafy vegetation.

“That’s one heck of a plot,” Decker said.

“I use it commercially.”

“How so?”

“Every single fruit and vegetable served at the spa is grown in that garden or in one of my greenhouses. It’s the only way to get quality control.”

“I don’t see any greenhouses.”

“They’re not the large prefab ones. I’ve several small greenhouses tucked into sunny locations. All of them are climate-controlled and pesticide-free. I grow out-of-season and exotic vegetables—just a few to tease the palate. Give my guests something memorable. I also grow tropical flowers—mainly orchids and bromeliads. They make lovely table settings for the spa’s dining room.”

“You’ve got a regular wholesale nursery here.”

“My clientele has come to expect a certain style.”

“It seems like an awful lot of vegetables for the spa’s kitchen.”

“Nothing goes to waste.”

They rode in silence for a few minutes.

“Well, that was a nice diversion,” Decker said. “You want to tell me what’s on your mind? We’re down to twenty minutes.”

“Don’t push me.”

“Up to you—”

“Stop it!” she screamed. “Stop it! Stop it!”

More silence. The hum in the air suddenly seemed magnified until Apollo brayed and reared.

“What’s wrong with him?” Decker asked.

“It’s nothing.” Lilah pulled back and forth on the reins. “My shouting upset him. He’s very sensitive.”