Peter Decker 3-Book Thriller Collection

Decker shrugged. “I’m the big, bad goy who’s kidnapping her daughter. We’ll work it out in time.”

“You’re not a goy, you’re a ger—a convert. Or at least you will be soon.”

“But she sees me as a goy.”

“I am not going to marry a goy!”

“No,” Decker said. “You’re not. You’re going to marry a Jew. You’re going to sleep with a Jew. You’re going to have children with a Jew. But let’s face facts, honey. You fell in love with a Gentile.”

She said nothing and stared vacantly out the living-room window. Shaking his head disgustedly, he swore to himself, knowing he’d just added a tributary to her already overflowing river of guilt.

“Rina, I’m running off at the mouth. I’m very tired. Forget I said that.”

Remaining motionless, she spoke without looking at him.

“Every morning after I wake up, I take out my siddur and daven she moneh esreih. And afterwards, every single morning, I pray to Hashem for understanding and forgiveness of my transgressions … transgressions, I pray for the strength to do what I should have done a long time ago—send you away until you’ve become a Jew.”

She turned to him.

“But I must not have the proper kavanah—intent—when I pray, because I never have the fortitude to say goodbye.” She brushed a tear off her cheek. “Do you hate me for feeling that way?”

“No.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “We both have misgivings.”

“Do you not want to convert?” she asked.

He shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. But it isn’t easy to throw away nearly forty years of conditioning, especially when your own parents are very vocal about their disapproval.” He smiled sadly. “We’re getting it from both ends.”

“You told your parents you’re converting?”

“Sure. It’s no secret. I wrote them a letter.” He grimaced. “I wrote to my mother and told her I fell in love with an Orthodox Jew and I was converting to her faith. You know what she wrote back?”

“What?”

“She wrote, ‘You got singed in the fire the first time around, Peter. This time you’ll burn.’ She wasn’t nuts about Jan being Jewish, and Jan wasn’t all that Jewish. But at least I didn’t convert. This was too much for her.”

He shrugged and Rina took his hand.

“That was an awful thing to say,” she said indignantly.

“Aah, I couldn’t even blame her. How do you tell your parents that you reject their values but you don’t reject them? I hurt them, Rina. I spat in their faces.”

“No, you didn’t.”

Decker said nothing. She threw her arms around his waist, leaned her head on his chest, and gave him a bear hug.

“I love you, Kiddo,” he said softly.

“I love you, too,” she answered. “I’ve been so wrapped up in my own guilt, I’ve never considered the other side.”

He smiled and kissed her forehead.

“Have you spoken to your parents since the letter?” she asked.

“Yeah. I called them about a week ago. They were civil. Said if we were ever down their way to stop by—as if they were talking to a casual acquaintance.”

He tightened his embrace.

“Rina, we have a lot going against us: meeting under such lousy circumstances, the difference in our ages and backgrounds. We can try and say screw it all—we’re our own people and love is all that matters—but you know as well as I that the baggage our parents loaded on our backs is with us forever. Let’s both try to be tolerant of them—and tolerant with each other.”

She nodded.

“I love you,” he said. “Kiss me.”

She gave him a peck on the cheek.

“No.” He cupped her chin in his hands. “I mean really kiss me.”

He lowered his mouth onto hers, and at once he felt the passion she’d been holding back, her lips parting and her breath warm and sweet. She threw her arms around his neck, almost a chokehold, and latched onto his mouth like a suckling baby to a breast. Not wanting to get excited, he tried to break away, but she brought his mouth back to hers, greedily taking what had been denied her for so long.

She pulled him down to the floor and fell on top of him, smothering his face with kisses. Her hands tugged at his shirt, jerking the tail out of his pants, fumbling with the buttons. Decker was caught between his own fever and the guilt he knew she’d feel if they continued. The fire won out. He tore at his shirt, popping a button as it opened, then yanked at the zipper of her dress. He’d opened it half-way when Jacob cried out—a piercing screech like the whistle of a tea kettle.

“Oh God!” Rina wept, covering her face in her hands. “Life is so damn frustrating!”

“Tell me about it,” Decker groaned.

“I’ve got to get out of here,” she said, panting. “I’m going nuts. I need to escape to a desert island.”

“Just take me with you.”

Jacob began to howl.

She chomped on her thumbnail, trying to steady her shaking hands. “I can’t deal with this, Peter.”

Decker stood up, buttoned his shirt, and tucked it into his pants. “You sit and dream of rum and coconuts. I’ll see what’s wrong with Jake.”

When he came out, she had regained her composure.

“Is he okay?” Rina asked.

“Yes,” said Decker. “For the time being.”

“It’s going to be a long night.”

“Would you like me to stay—”

“No,” Rina answered quickly. “No, that won’t do at all.” She took Decker’s hands, squeezed them, then let them go.

“Now I know why there are such strict separation laws in Judaism,” she said.