What Lies Within
Page 20
Instead, a low, threatening voice filled her ears. “Stop the work. Or we’ll have to stop you. Permanent.”
“I … what?” Kyla pushed to a sitting position. “Who is this?”
Obscenities flew then, and Kyla jerked the receiver from her ear and slammed it down in the cradle. She pushed back against her pillows, trembling, not just because of the foul words thrown at her, but also at the violence behind them.
She should have known this was coming. They were making real progress on the church, so it only made sense their opponents would resort to such tactics. But that didn’t make it any easier to endure.
A soft mew drew her attention, and she scooped Serendipity up, holding her close, letting the cat’s rumbling purr—and her own fervid prayers—replace fear with calm.
Progress. It was a beautiful thing.
Kyla studied the papers in front of her. Invoices, schedules that had been worked and reworked and …
Okay, so there had been a few delays.
More than a few.
Their two largest shipments of materials were delayed, though the companies couldn’t explain why. One shipment just disappeared. “Lost,” Kyla was told when she called for the umpteenth time to check on it.
“Lost?”
“Yup.”
Apparently the company she’d called didn’t hire folks for their scintillating conversational skills. “So … will a replacement shipment be sent?”
“S’pose so.”
Drawing a deep breath, Kyla counted to two hundred. “I paid for expedited shipping on that order. I assume the company will absorb those costs and get this replacement to me ASAP?”
“Well, don’t know if we can do that without knowing whose fault it is.”
“Whose fault? Sir, it has to be on your end.”
“How do we know that? How do we know it isn’t there already?”
“If it were here, I wouldn’t be calling you!” She sucked in some measure of calm.
“You never know, miss. Could be someone signed for it and just set it aside.”
“Set it aside.”
“Yup.”
“An entire shipment of windows.” Kyla wanted to pound her head on the desk.
The conversation went downhill from there. It took Kyla another fifteen minutes to get a supervisor on the line. And another half hour for him to figure out the issue and assure her the replacement shipment would go out that same day. ASAP.
At their expense.
What drove Kyla nuts, though, wasn’t just that the shipments were messed up. It was that no one could offer any explanations. Just apologies. Lots of apologies.
The first few had some calming effect. After hours upon hours with her ear glued to the phone—maybe Annie was right; maybe it was time to go Bluetooth—Kyla was certain if she heard one more “I’m awful sorry” or “I don’t know how that could have happened,” she was going to erupt.
She’d almost done so when one customer service rep, whose company did manage to deliver on time, but whose entire shipment of plumbing fittings was the wrong size. Another lengthy phone call revealed what they’d received was one letter off the unit number they’d ordered. When the rep finally figured it out, he spoke the words that almost pushed Kyla over the edge:
“You must have ordered the wrong thing.”
Kyla squelched that almost the second the words came through the phone line.
Her people were the best. They checked and double-checked before orders went out. Especially on this job. Because they knew time was at a premium.
But now things were starting to click. They’d finally received almost everything they needed and the project was well underway. The floors, walls, and old ceiling were stripped from the sanctuary-cum-gymnasium. The walls between the upstairs classrooms were history, as was the old wiring. New insulation was in place, and they were all set to start putting in the new double-paned windows today.
And they were only a week behind schedule.
Normally a week’s delay was no big deal. With this project it could have been disastrous. Had her crew been any less skilled, they’d never have made up that time. But her guys were amazing. They’d worked almost around the clock getting the building gutted, and now they were back on schedule. Almost.
At this point, “almost” was great. For the first time in days, Kyla felt as though she could breathe.
“The windows arrived.”
Kyla looked up from her desk. If the dark cloud on her foreman’s face meant anything, her relief was about to die a grisly death. “Dare I ask?”
Grant snorted. “They’re all the wrong size.”
She stared at him. She couldn’t have heard right. “All of them?”
“Off by a quarter inch. Every last one of the da—” He caught the warning of her arched brow and clenched his teeth. “Dratted things.”
Grant was a tough old bird. He’d been with the company since she was a teen. Knew all the workers by name, and despite his gruff exterior, treated people like gold. Kyla considered him one of JuCo’s greatest assets. Sure, his language got a bit salty now and then. But he’d worked hard to restrain himself, knowing how much she—and her father before her—didn’t care for vulgarities.
However, she had to admit she understood his desire to use stronger language right now. Too well. Kyla wasn’t inclined toward obscenities, but more than once lately she’d wanted to scream. Really, really loud.
Instead, she held her hand out for the invoice.
“You gonna call ’em?”
She gave his bland question a nod. “I’m gonna call ’em.”
“Sure you don’t want me to do it?”
That brought her gaze to his. The man hated the phone as much as she detested technology.
“Company’s based in Shy Town, right?” His face was a study in innocence. “I can be real persuasive.”
Kyla’s frustration gave way to laughter. “Let me guess. You’re from Chicago. You know people.”
“Uncle’s a Gambini.”
“Uncle who? Guido?”
