What Lies Within

by Karen Ball

  “King.” Ballat didn’t let his surprise show. No point chumming the waters. These sharks were too ready to attack, even on a good day. “You called?” A fact that still stuck in his craw. That this uneducated lackey would call and demand he come down here.

  “You gone far enough.” King’s words were curt. “Jus’ wanted to tell you to your face. We not your boys no more.”

  “Not my …” What was he talking about?

  “The church, man. We out of it.”

  Anger stirred, but Ballat kept it from his features. “Is that so?”

  King leaned against the doorjamb. “Yeah. That’s so. So you know now. Get offa our turf while you still can.”

  Ballat didn’t understand what was behind this turnabout, but that didn’t matter. The threat in the gang leader’s tone was clear as day. Without another word, he turned and walked back to his car.

  He drove away without looking back. This was unexpected, yes, but not insurmountable. In fact … Ballat reached under the passenger’s seat and pulled out a city map. Yes, there it was. Three blocks over.

  So the Blood Brotherhood were out of it, were they? Ballat fingered the map.

  He was about to show that upstart King K just how wrong he was.

  FIFTY-FIVE

  “Why love if losing hurts so much? We love to know that we are not alone.”

  C. S. LEWIS

  “But the wisdom from above is first of all pure. It is also peace loving, gentle at all times, and willing to yield to others. It is full of mercy and good deeds. It shows no favoritism and is always sincere. And those who are peacemakers will plant seeds of peace and reap a harvest of righteousness.”

  JAMES 3:17–18

  This was wrong.

  Mason’s arm around her shoulders as they looked over the schedules and details of the finishing work. His head close to hers as they discussed potential issues and progress. His proprietary air whenever someone came into the office where they stood together.

  Nothing unusual. All things she’d allowed from Mason in the past six months. So why now did it all feel so …

  Uncomfortable?

  Kyla eased away from his arm, schooling her features to nonchalance as she pulled a folder from the filing cabinet. When she turned back, Mason’s wry eyes were on her.

  “It’s finished, isn’t it?”

  She smiled. “Almost. I still can’t believe it looks as though we’ll make the deadline.” She came back to the desk, opened the file, spread out the papers they needed to review, and bent over them. “I never could have done it without you.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  Kyla straightened. Mason held his hand out to her, and after a brief hesitation, she placed her hand inside it. His fingers closed over hers.

  “I mean us. We’re finished.” His eyes searched her face. “Aren’t we.”

  No surprise in the words. No censure or anger. Just a simple statement of fact. Kyla looked down at their joined hands.

  “Mason, I …” She felt a moment’s squeezing hurt, regret for what could have been. She lifted her eyes to his. “Yes. I’m sorry, Mason, but yes.”

  He studied her a moment longer, then lifted her hand and pressed a soft kiss to the back of it. “I will always love you, Kyla. In my own way.”

  “How touching.”

  Kyla jerked her hand from Mason’s and spun to face the doorway. Sam Ballat stood there, wry humor on those sardonic features. What was he doing here? “I’ve just come to look over my property.”

  Surprise arched her brows, and her fingers itched to slap the smugness from his smile.

  “I’m sorry I interrupted such a tender moment between you and your knight in shining armor.”

  Her cheeks burned at what this man had seen and heard.

  “What do you want, Ballat?”

  His features tightened as he turned his attention to Mason. “Why, Mr. Rawlins, how inhospitable of you.”

  He tsked, the sound utterly condescending. Why on earth was he here?

  “You’ve never been so rude to me before, Rawlins. Not in all our years of working together.”

  Kyla snorted. “Mason, work with you?”

  Ballat’s tone turned unpleasant. “Oh, indeed, working with me. As recently as this last week.” He cast a glance around the office, then out toward the new gym. “On this very project.”

  This was absurd! She turned to Mason, sure he was about to blast the man right out the door—and stilled. Mason was staring down at the desk, face crimson.

  No. It couldn’t be.

  “But not to worry, Miss Justice.” Ballat patted her arm, and she jerked back as if from a scorpion. “Your beau and I won’t be working together any longer. You see, whatever I need, he delivered. But I’m afraid that didn’t happen this time.”

  She wanted to scream at him to shut up. To get out and take his vile insinuations with him. But her voice was trapped in a too-tight chest.

