by Karen Ball
With a gasp, Kyla brought her hands to his chest, pushing away. “No!”
The word was ragged, a bare whisper, but it was enough. Because it contained something that held him fast.
Fear.
He had the strong sense, though, that the fear wasn’t of him, but of herself. Regardless of the cause, he stepped back, hands falling to his sides.
“I’m sorry.”
“No.” She lay a trembling hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. I never should have … I mean, it was wrong of me …”
His hand settled over hers. “It’s okay.” He patted the back of her hand, making the action as patronly as he could. “We’re both tired, we just got a little carried away, that’s all.”
He’d hoped his semiglib tone would put her at ease, but couldn’t tell if it was successful. Probably better to leave and give her some time to work through whatever was troubling her.
He only hoped the whatever wasn’t him.
“I’d better be going.”
She swallowed. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Was that hope hiding in those words? “Bright and early.”
He waved good-bye, then turned and made his way back into the sanctuary. His footsteps echoed in the large room, the sound haunting. Lonely. He stepped up his pace. But no matter how fast he walked, he couldn’t escape the realization gnawing at him.
Kyla Justice was drawn to him.
And that fact terrified her.
How did she let that happen?
Kyla leaned against the desk, watching Rafael’s retreating back. She should have stayed the course. Continued forcing herself to head the other direction whenever she saw him. But she hadn’t realized how much she missed being with Rafael, just talking. The fighting, now that she could do without. Still, when she checked to make certain she’d locked the door into the sanctuary today and saw him standing there, that thoughtful look on his face …
She just couldn’t resist. She’d wanted to be with him. Talk with him. See his smile, the light in his eyes when he looked at her.
Wanted it more than she’d wanted anything in a very long time.
So, taking a risk that they could be in the same room together without irritating one another, she pulled the door open and went to stand beside him.
Well, the risk paid off. At least where irritating one another was concerned. But it had opened a whole new Pandora’s box.
She picked up a pencil, drawing circles on a piece of paper as she recalled their lighthearted banter. She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud when saying how relieved she was about meeting the deadline. Then, when Rafael asked her about it, well—mortified didn’t begin to cover it. The last thing she wanted to do was tell him what she’d agreed to.
Because the more she thought about it, the more she realized how foolhardy she’d been to make such an agreement. If she married Mason—
If? Not when?
She clenched her teeth against the dratted questioning. If she married him, and if she quit JuCo, she’d do so for the right reasons. Because she loved Mason and wanted to concentrate on being a wife and mother. Not because she’d failed.
What about what happened in here tonight—?
Kyla pushed away from the desk. Nothing. Nothing happened.
Okay, then. What almost happened. And what about how relieved you are that you’ll meet the deadline? Doesn’t that tell you anything?
Of course it told her something. That she was a professional who wanted to do what the client needed.
Uh-huh.
She grabbed the paper she’d been doodling on and thunked it into the in-basket. This was silly. Her negative feelings about missing the deadline didn’t have anything to do with marrying Mason. Of course not.
Yeah. Right.
“I love Mason.”
Which is why you can’t wait to get married, right? Why you were going to let another man kiss you?
Kyla clenched her teeth. Enough was enough. “I love Mason and I’m going to marry him!”
“Well, I’m happy to hear it.”
She spun with a gasp. “Mason!” Her gaze flew past him, to the sanctuary. Relief filled her when she saw it was empty.
Mason’s furrowed brow told her the reception she’d just given him was far from pleasing. She forced enthusiasm to her words. “I’m so happy to see you.”
One neat brow lifted. “Indeed?” His eyes searched the office. “Who were you talking to?”
“Hmm?” She followed his gaze. “Talking to?”
“Just now, when you announced your undying love for me.”
Ah. Yes. “No one.” Okay, from the way his eyes were narrowing, that wasn’t enough. “I just”—she looked around the room … no help there—“I just like saying it.” Yes. Good. She’d go with that. She met his gaze and put on her most brilliant smile. “Out loud. I love you, I love you, I love you.” She took his hand, hanging limp at his side. “See? Sounds wonderful, doesn’t it?”
He stared down at her, and she felt shame heating her cheeks. One lean finger traced the line of her jaw, and then he gathered her to him, arms folding about her and holding her close. “I love you too.”
Kyla closed her eyes against the sudden sorrow that assaulted her. Because she could tell from his voice that Mason meant it. Meant every word.
She pushed back from him, looking up into those blue eyes. “I don’t deserve you.”
An indulgent smile lifted his lips. “Perhaps not, but you’ve got me.”
Tell him. Tell him you’re not sure. Tell him you’re confused. Tell him that he’s not the man who occupies your thoughts, your heart—
“No!”
Mason started, then his arms fell away. He stepped back, studying her. “No?”
“I …” She rubbed her suddenly burning eyes. “I don’t know.” Could she feel any more miserable? “Mason, I—”
Gentle hands took hold of her fingers, pulling them away from her eyes. “Dear, you’re exhausted. You’ve been working too hard. Why haven’t you enlisted more people from the church to help you?” He studied her face, an odd light in his eyes. “Surely there are some men with the church who aren’t octogenarians?”
