What Lies Within

by Karen Ball

  Yup. No doubt about it. Tarik was smart. And altogether too perceptive. “Yeah, I have.” He started walking toward his car again.

  “So?”

  He didn’t look at Tarik as he answered. “It’s time.”

  “Time? For what?”

  Rafe pulled his driver’s door open. “To call in the Marines.”

  FIFTY-ONE

  “We make war that we may live in peace.”

  ARISTOTLE

  “Sanballat and Geshem sent me this message: ‘Come, let us meet together in one of the villages on the plain of Ono.’ But they were scheming to harm me.”

  NEHEMIAH 6:2 (NIV)

  Like any good Marine, Thales was ready for Rafe’s call.

  “I need you here. Now.”

  “Will four more Marines do the job, sir?”

  “Five Marines against a whole gang?” Rafe smiled. “Well, I hate to overpower them, but that’s just the way it goes, oo-rah?”

  “Oo-rah, sir. It’ll be Sabada, Monroe, Rashidi and me. Green’s been deployed, so he can’t make it. But the rest of us will be there soon as we can.”

  Rafe filled Thales in on where he’d meet them at the Portland airport, then hung up.

  “You weren’t kidding? You really called the Marines?”

  Tarik stood behind him. Rafe leaned back. “You listened in?”

  “Naw, but you gettin’ all oo-rah means Marines.”

  Rafe let a slow grin travel his features. “Yeah, it does.”

  “The whole team—”

  “Unit.”

  “—unit comin’?”

  Rafe studied the boy. Was Tarik frightened King might show after all? If so, would Tarik warn his brother reinforcements were on the way?

  “Don’t sweat it.”

  Rafe tipped his head. “Don’t sweat what?”

  “I ain’t—”

  “I’m not.”

  A long-suffering sigh. “I’m not askin’ so I can warn anyone. Jamal’s my brother, but if he goes against his word, he’s on his own. I just want to be sure you’re, you know, covered. And to let you know I’m with you.”

  It took a moment before Rafe could respond. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

  “Yeah, well, you done”—he caught himself and grinned—“did a lot for me. So you and the Marines, you gonna be on the front lines, huh?”

  Rafe digested that fact. Back on the front lines. He thought he was done with all that. “Looks like it.”

  “Then I’ll stay in the background.” The boy’s eyes, so full of knowledge a boy that age shouldn’t have, met Rafe’s. “To watch your woman.”

  Rafe arched a brow at that. “My woman?”

  The kid’s grin was all boy now. “C’mon, man. Don’t try to tell me she ain’t … isn’t your woman. You get all googly-eyed when you talk about her.”

  “Googly-eyed?”

  “Yeah, like this.” Tarik pulled a hilarious face, and Rafe cracked up. “I have never looked like that in my life.”

  “Just every time you talk about Kyla Justice.” Tarik stood. “But it’s okay, man. I like it that you got a good woman to love.” He punched Rafe’s arm. “Just promise you’ll name your first kid after me, a’ight?”

  Rafe did his best not to let the boy see what that idea—having a family with Kyla—did to him. But from the laughter brimming in Tarik’s eyes, he figured he blew it. “Uh-huh. Tarik Murphy. Just sings off the tongue.”

  “Tha’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout, Mr. Googly Eyes.”

  Rafe stood, and Tarik signaled his surrender. “Okay, okay, I’m going to my room. Do the homework. Don’t get all up in yo’ testy self.”

  The boy’s laughter echoed down the hallway as he headed to his room, and Rafe welcomed the sound.

  Almost as much as he welcomed the boy’s idea.

  He and Kyla getting married. Having a baby. Tarik Murphy …

  More unlikely things have happened.

  Not many. The image of the man at the hospital drifted into his mind. Kyla’s voice taunted him: “Just a friend of Annot’s.” Yeah, unlikely. That was the word for it.

  But it’s not impossible.

  Well, no. Of course not. Nothing was impossible with God. Rafe pondered that thought. Nothing was impossible.

  This time the voice echoing in his head was Fredrik’s: “The plans of the LORD stand firm forever, the purposes of his heart through all generations.”