  “Ballat, you’ve said enough.”

  The man ignored Mason’s hoarse assertion. He just stepped back. “No, indeed. He didn’t deliver at all. And all I needed him to do—”

  That cold gaze fixed itself to her, and despite her best efforts, Kyla shivered. It was like locking eyes with evil.

  “—was stop you.” He tipped his head, mock disappointment hissing out on a sigh. “You were too much for him.”

  He walked back toward the door. “I just wanted to drop in and offer my sincerest congratulations on completing the work. It’s a lovely building.” In the doorway, he hesitated, tossing one last baleful glance at them. “Oh, and be assured, I’m praying for you all.”

  “Praying for us?”

  If the man’s smile got any slimier, it would slip right off his face. “That nothing happens between today and tomorrow. That is your final deadline, is it not? Tomorrow, end of the day?”

  “You know it is.”

  The smile faltered at her frosty tone, but only for a moment. “Indeed. I do.”

  Kyla stared after Ballat’s retreating form. It was either that, or face the man she’d believed a friend.

  And now knew to be a traitor.

  Pieces suddenly fell into place. What had Fredrik said? It was as though those working against them knew what they were planning, even the minutest details of their schedules. As if they had access even to their orders, so they could transpose numbers.

  Mason had all that and more. Because Kyla gave it to him.

  Ice spread through her veins. It was her fault. All the delays. The church property almost being lost.

  All her fault.

  “Kyla—”

  She turned, offering the same frosty tone she’d used with Ballat. “Am I correct that your crew is finished with their work?”

  He stiffened. “All that’s left is the final detailing.”

  “Which my guys can handle just fine.”

  Mason started to come toward her, but she stepped back. “Thank you for your help, Mason. I appreciate it more than I can say.” She met his eyes, holding back nothing. Hurt. Shock. Betrayal. Loathing. “And now I’d appreciate it if you would leave.”

  “Kyla, please, it’s not like Ballat made it sound.”

  Her jaw tensed. “Did you work with him?”

  Desperation darkened his eyes. “Yes, but—”

  “Did you agree to help him keep us from completing this job?”

  He slammed a fist on the desk. “I’ve been here, helping! Remember? Working while you were at the hospital?”

  She didn’t give an inch. “Before that, Mason? What about before Annot was shot?”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “I … yes. I agreed to help him. But I couldn’t go through with it.”

  “This time.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He said you’d always delivered before.”

  The words hung in the charged air. Kyla saw the truth on his pale face. How had she been so wrong? So deceived? She thought
Mason a man of character. Of integrity.

  “So what you’re telling me is you’ve been one of Ballat’s hired thugs.”

  “I swear to you, I’ve never hurt anyone.”

  “Physically. But if you did to them what you attempted to do here, then Mason, you hurt people. Hurt them deeply.”

  His fist opened, and he placed his palm against the top of the desk, as though he needed support. “You’re right.”

  The admission brought her no joy, no triumph. Only a heaviness that settled somewhere in the center of her chest.

  He straightened. “I’m sorry, Kyla. For everything. But most of all, for hurting you.”

  She longed to forgive him. Maybe she would one day … but for now, all she could do was stand mute as he came toward her, pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, and walked out of the office.

  FIFTY-SIX

  “Evil draws men together.”

  ARISTOTLE

  “O LORD, hear the cry of [your people],

  and bring them together.… Give them strength to defend their cause help them against their enemies!”

  DEUTERONOMY 33:7

  The Marines had landed. Literally.

  Kyla watched as Rafe’s team came into the main terminal.

  Even if he hadn’t pointed them out, she’d have known it was them. Tall, straight, the unmistakable pride in those long strides.

  These men were the real thing.

  One of the men, a stocky blond who looked in need of a neck, was the first to spot Rafe. He grabbed the dark-haired man next to him and pointed. “Asadi!”

  Kyla glanced at Rafe; he was grinning from ear to ear.

  “Thales. Great to see you.” Rafe held out his hand as the big blond came to meet him. Within seconds, a mass of tall, ramrod straight men surrounded Rafe, pounding his back, their laughter rich and deep.

  “Hey, Sarge, you lookin’ good.”