He didn’t even crack a smile, though she knew it had to take some serious effort to prevent it. “Close. Giovanni. He’s a very tactful fellow.”
“Only breaks bones that heal quickly, huh?”
“Miss Justice, you disappoint me. Such flagrant stereotypes don’t become you.” The pure delight in Grant’s broadening smile belied his chastisement.
“Tell you what”—she lifted the phone receiver—“let me give it a shot. If they don’t make this right, we’ll call in the … cavalry.”
He bowed his head, ever the gentleman. “I live to serve.”
Question was, would those he dealt with while serving survive? Kyla didn’t care to test the theory. Well. Not yet, anyway. But the next company that messed up an order or hit a snag in delivering on time?
She just might give good ol’ Giovanni a call.
Mason got the call just before the end of the workday.
“You haven’t stopped Kyla Justice.”
Controlled fury singed Mason’s ear. “Mr. Ballat, I never said I’d stop Kyla. I said I’d check into the situation.”
“Perhaps”—the snide edge to the words set Mason’s teeth grinding—“you’ve lost your edge with the good Ms. Justice—”
“Look. My relationship with Kyla is none of your—”
Ballat didn’t even pause. “—considering the fact …” Now he hesitated, as though making sure he had Mason’s full attention.
Which he did. Because Ballat sounded even more supercilious than usual. And that was not a good sign. “Yes?”
“Oh, nothing really. Just that there’s another man beside her all day.” The suggestion was as ugly as the smile he could hear in Ballat’s slimy tone. “Close beside her. And Mason?”
“Yes?”
“She seems to like it that way.”
THIRTY-THREE
“Better an honest enemy than a false friend.”
GE
RMAN PROVERB
“Let him not deceive himself by trusting what is worthless, for he will get nothing in return.”
JOB 15:31 (NIV)
Mason was well aware Sam Ballat was not averse to fabrication when it served his purposes. But to try and manipulate him with such a bald-faced lie? “Please. I’ve seen you use your inflammatory tactics too often to be influenced by them.”
“Are you implying that I’m fabricating lies to get my way?”
“I know you are. There is no other man in Kyla’s life.”
“I see. Then you’ve been down to the construction site?”
Mason spread his fingers on his desk, letting the cool of the wood transfer itself to his temper. “Of course not. I’d never intrude on one of Kyla’s projects. Not without an invitation.”
“Ah. Which means you haven’t received one? Don’t you find that … intriguing?”
Mason’s irritation perched on his lips—and halted. Kyla always told him he was welcome to come to her sites. He’d been so busy lately that he hadn’t realized it was different this time.
Which, much as he hated to admit it, begged the question: Why? What made this job different from any of the others?
What … or who?
“You might want to check out your facts, Wright.” Smug triumph oozed through the words. Then Ballat’s tone hardened. “But you definitely want to do what you guaranteed. You said you’d take care of this situation. I depend on you to do what I need. If you can’t take care of this woman, I’ll find someone who can.”
Ballat was a valuable client. One who brought him more work than any other.
But enough was enough.
“What you need is for this project to fail, correct?”
“Isn’t that what I’ve been saying?”
Mason met belligerence with pointed logic. “Then that, Mr. Ballat, has been taken care of. Your focus, sir, is on that fact. Not”—warning seeped into his next words—“on Kyla Justice.”
Silence met his assertion. Mason waited. Ballat was free and easy with threats. Well, this time he was the one who needed to understand. Nobody was going to “take care” of Kyla. Nobody but him.
“I see.”
“I hope you do, sir. Because if anything happens to Kyla Justice, I will hold you accountable.”
“Are you threatening me, Mr. Wright?”
Warning was evident in that low question, but Mason didn’t flinch. “I am, indeed, sir. You and I both know how close we’ve come to the line of what’s legal and what isn’t. I haven’t crossed that line.” Mason let his implied message—You have—sink in. “As a professional, I’ve kept thorough documentation on all of our business ventures.”
“All?”
Mason smiled. “All.”
“I see.”
Mason was sure he did. He’d have to be an idiot not to, and Sam Ballat was no fool.
“Well, Mr. Wright, I hear your message loud and clear.”
“As long as that message is simply that you don’t need to worry about this project, that’s fine. You and I have been working together a long time, Mr. Ballat, you know you can count on me.”
“I always have. I’ll talk to you later.”
Mason hung up, keeping his hand on the receiver, tapping one finger on the smooth black plastic. He’d just taken a risk that could either pay off—or ruin him. But that didn’t concern him. Not nearly as much as Ballat’s snide words about another man …
He stood, grabbing his suit coat off the coat tree on the way out his office door.
Time to see exactly what was going on with Kyla Justice.
THIRTY-FOUR
“There are always uncertainties ahead, but there is always one certainty—God’s will is good.”