  The plans of the Lord. The purposes of his heart.

  And timing. God’s perfect timing.

  All that swirled around in Rafe’s mind and heart. He stood, stretching, and headed down the hallway to his room. But right on his heels was a thought he knew he shouldn’t entertain. But one that wouldn’t go away.

  Maybe … just maybe … this would turn out right after all.

  FIFTY-TWO

  “If only. Those must be the two saddest words in the world.”

  MERCEDES LACKEY

  “I know that you can do anything, and no one can stop you. You ask, ‘Who is this that questions my wisdom with such ignorance?’ It is I. And I was talking about things I did not understand.… I had heard about you before, but now I have seen you with my own eyes. I take back everything I said, and I sit in dust and ashes to show my repentance.”

  JOB 42:2–3, 5–6

  What have I done?

  Kyla Justice leaned her head back against the wall, grateful for its support. Her fingers gripped the hard chair that held her, keeping her from collapsing into a heap on the floor.

  She wanted to get up. To go look through the glass at the still form that lay there. But she couldn’t. Couldn’t stand to see the tubes. To hear the beeping monitors. All that terrifying equipment that said, as clear as day, “This is your fault.”

  God! The prayer catapulted her from her chair. Help me!

  But He wouldn’t. How could He, when she’d gone so wrong? She’d known what He wanted her to do. Known the right thing to say and do. But no. She had to do things her way. Always her way.

  Kyla’s feet halted their agitated pacing, and she sagged against the hard wall of the intensive care waiting room. Her mother used to tell her disobedience had a cost. Now … There was no doubting it.

  Her mom was right.

  Weary to her soul, Kyla rested her burning cheek against the cool wall, then pushed away and let her slow, leaden feet carry her through the double doors, back into the ICU, past the nurses’ station, and into the doorway …

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  The steady sound should be reassuring. Instead, it grated on Kyla’s raw nerves. Yes, the heartbeat was regular and strong. But what difference did that make if Annot wasn’t awake?

  Never woke up again.

  Jesus, no …

  The same plea she’d been making for days now. The same plea God seemed to be ignoring.

  Scenes and sounds flooded her mind, a terrifying video projected on the black screen of her closed eyelids. The heavy darkness all around, and then the explosion of sound. The sight of her sister, slumped, eyes wide, hands pressed against the ribs. Trying, but not succeeding, to stop the red flow as it stained the white shirt, seeped through the pressing fingers …

  The pain that pierced her then had nothing to do with guns or bullets. Everything to do with guilt.

  Kyla forced her reluctant eyes open and moved to the spot that had been her whole world for the last three days.

  Three days. Kyla frowned. Had it really been that long? Three days. A heartbeat in time.

  An eternity.

  She sank into the chair and reached for the still hand resting on the bed, cradling it, stroking the fingers that held such talent. That created such beauty from glass and metal.

  Tears burned at the back of her eyes, and Kyla lifted the hand, pressing it against her cheek. “Please, open your eyes.” She stared at the stubborn eyelids, willing them to open, willing the slack mouth to lift and smile. How Kyla loved that smile. The thought that she might never see it again d
ragged another hoarse whisper from her.

  “Please, Annot … wake up.” No response.

  Kyla pressed her forehead to her sister’s still fingers and let the ragged prayers flow.

  It was late—or was it early morning? She wasn’t sure—when Kyla finally made her way home.

  She’d just let poor Serendipity out of the bedroom when the phone jangled, assaulting her already frayed nerves. Apprehension soared when she realized it must be the hospital. She grabbed the phone up before the second ring died.

  “Hello?”

  “Kyla?”

  She didn’t recognize the voice. “Yes?”

  “It’s Sheamus. From the church?”

  Of course. She brushed a hand across her weary eyes. “What can I do for you, sir?”

  “I just wanted to let you know we received a tip tonight. That gang is sending someone after you. Tomorrow night. You’d better call in the police. Get them to go after these thugs where they live. That’s the only way they’re ever going to stop.”

