She picked up the receiver.

What would she say?

She thought a moment. She’d thank him again for taking the boys. Sort of a polite follow-up call.

But it was eleven at night.

He’d be up. She couldn’t picture the man as an early-to-bed-early-to-rise type.

She dialed and felt her heart beating in anticipation.

On the third ring, a throaty woman answered. Quickly, she apologized for the wrong number and tried again.

When the same woman answered, she placed the receiver quietly back in its cradle.

She was positive she had dialed correctly.

Florence should have been back a half hour ago. It was taking too long, and Rina began to worry. She put down her stack of papers, got up from the chair, and pressed her ear against the door. All she heard were crickets and a mockingbird going through its repertoire. Drawing the curtains back, she peeked out the window. The moon was full, the night starlit, but she saw no one.

She stared at the phone.

She had spoken to Peter a few days ago when he’d offered to take the boys to his ranch this Sunday. She’d thanked him and said she’d think about it, but her tone had been very cool. He’d noticed the frost in her voice and had asked if anything was wrong.

Nothing was wrong.

Except that woman.

Rina couldn’t erase the thought of him and her, whoever she was. That voice. That soft, husky, sexy voice. It stuck in her craw like a fishbone. She knew Peter was a regular man, not a priest, and she hadn’t given him an inch with which to work. It was absurd for the woman to bother her. But jealousy had seeped into her marrow like a chilly London fog. She’d shied away from calling him in case she answered.

But now her fear for Florence’s safety overrode her petty resentment.

She dialed his number at home, and no one answered. Please let him be at the station, she thought. She tried his work extension and felt immediate relief when he picked up the call.

“Peter, I’m worried.”

“What’s wrong, Rina?”

“I think something’s happened to Florence. She left the mikvah to walk Shayna Silver home and should have been back a good half hour ago. She may be out patrolling, but I’m too nervous to open the door to find out.”

“Don’t open the door,” he said. “I’ll be right over.”

“Thank you.”

She paced mindlessly, like a palace guard, back and forth for ten minutes straight. This was solving nothing, she thought. Better to do something. Better to take your mind off being alone. She started straightening out the supply cabinet. They were low on shampoo. She took out a pen and wrote down “shampoo” on a list tacked onto the cork bulletin board. Her handwriting was lopsided and spastic.

Get hold of yourself. Peter should be here any minute.

The door rattled. Her eyes fixed on the handle as she watched it twist and turn, fighting against the dead bolt. Gripped with fear, her heart took off on a sprint, her body was seized with the shakes. The rattling grew violent and was followed by hard thumping against the door.

Do something!

She staggered over to the phone, picked up the receiver, but dropped it.

The pounding shook the floor like a tremor.

She retrieved the phone and placed it to her ear. No dial tone. Frantically, she clicked the switch to get a connection, but the line was dead.

Sudden silence.

Her body was too heavy for her wobbly legs. Her knees buckled, and she slid to the floor.

She lay on the cold tile, desperately sucking air into her parched throat, hearing only her own shallow breaths.

Then a crash! Something flying toward her! Sharp slivers of light raining down on her! She shielded her face, but her arms and legs were stung and began to leak droplets of red. A gush of warm air. A human arm through the window curtain, groping, dancing like a hand puppet. Then it was gone. Receding footsteps. Approaching footsteps. A loud banging at the door.

She screamed.

“Rina!” Decker boomed.

She tried to call out to him, but only a faint moan escaped from her throat.

He began to bang furiously. She heard two quick blasts, and the door caved in.

Decker rushed over and scooped her up in his arms. He sat down on the chair and hugged her tightly.

“Thank God,” he whispered.

“I’m okay,” she whispered between rapid breaths.

“What about Florence?”

“Nothing.”

She sat nestled in his arms for a moment, then climbed off his lap.

Decker looked around. The window was shattered, the floor sprayed with broken glass. He reloaded his.38 special and picked up the phone.

“The line’s dead,” Rina said.

“Bastard must have cut it.”

He unhitched the portable radio from his belt.

“This is unit number 16-552 requesting immediate back-up at Yeshivat Ohavei Torah, 344 Deep Canyon Thoroughfare in Deep Canyon. Send units to the northeast corner in front of the mikvah. Mikvah-Mary-Ida-King-Victor-Adam-Henry. See the woman.”

He switched off the radio and absently kicked some shards of glass.

“I have to go look for Florence, Rina. I can’t wait here in good conscience for back-up while she’s alone out there.”

“I understand. Let’s go.”

Decker hesitated while thoughts ran at fast-forward through his brain.

“No,” he said. “It would be better if you waited here. The guy had a gun last time and knew how to use it. I can’t adequately protect you in the dark, and you could easily get hit by cross fire. Besides, he’ll have seen my car. I doubt if he’ll come back.”

Rina was paralyzed with fright at the idea of being alone but said nothing. At this point, Florence was more important.

Decker paused, then pulled out a small gun from a belt holster and offered it to her.

“I brought an extra with me. Sometimes guns have been known to jam, and I didn’t want to take any chances. It’s all set, so be careful. You probably won’t need it, but just in case, aim for the body, Rina, not the head. You’re more likely to hit that way. If the guy comes at you, don’t hesitate! Pull the trigger and blow the fucker away.”

She nodded and took the gun.

“Send me up some help just as soon as it comes.” He turned on his high-power flashlight and was off.

The brush was dry and crisp under his feet, the bugs out in full force. He worked methodically, sweeping the light over an area before stepping forward, constantly checking for cover in case the bastard started to shoot. Midway up the hill, a sickeningly sweet smell wafted its way toward his nostrils. Decker scrunched up his nose, then, like a hound dog, used the stink to locate the source. Thirty feet away there was a deep pit next to an oak grove. He walked over.

The big, black woman who’d pounded his back had been left to rot like a beached whale. Her body was twisted and savaged-a leg angled perpendicular to the hipbone, her left foot dangling from a tendon at the ankle, an arm half-ripped from its socket. Her face was a death mask frozen with shock and terror. The slash across her throat was wide and deep, swarming with flies and gnats. Her bowels had emptied, and up close the stench was overpowering. Decker fought back a wave of nausea and made his way back to the mikvah.

Rina saw Peter coming out of the forest. He had been gone too short a time. She knew it had to be bad.

The back-up officers arrived. Rina recognized the patrolmen as the two who’d been there the first time-the Latino and the muscleman.

Decker waved them over.

“What’s up?” Ramirez asked.

“A one-eighty-seven about two hundred fifty feet up and over to the left. See where those oaks are?”

Ramirez shined a light into the hills and nodded.