The truth perched there, right on the edge of her lips, ready to set them both free. “I … no.”
“No?”
Kyla, tell him.
“No.” She lifted her head. “They’re not all in their eighties.” He stiffened. “They’re not?”
“No. Some of them …” Just say it! “… some of them are in their seventies.” Defeat shuddered through her. She couldn’t do it. Just couldn’t bring herself to let go of what they had.
And what is that? Safety? Complacency? A so-called love that will never hurt you because you aren’t passionate about it?
Passion. She’d had her fill of passion! What had it ever brought her but pain and the gut-wrenching knowledge that she was a fool? Passion. She wanted to spit the word out. Instead, she reached for her purse.
“How would you like to buy an exhausted woman dinner?”
Mason’s gaze rested on her face for a few moments longer, then he bowed. “Of course, darling. It would be my pleasure.”
Let others live and die for passion. Kyla didn’t need it, nor did she want it. What she wanted was peace. Security. Stability. And a man who would give her all of that.
Which clearly was not Rafael Murphy.
THIRTY-FIVE
“God and devil are fighting,
and the battlefield is the heart of man.”
FEDOR DOSTOEVSKI
“In your strength I can crush an army; with my God I can scale any wall.”
PSALM 18:29
Serendipity, I swear, it’s a good thing you’re so cute.”
Kyla glared at her cat from where she knelt on the carpet, cleaning up yet another mess the little scamp had made. The calico mewed, circling Kyla, alternately butting its head against her and rubbing its side along her.
“Shoo.” Kyla waved
a hand at the cat. “You’re in my way.”
With a final head butt, the young cat jumped up on the couch, grace personified, then folded herself into a sphinx position to watch her mistress, amber eyes blinking.
Kyla shook her head, and dipped the cloth into water, then dabbed at the carpet again, grateful there were cleaning products that worked as well as they did. Who knew cats made such disgusting messes?
Funny thing was, Kyla didn’t really mind. Well, not now. She’d minded a great deal the first few times this happened, especially when she discovered one of these little treasures with her bare foot in the middle of the night. But as the weeks went on, she found herself less and less upset.
Amazing what love could do to one.
She pushed to her feet, gathered up the cleaning products and went to put them away in the cupboard below the sink. Serendipity bounced off the couch, dancing around Kyla’s feet as she walked.
Kyla laughed, and leaned down to scoop her multicolored rascal up into her arms. This action was rewarded by a mighty purr—and another gentle head butt to her chin.
“You’re crazy, you know that?”
Serendipity didn’t argue.
Kyla grabbed her now-cool coffee from the counter, where she’d set it when she discovered the cat’s little gift, and padded back to the couch. She settled on the cushions, legs curled beneath her, cat cuddled in her lap. Lifting the remote in her free hand—the other was occupied with scratching those velvety ears—she aimed it at the CD player and hit the power button.
Rachmaninoff filled the room with power and passion. Kyla closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the cushions.
At last. After all these months. The work was nearing completion. Her worries were no more.
She could finally relax.
“Relax, Sarge. You need us there, we’ll be there.”
The confidence in Thales’s voice tugged Rafe’s lips into a smile. “How many of the guys are stateside?”
“Well, lessee. Last I heard, not too long ago, ol’ Monroe and Jesse was trainin’ at ARS in Coronado.”
Amphibious Reconnaissance School. Rafe remembered it well. Of course, before a Marine reached ARS, he had to qualify. First there was the standard PFT. If the series of a three-mile run, sit-ups, and pull-ups didn’t do him in, the Marine moved on to the pool. Decked in cammies and boots, the candidates went into the water for aerobics and underwater push-ups.
Then came the brick.
Rafe remembered how weary he was by that time. But weary didn’t matter when you knew you were meant for Force Recon. So he led the others in diving after a ten-pound brick. He had his up and to the far end of the pool first. Oo-rah!
“Sabada’s still running that martial arts school of his.”
Rafe nodded. Sabada had left the service at the end of his last tour, six months after Rafe’s injuries. That had surprised Rafe since Sabada had been in the Corps longer than anyone else in the unit.
“You sure you want to do this?” he’d asked his friend when he called Rafe to tell him what he planned.
“I’m sure. Time to focus on life, Asadi. Not death.”
Rafe knew Thales was a Marine through and through. But he understood. Rafe had seen too much. Things he’d never forget, no matter how much he wanted to. Sabada? Rafe couldn’t even imagine all he’d seen. And done. “What about Rashidi?”
“I’m not exactly sure, sir. I’m thinkin’ he’s still in-country.”
“Thales, you outrank me now. What’s with the sir?”
“Shoot, Asadi, you’ll always be sir to me. And the other guys too.”
Rafe knew his friend was right. Though most of the others from their unit had passed him up in rank these last few years, they still saw him as their unit leader. Always would. Just as he still saw them as the best of the best.
Always would.
“You want us out there now, Sarge?”
Did he? Rafe shook his head. “No, not yet. I just need you to be ready if I call.”
