False Prophet. Faye Kellerman
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Rina took his hand but didn’t say anything. Cindy was hurting him and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. She couldn’t even comfort him. As with his gunshot wound, the topic of his daughter was off limits. “Rabbi Schulman called about an hour ago. He’s expecting you in his study at nine tonight.”
“I’ll be there.”
“He also told me that he’d asked another man to join you two. A ba’al tshuvah who’s in a lower shiur—”
“Someone is actually below me?”
Rina didn’t answer, hating it when he denigrated himself. His progress in Torah studies was yet another taboo subject. Judaism was a hard religion for a newcomer. Even though Peter had made such marvelous advances, he was still uncomfortable with his newfound faith—nervous about what he didn’t know instead of praising himself for what he did. He was so smart. If only he could just relax and enjoy his God-given brains. “Rav Schulman asked me to ask you if that’s okay. He thought you’d be the perfect role model for the new kid on the block.”
“Fine.”
His face was impassive as he rebuffed the compliment. Rina looped her arm around his waist. “You want me to run you a hot bath?”
“Thanks, darlin’, but I’ll wait until after dinner to bathe.”
Again, he stared longingly at the boys. Rina knew he was caught between a desire to ride and the pain the activity might inflict.
Jacob shouted to his stepfather. “Look, Peter.” He took off for the mountain again.
“I wish they wouldn’t ride so fast,” Rina said.
“They’re okay.”
“Maybe you should go out there and supervise them. Why don’t you take White Diamond, Peter? She’s gentle. She shouldn’t jostle you too badly.”
Between clenched teeth, Decker said, “I told you I’m fine.”
Rina sighed. “So you did. Rather forcefully, I might add.”
“Okay.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Okay, I’ll be honest. Maybe my arm hurts a little.” With that admission, he pulled out two Advil tablets and gulped them down with a swig of beer. “I’ll be fine in a few minutes, but right now I’m a tad uncomfortable. You win. I emoted. Are you happy?”
“I’m still in a state of shock.”
Decker laughed and threw his left arm around her. “You’re a good sport, know that?”
“Yes, I know that.”
“I try.”
The boys headed up the mountain.
“You’re going too far!” Rina yelled. “Come back!”
Ignoring their mother’s pleas, they rode farther on the steep trails.
“Peter, tell them to stop!”
“They’re having fun.”
“It’s getting dark. They’re going to get lost.”
“They’ll be fine, darlin’. Stop worrying.”
“I’m not worried, I’m concerned. There’s a difference.”
“All right,” Decker groused. “I can see you won’t relax until I go after them. I won’t even bother to change my clothes. Will that make you happy, Rina?”
“If your arm—” She stopped herself. “Yes, that will make me happy, Peter.”
“Swell.” He planted a kiss on her forehead and muttered as he walked away. But inside he was thrilled that she’d given him an excuse to saddle up. And no White Diamond for Cowboy Pete. The hell with the pain, he was going for Cobra, the biggest damn stallion in the stable. Up on the mount—man, he was king. But damned if he’d tell Rina how he felt. He’d emoted enough for one day.
8
What better way to start the day than with a bowl of wheat flakes and twenty-five files of registered sex offenders. As Decker scanned the rap sheets, Rina poured him a glass of orange juice. She glanced down at the table. A scowling mug shot met her eye.
“At least they’re not morgue pictures.”
Decker looked up. “I can do this later.”
“No, I’m fine.” She wrinkled her nose. “I think. Must be a big case if you’re working at home.”
“Nothing out of the ordinary as far as the 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.”