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

crime goes.” Decker pushed his cereal bowl away. “But the brass think there’s potential for publicity. Foothill’s a tad camera-shy since the King beating.”

      Rina sat down and picked up a spoonful of soggy flakes. “If you’re going to make the world safe, you must get adequate nutrition. Open up.”

      Decker smiled, took the spoon, but didn’t eat. He aligned the papers and placed them in his briefcase. Rina frowned.

      “No one’s blaming everyone in the division, Peter.”

      “Ah c’mon,” Decker snapped. “The entire police force has been tarred with the same ugly brush. Makes me furious at the guys who did it. And deep down inside, I get furious at myself, too. Because truthfully, I remember times when I felt pretty damn inhumane.”

      “But you didn’t act like an animal. That’s the difference.” Rina took his hand. “Your guilt is irrational, Peter. They beat the guy, you didn’t. It was horrible, it was sickening. But you had nothing to do with it!”

      “Collective responsibility. Whole department’s sinking under the weight. You know Morrison. He’s not the type to get hands-on with my cases. Do you know he’s called Marge and me four times with this current case. No direct pressure, just wanted to know if we’ve got something. Because, like I said, it’s a case that could get some public attention. Before Rodney King, he wouldn’t have given a hoot. A crime was a crime, no matter who was involved.”

      “So he’s a little more hands-on,” Rina said. “That’s not terrible … as long as he’s not an obstacle.”

      “Yeah, well, there’s a fine line between being hands-on and being a stumbling block.” Decker threw up his hands. “I’m just nattering. Don’t pay any attention to me.”

      “Of course I pay attention to you,” Rina said. “I love you and worry about you.”

      Decker smiled and patted her hand. “I’ll be fine.”

      “That was an ‘I don’t want to worry Rina’ smile.”

      “So what’s wrong with that?” Decker said.

      “You worry too much.”

      “I ain’t gonna change.”

      “I didn’t ask you to.”

      Decker caught Lilah just as she was about to tumble to the floor. With one hand around her tiny waist, he carefully led her back to her hospital bed and she crawled under the sheets. She seemed so frail. With a Kleenex, she wiped the cold sweat off her forehead and peered directly into his eyes.

      “You seem to have made a habit of rescuing me.”

      Decker didn’t answer. Her voice was sultry and bored at the same time, like a Tennessee Williams character. He regarded her face. The swelling below her eyes had gone down, though the skin was still black. It was the first time he’d seen her eyes open. The whites were bloodshot, the irises bright blue. Her lips were covered with something waxy, but the cuts underneath looked to be healing nicely. Her flaxen hair fell over one eye, cascading down to her bare shoulders. Her skin was pale except for a tinge of red over pronounced cheekbones.

      He pulled up a chair and sat to the right of the bed. She shifted to her left until their faces were no more than a foot apart. Just like yesterday, he felt some desperation in her, a need for something to hold. But there was something unhealthy about the way she was asking for comfort. He inched back in his seat, trying to regain a margin of personal space.

      “You know who I am then,” Decker said.

      “Sergeant Deckman, was it?”

      “Decker. Very good. You must have heard a lot more than I thought. It’s good to see you talking, Miss Brecht.”

      Her eyes glazed over. “Thank you.” Her voice was a throaty whisper. She flung hair over her shoulders. “Thank you for saving my life.”

      “I didn’t exactly do that, but you’re welcome. Everyone treating you all right?”

      “This hospital is dreadful.”

      “Most hospitals are. Nature of the beast.”

      “Well, let it be a beast for some other poor soul. I’m leaving tonight.”

      Decker paused. “Dr. Kessler’s discharging you already?”

      “I’m checking out either with a discharge or against medical advice. Freddy will take care of me.” Her eyes found his. “I understand you’ve met Freddy.”

      “Yesterday while you were asleep.”

      “He didn’t like your questions. He thought you had a hidden agenda.”

      “Not at all. Just being thorough.”

      “Freddy is distrustful. It’s a trait he’s picked up from Mother.”

      “I hope you trust me enough to answer a few questions, Miss Brecht.”

      Lilah lowered her eyes and nodded.

      “Are you in a lot of pain?” Decker asked.

      “It’s not the physical, but emotion …”

      She burst into tears. Decker handed her a box of Kleenex and waited. Ordinarily, he might have patted her hand or shoulder. But something stopped him from touching this woman.

      “I’m very sorry,” he finally said. “I really want to find the bastard who did this to you.”

      “Bastards,” she said. “There were two of them.”

      “You’re sure?”

      “Yes.”

      “Only two?”

      “Yes. Just two.”

      “Were you asleep when they came into your bedroom?”

      “Yes.”

      “Did you hear them come in?”

      “Hear them?”

      “Did they wake you up?”

      She looked down. “This is going to be harder than I thought.”

      “Take your time, Miss Brecht—”

      “Lilah!” she interrupted. “I’m sorry. Just … please. Call me Lilah. The … distance … the formality. I need to feel close to you. To be able to tell you … do you understand?”

      Decker nodded.

      “Do you have a first name?”

      “Peter.”

      “Peter,” she repeated, then looked away. “Do you do these kinds of interviews often, Peter?”

      “I’ve dealt with many sexual-assault cases.”

      “How do you do it?”

      Decker raised his brow. “They’re hard on me, but not as hard as they are for the survivors. I get a good deal of satisfaction when I apprehend a perpetrator. I like putting bad people behind bars. And that’s what I’d like to do here. But to do that, I need your help.”

      She met his eyes, then retreated. “I woke up … and then … this … something was on top of me, smothering me.”

      “Literally?”

      She shook her head. “There wasn’t anything over my face … just this horrible presence crushing down. And then the gun. It was … terrifying.”

      “Did you scream?”

      “I was in shock! Should I have screamed? Did I do something wrong?”

      “No, you acted perfectly—”

      “I should have done something!”

      “You did