Blindman's Bluff

HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.

Chapter One

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 shirttail 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."

"Thank you." Decker checked his watch. It was past nine in the evening. "Didn't Hannah say she'd be back home by now?"

"She did, but you know your daughter. Time is a fluid concept with her. Want me to call her?"

"Will she answer her cell?"

"Probably not, especially if she's driving . . . Wait. That's her pulling up."

A moment later, their daughter came barreling through the front door, lugging a two-ton knapsack on her back and carrying two paper bags filled with groceries. Decker relieved her of the backpack, and Rina took the food.

"What's all this for?" Rina asked.

"I'm having a few girlfriends over for Shabbos. Other than what I bake, we don't have anything good in the house anymore. Do you want me to put the groceries away?"

"I'll do it," Rina said. "Say hello to your father. He's been worried about you."

Hannah checked her watch. "It's ten after nine."

"I know I'm overprotective, I don't care. I'll never change. And we don't have junk in the house, because if it's there, I eat it."

"I know, Abba. And being as you pay all the bills, I respect your wishes. But I'm only sixteen and this is probably one of the few times in my life that I'll be able to eat junk without gaining massive amounts of weight. I look at you and I look at Cindy and I know I'm not always going to be this thin."

"What's wrong with Cindy? She's perfectly normal."

"She's a big girl like I am, and she watches her weight like a hawk. I'm not at that point yet, but it's only a matter of time before my metabolism catches up with me."

Decker patted his belly. "Well, what's wrong with me?"

"Nothing's wrong with you, Abba. You look great for . . ." Hannah stopped herself. For your age were the unspoken words. She kissed his cheek. "I hope my husband will be as handsome as you."

Decker smiled despite himself. "Thank you, but I'm sure your husband will be much handsomer."

"That would be impossible. No one is as handsome as you are and with the exception of pro athletes, hardly anyone is as tall as you. It gets a tall girl down sometimes. We either have to wear flats or tower over most of the class."

"You're not that tall."

"That's only because to you everyone is short. I'm already taller than Cindy and she's five nine."

"If you're taller, it's not by much. And there are many boys over five nine."

"Not Jewish boys."

"I'm a Jewish boy."

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Excerpted from Blindman's Bluff by Faye Kellerman Copyright © 2010 by Faye Kellerman. Excerpted by permission.
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