VERNON PATERSON
“Though I am surrounded by troubles, you will protect me from the anger of my enemies. You reach out your hand, and the power of your right hand saves me. The LORD will work out his plans for my life—for your faithful love, O LORD, endures forever. Don’t abandon me, for you made me.”
PSALM 138:7–8
Kyla Justice was amazing.
Rafe had known that for years, but this? He never would have believed it if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes.
He stood inside what used to be the church sanctuary, surveying the progress Kyla and her workers had made. The burnt-out parsonage was gone, replaced by the framing for a two-story office building connected to the old sanctuary. The sanctuary was getting ever closer to completion as well.
Justice Construction had accomplished more in just under one month than all the other contractors together had done in nearly seven.
“So, what do you think?”
Odd how the sound of her voice seldom surprised him. Then again, it wasn’t odd at all. It made a world of sense. He heard it so often, anointing him in his dreams, resonating in his heart, it had become a part of him. He turned, taking in the welcome warmth of Kyla’s smile. They hadn’t spoken much the last few weeks. After that last blowup, they seemed to have reached a tacit agreement to avoid one another.
He was glad she’d decided it was time for that agreement to end.
Kyla came to stand beside him, looking up at the new twenty-foot ceiling now sporting shiny new vapor lights. The old flooring and walls had been removed. And today the beautiful stained-glass windows, which were slated to go in the office building, had followed suit. It was an amazing thing, the way the workmen removed the windows. Not one was damaged. They’d been wrapped, crated, and set at the back of the sanctuary, ready to be picked up tomorrow and taken to a secure storage.
Good thing. Those windows were over a hundred years old. They’d cost a fortune to replace.
“So?”
Rafe let his gaze drift from the room to Kyla. “You and your crew have done a great job.”
Pleasure flooded her features. “Thanks.” She surveyed the room in front of them. “They’ve really worked hard. You know something?”
“What’s that?”
Her smile was one part relief, one part triumph. “I think we’re going to make the deadline.” She let out a long sigh. “Good thing too. I really wasn’t ready for what I’d have to decide if we failed.”
Rafe frowned at the low words, spoken almost as though to herself. “What you’d have to decide?”
“Oh.” She turned to him, eyes wide, the proverbial child caught with a hand in the cookie jar. “Never mind.”
The sudden red glowing in her cheeks stirred his curiosity even more. “But you said—”
“Did you hear that?” She stared over his shoulder.
He turned, studying the empty room. “Hear what? I don’t hear anything.”
“I don’t know. I thought I heard someone call me.”
Her pleased tone and easy shrug as she turned and started walking toward the exit were a dead give-away. Rafe shook his head. Of course. Distraction. He should have recognized it the minute she cut his question off.
In two long strides he was walking beside her. “So, you were saying?”
“Hmm. No one’s come to pick up the windows yet? I’ll have to give them a call.”
Oh, no you don’t. I’m not giving up. “About what was riding on getting done on time?”
“Hmm? What?” The wide eyes she aimed at him were the picture of confused innocence. Her hand was on the doorknob, pulling it open. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”
His mouth opened on a pointed retort when the phone jangled. She grinned and hurried to pick it up.
Rafe leaned against the doorframe. “You could let the machine get it, you know.”
The phone at her ear, she wrinkled her nose at him. “Kyla Justice.”
With a muffled chuckle, Rafe waited for her to finish the call. She walked to the office window, looking outside as she talked. When she ended the call and set the phone in the base, he readied a new rally, but she held it off by speaking first.
“They’re out there again.”
The Blood Brotherhood. Five or six of them. They weren’t making any effort to hide the fact that they were watching the church.
Apparently Rafe wasn’t the only one to notice the progress Kyla and her men were making.
Without thinking, he put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Kyla.”
She turned to him, so close he could breathe in the fragrance of her hair. Those beautiful eyes looked up at him; worry weighted the edges of her brow. “How can I not? You know what they’re capable of. If it’s not sabotage, it’s vandalism. Or threatening phone calls in the middle of the night.”
“What?”
“They’ve been calling me. Almost every night now.” Every night? And he was just hearing about it now? “Why didn’t you say something?”
“What could you have done, Rafael? Stay at my house every night? Hover over the phone until they called? And then what? There’s no way to prove who is making those calls. I finally just turned off the ringer.”
Anger burned deep in his gut. “You shouldn’t have to deal with something like that.”
“I’m not nearly as worried about me as my men. I don’t know if they can take another catastroph—”
His fingers against her lips stopped the rush of words. Whatever assurances he’d been about to give her fled his suddenly sluggish brain. The feel of her lips against his skin sent heat raging through him. He looked deep into those wide eyes of hers and saw the same blaze burning there.
His free hand moved up her arm, fingers trailing along the line of her neck, burying themselves in her silken hair. A multitude of rapid-fire sensations assaulted him—the feel of her, the sweet fragrance of her, the fact that she wasn’t moving away—and all thought, all reason dissipated like a hapless fog in the Iraqi sun.
Her lips parted, and, eyes locked on hers, he lowered his head.