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

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.

      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