  Kyla put a steadying hand on the wall. She couldn’t deal with this tonight. She was too tired. Too empty. “Thanks for letting me know.”

  She didn’t wait to hear his good-bye. Just hung up, and sank on the couch.

  A moment later she lifted the receiver again, ready to dial Avidan. But he was at the hospital, and she didn’t want to disturb him. Fine, she’d call Mason. Her finger hovering over Mason’s speed dial, but before she realized what she was doing, she’d punched in Rafael’s number instead.

  The phone rang once when she remembered how late it was. Before she could hang up, she heard his voice. Warmth surged through her at the sound. In a few short sentences, she explained the call from Sheamus.

  “I’m coming right over.”

  Kyla didn’t argue.

  Rafe sat on Kyla’s couch, studying her home.

  It suited her to a tee. Beautiful and elegant, and yet warm and welcoming at the same time. Her kitten—make that cat … amazing how much this animal had grown—perched on the arm of the couch, leaning against him, purring up a storm.

  “Oh, tell that silly cat to get down if she’s bothering you.”

  Kyla carried two mugs of cocoa in from the kitchen. Rafe reached over to scratch the purring feline’s soft ears. “She’s just fine. I like her being here.”

  Something flickered in Kyla’s eyes at that, but she didn’t say anything. Just handed him the mug and sat in the chair beside the couch. “So what do you think I should do?”

  Rafe sipped the rich chocolate. “I don’t think Sheamus’s information is correct.” He’d told Kyla about the visit he and Tarik paid to the gang. “King meant what he said. I don’t think the 22s are the problem.”

  Kyla leaned back in her chair. She looked so weary, so worn. Annie was still in a coma, and that had to be driving her crazy.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “They gave me their word.”

  Kyla’s mouth dropped open. “And you believe them?”

  Rafe watched her a moment. “You don’t trust anyone, do you?”

  “I don’t trust thugs!”

  “Amazing. You can look at the structure of a building and see all it can be when it’s done, but when it comes to people, you focus on the surface.” He stood. “You’ve got to decide, Kyla.”

  “Decide what?”

  “Did God call you to this project or not?” She looked away.

  “If He did, seems to me you should be more at peace in His protection and presence.”

  She met his eyes. “My sister is in the hospital, in case you forgot!”

  He gentled his tone. “I know that, Kyla. But that doesn’t mean she isn’t in God’s hands.”

  “And if God didn’t call me?”

  Rafe considered that. “Then you’d better get out. Now.”

  He went to put the mug in the sink. When he came back, Kyla hadn’t budged. It only took a quick glance to see why.

  She was fast asleep.

  He walked down the hallway until he found her bedroom, then went back to the living room. His movements slow and careful, he slid his arms beneath her and lifted her, cradling her against his chest. Serendipity danced around his feet as he carried Kyla down the hallway and into her bedroom. He laid her on the bed, then pulled the quilt up over her.

  She moved, restless, and he laid his hand on her head, stroking her hair, whispering soothing words. With a small sigh, she relaxed. Standing there like that, his hand on her soft hair, Rafe closed his eyes, letting his heart pour out prayers for wisdom, safety, and peace.

  When he opened his eyes, Serendipity had settled down on the pillow, next to Kyla’s head. With a final scratch on the cat’s ears, Rafe walked back through the town house and let himself out.

  But all the way home, he kept up his prayers. Because if he’d learned anything over the years, he’d learned this: the minute you relax your guard, the enemy strikes.

  And he didn’t think Kyla could take another hit.

  FIFTY-THREE

  “The forceps of our minds are clumsy things and crush the truth a little in the course of taking hold of it.”

  H. G. WELLS

  “You have heard the law that says, ‘Love your neighbor’ and hate your enemy. But I say, love your enemies! Pray for those who persecute you!”

  MATTHEW 5:43–44

  It hit her square between the eyes around noon the next day.

  Shortly after Annot regained consciousness.

  It happened the day Jed arrived from down south, which didn’t surprise Kyla one bit. Annot’s eyes had been moving more, as though she were trying to pull out of the deep sleep her assaulted body had put her in. But despite coaxing from both Kyla and Avidan, Annot’s eyes stayed closed.

