Peter Decker 2-Book Thriller Collection: Blindman’s Bluff, Hangman

Cover

Title Page

Blindman’s Bluff

Hangman

About the Author

Also by the Author

Copyright

About the Publisher

To Jonathan:forever my inspiration

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Forty

Copyright

Ah, fantasy: the stuff of life.

As he dressed for work, he looked in the mirror. Staring back at him was a handsome man around six feet four …

No. That was way too tall.

Staring back at him was a six-foot-one, devilishly handsome angular man with a surfer mop of sun-kissed hair and preternatural blue eyes, so intense that whenever any woman looked at him, she had to avert her eyes in embarrassment.

Well, the eyes part was probably true.

How about this?

In the mirror, staring back at him was an angular face topped by a nest of curly, dark hair and a shy smile that made women swoon—so boyish and charming, yet masculine at the same time.

He felt his lips turn into a smile, and he raked fingers through his own curly locks, which were on the thin side—not thinning, but not a lot of weight to the fibers. Pulling up on the knot of his tie, he eased it into the folds of his collar and felt the fabric: deluxe, heavy silk handpainted with an array of colors that would go with almost anything randomly chosen from his closet. As he tucked his shirt-tail into his pants, his hands ran over the rises and falls of a six-pack courtesy of crunches and weight lifting and a very strict eating regimen. Like most bodybuilders, his muscles craved protein, which was fine as long as he trimmed the fat. That was why whenever he looked in the mirror, he liked what he saw.

More like what he imagined he saw.

Decker was genuinely perplexed. “I don’t understand how you got past the voir dire.”

“Maybe the judge believed me when I said I could be objective,” Rina answered.

Adding artificial sweetener to his coffee, Decker grunted. He had always taken his java straight up, but of late he had developed a sweet tooth, especially after a meat meal. Not that dinner was all that heavy—skirt steaks and salad. He liked simple cooking whenever it was just the two of them. “Even if the judge shamed you into serving, the public defender should have booted your attractive derriere off the panel.”

“Maybe the P.D. believed that I could be objective.”

“For the last eighteen years, you’ve heard me piss and moan about the sorry state of the justice system. How could you possibly be objective?”

Rina smiled behind her coffee cup. “You’re assuming I believe everything you tell me.”

“Thank you very much.”

“Being a detective lieutenant’s wife has not leeched all rationality from my brain. I can think for myself and be just as rational as the next person.”

“It sounds to me like you want to serve.” Decker took a sip of his coffee—strong and sweet. “More power to you, darlin’. That’s what our jury system needs, smart people doing their civic duties.” He gave her a sly smile. “Or it could be that Mr. P.D. enjoys looking at you.”

“It’s a she and maybe she does.”

Decker laughed. Anyone would enjoy staring at Rina. Over the past years, her face had grown a few laugh lines, but she still cut a regal pose: an alabaster complexion tinged with pink at the cheekbones, silken black hair, and cornflower-colored eyes.

“It wasn’t that I didn’t want to get out of it,” Rina explained. “It’s just that past a certain point, if you want to be excused, you have to start lying. Saying things like ‘no, I can’t ever be objective,’ and that makes you sound like a doofus.”

“What’s the case?”

“You know I can’t talk about it.”

“Ah, c’mon!” Decker bit into a sugar cookie, home baked courtesy of his sixteen-year-old daughter. Crumbs nested in his mustache. “Who am I going to tell?”

“An entire squad room perhaps?” Rina replied. “Do you have any court appearances in L.A. coming up?”

“Not that I know of. Why?”

“I thought maybe we could meet for lunch.”

“Yeah, let’s get crazy and spend those fifteen dollars a day the courts give you.”

“Plus gas, but only one way. Indeed, serving on a jury is not the pathway to riches. Even selling blood pays more. But I am doing my public duty and as one employed to protect and serve, you should be grateful.”

Decker kissed her forehead. “I’m very proud of you. You’re doing the right thing. And I won’t ask you about the case anymore. Just please tell me it isn’t a murder case.”

“I can’t tell you yes or no, but because you have seen the worst of humanity and have a very active imagination, I will tell you not to worry.”