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

      “Are you coming out to the ranch or not?”

      “I’ll come this one time.”

      “Oh, Peter, thank—”

      “I know it’s been hard for you and I’ll do it this one time. But after this one time, if you need to talk to me, if you just want to talk to me, you call me at the station. Call me ten times if you want, but call the sta—”

      “You flatter yourself, Peter.”

      “Because I, like you, don’t want my business intruding upon my personal life.”

      “Considering my circumstances, I hardly consider my call an intrusion.”

      “If you don’t feel you can adhere to the ground rules, Lilah, I’ll be happy to assign the case to another detective—”

      Decker heard the receiver slam and then a dial tone. Slowly, he hung up the phone.

      “You okay, Dad?”

      Decker turned around. “Morning, Sammy.” He went over and kissed the top of the boy’s head. “You’re looking better.”

      “I feel a lot better.”

      “Great.” Decker gave him a hug. “Your mother made a huge breakfast. What would you like? Eggs? Toast? Pancakes and syrup?”

      “Eema’s ticked off.”

      “Yeah, I think she is.”

      “She’s mad at you?”

      “I think so.”

      “Anything I can do?”

      “No. It will work itself out.”

      Jacob walked into the kitchen, his eyes still glazed with sleep. His black hair was full of cowlicks, a yarmulke resting on the left side of his head. He was wearing his school uniform, but the blue shirt was only partially tucked inside the navy slacks. Fringes from his tzitzit—a religious garment worn under his shirt—peeked out, fanning over his hips.

      “Hi,” he croaked.

      “Morning, Jake.” Decker put his arm around his younger stepson. “Sleep okay?”

      “Yeah.”

      “Can I get you something to eat?”

      “Just a bowl of cereal.”

      “I’ll make it,” Sammy said to Decker. “You can go talk to Eema.”

      “I can make my own cereal,” Jacob said. “Why are you talking to Eema, Pete—uh, Dad. I can call you Dad, too, right?”

      “Of course. I’m thrilled that you want to.”

      Jacob sloughed off the sentimentality. “Is Eema mad at you or something?”

      “Something,” Decker said.

      “Yeah, she seemed a little uptight this morning. She sure gets mad a lot. That’s ’cause of all the hormones, right?”

      “Sometimes. And sometimes she has regular reasons to get mad.”

      “I wish she’d just have the baby already,” Jacob said. “First it was the barfing. Now it’s her getting mad and crying for no real reason. Is that normal?”

      “Very normal,” Decker assured him.

      Jacob just shook his head and poured some Fruit Crunches into a bowl. “Is she gonna get upset that I’m eating sugar cereal and not the healthy stuff?”

      “Why don’t you take a pancake?” Decker suggested.

      “Eema made pancakes on a school morning?” Jacob pushed the bowl aside. “That’s not normal, either. But at least, that’s good.”

      “If you boys don’t need me, maybe I will have a word with your mother.”

      “Do we have any syrup?”

      “It’s on the table, Yonkel.”

      Jacob turned to Sam. “You ever remember Eema making pancakes on a school day?”

      “I think once or twice.”

      “When?”

      “I don’t know. But I think she did.”

      “I don’t remember it.”

      “Maybe it was on my birthday,” Sammy said.

      “I don’t remember.”

      “Maybe it was on your birthday.”

      “My birthday’s in the summer. There’s no school in the summer.”

      Decker excused himself, knowing the boys were too involved in pancake conversation to hear him leave. He found Rina in the master bedroom, ripping the sheets and pillow cases off their California King.

      “Need help?”

      “No.”

      “Can you stop a moment?”

      “Dirty laundry waits for no man.”

      “Please?”

      Rina stopped moving and hugged a caseless pillow. “How did Lilah get our phone number?”

      Decker ignored her tone. “I don’t know.”

      “Did you tell her not to call here?”

      “Of course I told her not to call here!”

      “Did you also tell her not to call you Peter?”

      “I can’t help what she calls me.”

      “But you can admonish her when she does it.”

      “Rina, she’s strictly business. She’s one of my cases, for God’s sake. I wouldn’t give my home number to one of my cases.”

      “You gave it to me!”

      “Wait a minute—”

      “And I certainly didn’t call you Peter right away, either.” She walked out of their bedroom and started attacking the beds in the boys’ room. Decker followed.

      “That’s not fair.”

      “It may not be fair, but it’s accurate!”

      “There’s a big difference, Rina. I wasn’t married when I gave you my number.”

      “Married or not, I’m sure asking out your cases is considered unprofessional!”

      “I didn’t ask anyone out!”

      “I bet I wasn’t even the first case where you gave out your home phone number.”

      “Rina—”

      “Well, was I the first?”

      The mallet inside his head was going full force. “You may not have been the first.” He smiled boyishly. “But you were the last.”

      There was a moment of silence. Rina sank down on the bed. Decker sat beside her.

      “What are we fighting about?” he said.

      “We’re fighting about how your cases shouldn’t be calling you up at home and invading our privacy!”

      “Agreed.”

      “And your cases shouldn’t be calling you by your first name.”

      “She’s not the only case who calls me by my first name.”

      “But she’s no doubt the prettiest.”

      Bingo! Well, ain’t that a kick in the head.

      “Darlin’, can I be honest with you?”

      “Sure, Peter, break a trend.”

      “Rina