  Until Jed leaned close and whispered in her ear. At the sound of his voice, Annot’s eyes fluttered … and opened.

  Those green eyes, almost as familiar to Kyla as her own, were a more welcome sight than anything she’d ever seen. Kyla wanted to run and dance and sing.

  She settled for hugging her brother and Jed so tight they couldn’t breathe.

  Now, two days later, as the three stood by Annot’s bedside, Jed held her hand, stroking his fingers along the back. Annot tired easily, so they told her they would only stay a short while.

  “But I’m so bored.”

  “I think the word you’re looking for is tired.”

  Avidan added his agreement to Kyla’s statement. “More like exhausted.”

  “Worn out,” Jed supplied. “Peaked—”

  “All right, you guys. Enough, already.” Annot pouted prettily, all for Jed’s benefit, Kyla was sure. But she didn’t mind. Her sister could pout all she wanted.

  For a good two or three more days, anyway.

  As Kyla and the men were leaving the room, she heard Annot call her name. She turned and went back to take her sister’s outstretched hand. “Kylie, something occurred to me.”

  “Hmm? Did you have a dream?”

  Annot’s eyes lowered as she fought the need for sleep. “I don’t think so. I think it was more of an epiphany. But not for me.” Her sleepy eyes settled on Kyla. “For you.”

  Kyla leaned close. “What is it?”

  “You need to see the King. Talk to him.”

  The king? “You’re not making sense.”

  The pout was back. And Jed not here to see it. What a pity. Kyla smiled and patted her sister’s hand. “Get some rest.”

  “No. Not yet. Kylie”—a wide yawn struck her—“you need to do it. Go see King.”

  King.

  King K.

  Her sister was telling her to go see a gangster?

  She started to say how absurd the idea was, but Annot was already asleep. Kyla left the room, deep in thought. And, as little sense as it made, the more she considered the idea, the more certain she was Annot was right.

  It’s too dangerous! There’s no way you can be sure of your safety. You’re not just walking into
the lion’s den, you’re sticking your head in its mouth!

  All true. Which sent her pulse pounding, and yet she couldn’t deny what she knew.

  It was time to see the King.

  “It’s not happening.”

  Rafe took in Kyla’s stubborn countenance. Looked for the disbelief he felt in Tarik’s and Fredrik’s faces. But it seemed he was alone in his stand. Well, so what? He could be stubborn too. First Kyla called and asked him to meet her here at the church, then she blindsided him with this crazy request. Take her to talk with King K?

  She was out of her mind.

  Besides, Thales and the others would be arriving later this afternoon. He didn’t have time to take Kyla Justice on a fool’s errand.

  Especially one that could get her hurt. Or worse.

  “Rafael, please. I can’t explain it, but I know this is something I’m supposed to do.”

  “Do you know how dangerous this will be for you?”

  Kyla’s jaw set in the stubborn line he was coming to know so well. “I thought you said they weren’t going to cause any more trouble?”

  “Here!” Rafe indicated the building. “Where we’re working. But this? You’re invading their crib. Without an invitation.”

  “Like you did?”

  Rafe didn’t let Tarik derail him. He kept his eyes on Kyla. “That was different.”

  Tarik wasn’t about to be ignored. He sauntered over to stand beside Kyla. “How? You think you some kind of Superman?”

  “You’re.”

  Rafe and Kyla said it together, and Tarik looked from one to the other, shaking his head. “We talkin’ ’bout life and death here, and all you two can do is correct my grammar?” He waved them off. “You two deserve each other, you know that?”

  Rafe drew Fredrik into the fray. “Will you talk some sense into her?”

  “Rafe, this has the ring of truth, this thing she’s asking.”

  Okay. No help whatsoever from that corner. “You … well, who asked you?”

  Tarik’s brows lifted. “You did.”

  “Look, all of you. It’s not happening. Let it go.” Ignoring their protests, he left the room, then the church, walking out into the morning chill. Lord, give me strength!