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

She brought the horse under control.

“What did you want to tell me, Lilah?” Decker said.

“I’m too upset.”

“Lilah, I haven’t got all day. If you feel I’m pushing you, I’ll call it quits right now.”

“Have it your way!” she said. “Call it quits!”

Peachy, he thought. What a colossal waste of time. He yanked on the reins and turned the horse in the direction of the stable. He kicked the Appaloosa’s flanks and High Time broke into a canter. This time, Lilah followed him.

“You know how to ride!”

Decker didn’t answer.

“Why did you play stupid if you knew how to ride?”

“How about if I ask the questions, Miss Brecht?” He broke away from her and with a swift set of pulls on the reins forced the animal to reverse directions, racing toward the eucalyptus grove. Galloping along the shaded trails, he wove among tree trunks as if he were barrel racing. Lilah tried to follow him. Apollo was quick—no doubt the animal was stock palomino—but she simply wasn’t skilled enough to keep up with him. He left her behind in a mist of dust. High Time rounded each bend as if she had power steering—a horse Decker wouldn’t have minded owning. A few minutes later, he slowed and waited for Lilah to catch up with him. He sat back and breathed in the scent of menthol.

“You’re great!” she said, breathlessly.

“Might as well get a decent ride out of this trip.”

Apollo reared again, stretching his forelegs so high he was almost vertical.

“Lean forward, Lilah—”

“I know how to handle my own horse!”

But her voice was shaky. The palomino continued to balance on his hind legs, kicking the branches of the tall trees as he protested.

“You’re still too upright. You’re going to fall backward.”

“I’m trying. It’s not that easy bareback.”

“Use your thighs,” Decker instructed. “Squeeze as hard as you can.”

“I’m doing that!”

“Now tighten the reins and give him a kick in the flanks. That should send him forward.”

“I’m trying, dammit! He’s being obstinate!”

Decker stood on his stirrups, edged High Time closer to the agitated horse, dodging steel-hooved punches. Lilah managed to maintain balance, as Decker squeezed in front of the animal. He leaned over, grabbed Apollo’s bit and gave it a sharp tug, forcing the horse forward. Finally settling on all fours, Apollo kicked up dirt and leaves, then paced in circles. Lilah took the reins and once again brought him under control.

“He’s really upset about something,” Decker said. “Let’s go back.”

“I’m ready to talk to you now.”

“Make it quick. I don’t like the way your horse is acting.”

“He senses my anxiety.”

“Then let’s switch horses. I’m not anxious.”

“He’ll be fine. Better than I’ll be. You see, all last night and every waking minute today, I … I’ve had this dreadful sense that something terrible is going to happen. Something even more horrible than what has already happened. I’m scared out of my wits.”

“Lilah, I know you’re not going to believe this, but it’s normal to feel that way. There’d be something wrong with you if you didn’t feel frightened.”

“No, no, it’s not ordinary fear, Peter. I know because I feel that, too. This … this psychic communication is something different. A prophecy. I am a prophetess and am capable of receiving deep, underworld vibrations. They’re straight out of hell. It’s just horrifying!” She started to tremble. “Don’t you see? It’s a warning! Somehow, you must protect me against these demons!”

Had the rape terrified her to the point of hallucinations? Decker had seen assaults drive normal people literally out of their minds. Lilah was acting like one of them.

“Lilah, I’m going to work really hard to solve your case, but I can’t help you ward off your individual demons. If you think someone’s out to get you—and I can’t say I blame you for feeling that way—hire a bodyguard. Your mother probably knows someone. If not, I’ll give you a recommendation.”

“You don’t understand,” she implored.

“Lilah—”

“It’s bad karma!” Tears streamed down her cheek. “A terrifying sense of doom! Someone is out to get me, Peter. The theft was more than a desire to steal my father’s memoirs. It was a desire to rip away everything dear to me. It’s a personal vendetta against me!”

“That’s why a bodyguard—”

“No, it won’t help. Someone’s going to come back and finish me off! My powers tell me this as fact! I’m so frightened!”

