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

macho, but Rina had prettied it up with lace curtains and throw pillows on the suede couch and buckskin chairs. Throw pillows with frilly little borders. Yep, he was definitely married. He suddenly noticed that the place was eerily quiet, not even a bark from the dog. He felt a sudden rush of anxiety.

      “Anyone here?”

      “We’re in the boys’ room, Peter,” Rina called out.

      He breathed a sigh of relief. Ridiculous to worry, but he couldn’t help himself. Then he processed the we part of Rina’s message. We’re in the boys’ room. The boys’ room had been his study.

      He went inside. Sammy was dressed in his pajamas, head propped up on a pillow, covers pulled up to his waist. A slight blush tinged his cheeks, his brow was moist. His light-brown hair was mussed and crowned by a brown leather yarmulke. He smiled, but it seemed forced. Tucked under the blankets, he seemed much younger than his twelve years, much more vulnerable. He and Rina were playing cards, a discard pile set out on a bed tray. She was dressed in a cream-colored cotton maternity dress, the red scarf around her neck giving her face a splash of color. Her hair was braided and knotted and partially covered by a gold mesh net. Gold loops hung from her earlobes. How a woman could look so beautiful in simple clothing, without the benefit of makeup, was beyond him.

      Rina was good enough to eat. But with Sammy home, the prospects of romance in the afternoon were nil. Decker walked over to his stepson and felt his forehead, then his cheeks.

      “Not feeling too good?”

      Sammy shrugged.

      “Can I get you anything, son?”

      “I’m okay.”

      “Do you want lunch?” Rina said. “It’s a little early.”

      “I’ll fix myself something.”

      “No, you sit. I’ll get you a sandwich.”

      “Where’s Ginger?”

      “Being flea-bathed and groomed, poor thing. Hot weather comes and you know how she suffers. I should pick her up as long as you’re here. Do you mind keeping Shmuli company?”

      “Do I mind?” Decker sat on the edge of the bed. “It would be my pleasure.”

      Sammy smiled weakly.

      “We can call this round a draw, Shmuli,” Rina said. “What do you think?”

      “It’s fine, Eema.”

      Rina gathered the cards and fit them back into the box. “I’ll be back. Turkey sandwich okay?”

      “Perfect.”

      Decker smiled and patted his son’s warm hand. “Just woke up like this?”

      Sammy nodded.

      “Well, you take care of yourself. You gotta drink, Sam. You drinking enough?”

      “I’m floating away, Peter.”

      “Good.” Decker put his arm around the boy’s shoulders. He sensed a certain amount of stiffness. “Is my arm too heavy for you?”

      “I don’t want you to catch anything.” Sammy pulled away. “I told Eema she shouldn’t get too close, either. You know, with the baby and everything.”

      Decker kissed his cheek. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve got great powers of resistance.”

      But Sammy held his distance. Decker knew that this was normal. Stepfathers don’t take the place of real fathers overnight. Or even over a period of three years. Had it been that long since he had first met Rina? He had been assigned to a rape case; Rina had been a witness. They’d both come a long way since then.

      Rina then came into the room with a turkey sandwich and a mound of coleslaw on a paper plate. She was also carrying a pitcher of pale-looking orange juice.

      “This is for you.” She handed Decker the plate and placed the pitcher on the nightstand. “And this is for Sammy. Make sure he drinks, Peter.”

      “We’ve already been over that, Eema.”

      “See you boys later.” She kissed her son on the forehead, then Decker on the lips, tapping his head before she went out the door. Her subtle way of reminding him to put on a yarmulke before he ate.

      “Bye,” Decker said. He and Sammy waited in silence, hearing Rina walking around the house. A few moments later, the door closed and Decker turned his attention to the boy.

      “How’s it going, kiddo?”

      “You can eat, Peter. Don’t let me stop you.”

      “I’ve got to wash first. Happen to have a kipah I can borrow?”

      “Top drawer on the right.”

      “Thanks.” Decker fished a Batman yarmulke out of the dresser and bobby-pinned it to his hair. He got up and washed his hands, ritually, in the kitchen sink. Then he sat back on the bed, said the blessing for breaking bread, and took a bite of his sandwich. “Hungry?”

      Sammy shook his head.

      “Sure?”

      “Positive.”

      “Is the flu going around at school?”

      “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

      “Well, you and your brother’ve been doing okay, considering what’s going on. A new baby coming around in a few months has to be a little stressful.”

      “I don’t think that’s stressful. Not for me anyway.”

      “It’s a change.”

      “Yeah, I guess.”

      Decker took another bite of his sandwich. “I’m hoping the baby won’t impact too much on you and your brother’s lives. After all, there’ll be a big age difference between you guys and the baby.”

      Sammy paused. “The same as between you and Eema.”

      Decker stopped chewing. A second later, he forced himself to swallow the bolus. It went down like a lead weight. “Yeah. About the same difference.”

      Sammy said nothing. This was not going to be a routine lunch.

      “Our age difference bother you, Sam?”

      “Not really.”

      “A little?”

      The boy shrugged.

      “It bothers me a little,” Decker said.

      Sammy didn’t answer.

      “You can’t help who you fall in love with. And I’m thrilled to be in love with your mother. But sometimes our age difference bothers me. Especially since Eema doesn’t seem to be aging at the same rate I am.” Decker shifted his weight. “The difference is sometimes pretty noticeable. And I could see where that might embarrass you—”

      “I’m not embarrassed,” Sammy retorted.

      “Good.” Decker hesitated. “I can’t say that I’m honestly not a little bit embarrassed by it sometimes. I get a lot of ribbing at the station house.”

      Sammy cocked his head. “They tease you?”

      “It’s good-natured.”

      “Marge teases you?”

      “No, not Marge. She’s decent about things like that.”

      “But it bothers you when the others do it?”

      “Sometimes it does. As a matter of fact, I think it bothers your mother, too. She blushes a little every time someone mistakes her for my daughter instead of my wife.”

      And blushes a lot when someone mistakes her for Cindy’s girlfriend. God, was that horrible. All three of them had felt like sinking