“You got it. I’ll call the team. Those who can will be ready.”
“Thanks, Thales.”
“Naw, Sarge, thank you.” Rafe could hear the grin in the big guy’s words. “Sounds to me like these yahoos deserve some serious pain, and I ain’t put a good whompin’ on anyone in too long. Comes right down to it, you doin’ me a favor.”
Rafe rang off, Thales’s deep chuckle echoing in his mind. A good man. All good men. As solid and tough as it got. And when they got to town, one thing was certain.
The 22s would be very, very sorry they’d messed with Kyla Justice.
THIRTY-SIX
“Those who will play with cats must expect to be scratched.”
CERVANTES
“Our enemies were saying,
‘Before they know what’s happening,
we will swoop down on them and kill them and end their work.’ ”
NEHEMIAH 4:11
Is someone messing around in the church?”
Fredrik paused, hand on the handle of his car door. He met Don’s gaze in the darkened interior of his car. “Messing around? Why?”
Don’s gaze was fixed past Fredrik, out the car window. “Maybe Miss Justice is still there, then?”
Fredrik turned, peering through the night at the church building. “She should be inside this late? I don’t think so.” He and Don had just arrived for their late-night walk around the church. They’d hoped that coming down every night would let any unsavory sorts know there was no opportunity for … for …
He frowned.
The church windows were dark, as they should be this time of night. Except for what appeared to be streams of light dancing around in the sanctuary.
“Flashlights.”
Apprehension seized Fredrik’s heart. Of course. It had to be. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his cell phone.
“You calling the police?”
“I’m calling the police.”
Don nodded. “Good.” His gaze traveled back toward the church. “Tell them to hurry.”
He was always at church after dark.
But then, darkness was home as far as King K was concerned. It covered and sheltered. Even kept him alive a couple of times when rival gangs came after him.
He was too good in the dark for anyone.
So was his crew. The walls, covered with graffiti, proved that. So did the crates, riddled now with bullets and bits of pillow stuffing. King smiled. Pillows weren’t great silencers, but they were good enough for this.
“He’s gone be happy, like fo sho.” The OG next to him grinned, one gold tooth shining in the darkness.
“Who you talkin’ ’bout, Dancer?”
“Ballat. He said the work had to stop.” Dancer’s hand swept the room. “Well, it stopped cold now.”
Killer’s nod was slow. “True dat.”
“We done good, word?”
“Word.”
A high-pitched wail drifted on the night breeze, and King K lifted his head. Listened. Turned to Dancer. “Time to jet. Someone dropped a dime.” Dancer nodded. “Yo! Dip!”
Empty spray paint cans clattered to the ground and slammed against the walls as the 22s threw them, their hoots of laughter echoing in the room as they ran for the back door.
King hesitated. He wasn’t ready to dip. Not yet. He waited, smiling when he heard the first of the cop cars scream to a halt outside the church. His fingers tightened on the piece stuffed in the back of his pants.
“C’mon, King! Popo gonna see you!”
The cops see him? Not in a million years.
The sound of heavy footsteps drew nearer.
“King!”
He spun, glaring at Chato. “Get out.”
“But—”
King pulled his piece, aimed it right at Chato’s stupid head. “You lookin’ to die, Chato?”
He heard the boy swallow, watched him step back with slow, careful steps. “Jus’ don’ want you caught, man.”
/> King’s reply hissed through clenched teeth. “Ain’t nobody catching me. Now get out or go down!”
Chato ran.
King turned back, listening. Voices sounded on the other side of the room. They were inside. He tipped his head back, closed his eyes, and waited. Listening. Footsteps sounded closer … closer. Then halted.
King smiled, opened his eyes. A cop stood not twenty feet away, the beam of his flashlight coming straight at King. With one silent motion, King slipped out the door, pressed his back to the wall, and stood to the side, out of sight.
“Hey! Was that somebody standing there?”
“Where?”
Lights shone through the doorway, dancing in the darkness, searching—but not finding. King wanted to laugh. Instead, he slid his piece into his pocket and slipped away, returning to the welcoming arms of the night.
THIRTY-SEVEN
“We can’t complain and whine about where we’re at. We’ve got to go forward.”
JOE RANDA
“Then the people of [God] began to complain …”
NEHEMIAH 4:10
Kyla hugged her arms around herself.
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. All she could do was stand there, surveying the damage. The walls, the floor, the lights … all ruined. And the windows. Those beautiful windows they’d been so careful to remove and store.
Angry tears trickled down her cheeks, but she didn’t wipe them away. She let them flow, hoping—no, praying—they would wash the rage from her heart.
Jesus, how could You let this happen? Where were You!
“Sholem aleykham, Kyla.”
Peace be with you. How could Fredrik still say such a thing? Though the words stuck in her throat, Kyla managed to force out the response: “Aleyken sholem.”
“Such a mess they made, heh?”
The only response she could muster was a nod.
His arm came around her shoulders, and she leaned into his strength. A strength born of faith and endurance. Age couldn’t take away from a strength like that.
“I guess you need to call a meeting of the elders.”