Apollo reared up once again, forelegs stretching toward the sun. For a moment, he did a two-foot foxtrot, flanks speckled by beams streaking through the branches, hundreds of golden dots bouncing off his honey-colored coat. Then a thousand pounds’ worth of weight came crashing down—dirt, twigs, and leaves spewing in their faces.

The palomino reared and reared again. Lilah had turned ghastly white as she attempted to hold on. Decker inched closer, but powerful, flailing limbs acted as an effective barrier. Apollo’s last motion was a perfect capriole as the horse leaped into the air, hind legs extended, pushing forward, forelegs tucked under.

He landed clumsily, momentarily losing his footing as his left hind leg caught on a surface tree root, stumbling but not falling. Lilah’s arms encircled the animal’s throat, her grip loosening with each jerk of the horse’s head. She had slid up toward his neck and was sitting on the horse’s withers. The blanket on his back had tumbled to the ground. Decker moved High Time closer, his extended arm within inches of Apollo’s reins. Just as he was about to grab them, Apollo bolted.

Decker dug into High Time’s belly and pushed forward at full speed, leaning his body horizontal to the ground, cursing as he maneuvered the Appaloosa around the trees, feeling the razor’s edge of low-lying boughs abrade his back. Adrenaline shot through his body, his heart hammering against his chest, his hands shaking. But he was steady enough to guide his horse at strategic moments—a skill that avoided turning him into jelly.

Apollo was charging as if possessed, racing erratically through the trees, clearing branches and dense trunks by inches, tearing forth beyond his normal capacity. Several times, the horse jumped forward for no reason, nearly decapitating Lilah with a bough. She held tightly, hair flying through the jet stream. Decker forced High Time faster, masses of grit filling his mouth and eyes. He spit, rubbed his eyes on his shoulder, and rode harder, using every single aching muscle to urge the horse on.

The palomino had a six-foot jump on him. Pushing the Appaloosa, Decker managed to keep pace. Lilah’s horse couldn’t possibly continue at that heart-straining speed. Hopefully the goddamn animal would slow down before he killed her with his kamikaze mission.

High Time was galloping without so much as a slip of the hoof. Good old Aps, nothing upset their footing. But each time the horse maneuvered a particularly difficult path, he was forced to sacrifice speed. Apollo kept widening the distance. Lilah had lost any ounce of control. The palomino was racing to his own evil drummer.

Decker cursed his sense of smugness. Lilah’s evil vibrations were no longer a crazy fantasy but a terrifying reality. He could feel sweat drenching his clothes, dripping off his forehead as he pressed forward. He could feel the horror gripping his body. Yet he knew his fear couldn’t possibly be as strong as Lilah’s. As fast as he was riding, Decker knew he had control: that he could stop at any moment. Lilah had no such comfort as the palomino kept running at a maniacal pace. If only he could catch up to the sucker—a herculean task, but he was determined not to fail. He bunched his shoulders, dug deep into High Time’s flanks, and drove the Appaloosa to her max.

Trees whizzed by as the horses continued at their frenetic pace. The branches above split his airstream, blowing wind onto the back of his wet neck. Swooshing sounds pounded in his ears, dirt sprayed his eyes. A kaleidoscope of nature’s colors raced past him. Greens, rusts, browns, objects losing their form, relegated to a blur. Everything around him was a deadly weapon—a tree, a branch, a fence, the telephone pole that popped out of nowhere. Even a small clod of dirt could cause the horses to stumble, throwing them onto the ground at fifty miles per hour.

Ahead was a four-foot hedge running across the path—a natural hurdle, but you didn’t do jumps at this kind of speed. There was no place to circumvent the shrubbery. Not that he had any choice. Where Apollo went, so did he. The palomino made the leap but shaved the bush’s top with his hooves. The Appaloosa followed suit, clearing the bush completely and gaining a little distance from the leap. The palomino regained his footing and sprinted forward.

But not quite as fast as before.

Hope flooded Decker’s body. He knew he was gaining ground. He could feel the palomino’s tailwind in his face.