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

Harder!

Creeping up on the left side, inching closer and closer. Hooves clopping against the dry, dusty ground. Dirt blinding his sight. Blinking it out. Blinking and blinking!

Closer!

The clumps of trees grew thinner, the foliage turned sparse. The sun became brighter and hotter as the horses came out of the protective shade of the woodlands. A few moments later, Decker was elated to see unencumbered land straight ahead. As the palomino broke toward open space, Decker felt his head throb, hope quashed as mountains, previously obscured by the treetops, suddenly jumped into view. An indestructible wall of granite closing in on them. Lilah screamed, her wails echoing as the rocky hillside grew in height and mass. Only minutes left …

Harder and harder!

Inches behind Apollo’s flanks, up to his flanks, up to his belly. The animals, finally neck and neck, nose and nose, the bodies so close they seemed harnessed together. Each step a choreographed death-defying dance, hooves missing each other by fractions of an inch.

Decker pulled ahead while looking backward. Lilah’s complexion was gray, arms clamped around the neck of the palomino.

The mountains coming upon them with horrific clarity!

Now or never. He screamed as loud as he could:

“Lilah, jump to me on the count of three!”

“You won’t catch me! You won’t catch me!”

“There’s no fucking choice! One! Two! Three!”

Lilah remained frozen and wide-eyed.

“Jump—”

“I can’t!”

“Jump now!”

“I—”

“Goddamn it, Lilah! Jump! Jump! JUMP!”

She catapulted to the left as Decker’s arm snaked around her waist and squeezed her tightly. He yanked the reins to the right, clearing the mountainside by at least six feet, but was still close enough to catch the blood spatter as the palomino crashed headfirst into stone.

15

It was only a horse …

Little comfort when looking at remains. The poor thing’s head had been smashed to pulp, yet its coat was still soaked with sweat from its run.

Decker removed the camera from around his neck. He thought about calling down a police photographer but couldn’t justify the expense in his mind. It wasn’t a person, it was a horse. And as far as the case went, was this really an attempted murder or merely a domesticated animal going berserk? Regardless of what it was, the ordeal had to have reinforced Lilah’s sense of omniscience. The incident began to make Decker wonder as well.

Lilah as a prophetess of doom … what would Rabbi Schulman say about that?

He rolled up his sleeves and snapped a full body shot, bent down and took some close-ups—the impact point of animal versus stone. He focused on the blood-spattered ground. The sun was strong and he had to shield his eyes from the glare given off by the white rocks. Heat waves shimmied up from the ground, insects hummed in his face. He batted them away and thought about Carl Totes.

The ranch hand knew Lilah’s habits, knew which of the six horses she was likely to ride. He had access, he could easily obtain means—some drug to alter the horse’s behavior. What could possibly be his motive? If Lilah were dead, his days at the ranch would be numbered. Decker couldn’t imagine any of the clan keeping him on. He couldn’t imagine any one of the greedy bunch holding the ranch, period. They impressed Decker as the “liquidate the assets just as soon as the body’s buried” kind.

Maybe Totes had been hired by someone to kill his boss. But it was damn near impossible to picture Totes lifting a finger against Lilah. His affection for her was nothing short of idol worship. Decker thought about the look on Totes’s face when he’d brought Lilah back to the stables. As he explained what had happened, Totes’s nutmeg skin had blanched, a genuine expression of shock and fear.

Despite all that, Decker wasn’t quite ready to proclaim the ranch hand innocent. He was the only one—besides Lilah—who’d been around this morning. Of course, someone could have sneaked in and done the dirty work. But Totes was never far from the stables—hell, he lived in one of the stalls. Surely he would have noticed a trespasser.

Decker checked his watch. Two hours since the horse did a kamikaze, but the heat was already doing a number on the animal’s body. He took another full-body shot.

Totes and Lilah …

Lilah. Lilah monkeying with her own horse?

But why?

For attention … maybe even his attention. Maybe she’d liked being rescued the first time. Maybe this was a weak attempt to relive it.

Except that she didn’t know he could ride. And she had been legitimately terrified.

Decker heard sneakers scraping against the dirt and stood. Some kid was running toward him at full speed.

Swell. Someone new to muck up the works.

The kid turned out to be a man in his twenties. He stopped short, almost crashing into the face of the mountain, not the least bit winded by a sprint in hundred-degree heat. He was sweated up but smelled minty fresh. His eyes went to the dead horse.

“My God, what happened?”

“Who are you?” Decker asked.

“Oh, Christ, that’s right. We’ve never met.” The guy stuck out his hand. “Mike Ness. I work at the spa—aerobics and weight training. I talked to the other one … Detective Dunn, was it?”

“Yeah, it was.” Decker shook Ness’s hand and caught his eye. They squared off. “Still is, as a matter of fact.”

A slow smile spread across Ness’s face. “You have a finely tuned bullshit detector. Is it from years of experience or were you born like that?”

“You’re good, Mike. Clever but cocky. It’s going to trip you up one day.”

Ness shrugged. Decker studied Ness’s face. Dots of sweat patterned his upper lip. Dark hair, blue eyes, a James Dean pout—a pretty boy except he needed a shave. But maybe that was part of his look, a deliberate attempt to make a sweet face appear more masculine. Decker touched his own cheeks. He could do with a razor himself.

“So who invited you down, Mike?”

“No one. I just popped in to do some harvesting for the kitchen. Zucchini. We’ve already got a couple of baseball bats growing on the vine. We’ll stuff and slice those, but Lilah likes them small. Actually they’re bitter when they’re small, but the guests love the mini veggies. We also wilt the blossoms and toss them in our salads served with a pungent vinaigrette. That really knocks the ladies’ socks off.”

“Aerobics instructor, weight lifter, vegetable picker, and culinary expert. You’re a regular jack-of-all-trades.”

Decker pulled a cigarette out of his pocket. The kid had a light waiting before he could put the smoke in his mouth. Decker blew out the match.

“I just chew on them.”

“Trying to quit? We’ve got a wonderful program for that at the spa.”