  “Course he is, Monroe.” The big blond punched the young man beside him in the arm. Kyla could scarcely believe the dark-haired man was a Marine. He looked so young! “You think the Sarge couldn’t hack civilian life or somethin’?”

  “No way, Thales. It’s just good ol’ no-necks like you who have trouble with that.”

  Thales turned back to Rafe. “Man, Asadi. Why’d you make me invite this farm boy? He don’t do so well out in public, you know.”

  “Did just fine savin’ your bacon a time or two, buddy.”

  A voice as smooth and soothing as honey rose over the horseplay. Kyla studied the darkly handsome Hispanic standing next to Rafe.

  “Gentlemen, please. I doubt Asadi called us here to watch us fight among ourselves. In fact, I believe we have a whole new enemy to defeat.”

  “That we have, Sabada.” He looked from one face to another, and Kyla couldn’t miss the gratitude in his eyes. “Thanks for coming.”

  A lean black man, the last of the group to speak up, put a broad hand on Rafael’s shoulder. “You needed us. We’re here. It’s that simple.”

  Such truth contained in those simple words.

  “Rashidi, you always did have a way with words.” Thales nudged the black man with an elbow, then angled a look at Kyla. “So, Asadi, who’s the beauty?”

  Kyla felt her face flame as all eyes—and a few cheeky grins—focused on her.

  “Boys, meet Kyla Justice. Kyla, this motley crew”—pride and respect rang in his tone, belying the insult—“is the Pride. Tom Sabada, our point man and resident Taekwondo master; Rashidi Martin, my ATL—”

  She frowned. “ATL.”

  “Assistant Team Leader, ma’am.” Rashidi’s voice was as warm as those brown eyes. “And honored to be so.”

  Rafe went on. “Kevin Monroe, a bit of a hothead, but the best navigator in the Corps. Oo-rah?”

  “Oo-rah!”

  Kyla jumped at the enthusiastic chorus. “And last but not least, our resident southerner, and communications expert, David Thales.”

  The big man’s face split into a grin as he stepped forward to engulf her hand in his large paws. “Well, Sarge, I gotta say it, she’s ever’thing you said she was. N’ a whole lot more. Shoot, if you wasn’t sweet on her, I’d have to step in.”

  There went the heat in her cheeks again.

  “You?” Monroe hooted. “Like she’d look twice at you with Asadi around.”

  Thales elbowed his buddy. “Hey, some women prefer men like me, okay?”

  “Like you? You mean like gorillas?”

  Rafe’s laughter, so full of delight, wrapped around Kyla. “Okay, gentlemen, that’s enough of that.”

  “Hey, Sarge, what you think about Sabada’s hair?”

  Kyla followed Thales’s nod, realizing Sabada was the only one among them who’d forgone the military buzz cut. His thick black hair fell to his shoulders.

  Sabada shrugged. “I got tired of crew cuts.”

  Rafe’s hair was short, but the other three Marines sported military cuts, hair shaved close to the scalp. It suited them. With their straight backs and square jaws, the air of power and confidence they exuded, Kyla had no trouble believing these men could overcome anything. Or anyone.

  Rafe took Kyla’s arm and turned her toward the exit. “Come on, boys. We’re going to the church, where I’ll fill you in on what’s happening tonight.”

  “Tonight, huh?” Monroe whooped. “I was hoping we wouldn’t have to wait long to rattle some cages.”

  “Not long at all, Monroe.” He looked at the men flanking him. “It’s time for the Pride to prowl.”

  “It’s comin’.”

  Rafe almost jumped out of his skin. “Thales, you trying to give me a heart attack?”

  The kid’s teeth glowed white in the darkness. “Nah, Sarge. I’d just have to carry you to safety if I did that.” He moved next to Rafe, shouldering his weapon. “Just come to let you know everyone’s in position.”

  Rafe took in Thales’s SitRep as he studied the sky. The sun was just dipping toward the horizon. Nothing would happen until full darkness provided their attackers cover. If only Rafe knew who was coming, and when.

  He’d called the police, but without any real details, they couldn’t promise much.

  “You’re saying someone may be comin’ at some point tonight, but you don’t know who or when?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, sir, I can’t exactly send a squad out there for something you don’t even know is going to happen.”

  The radio on Rafe’s shoulder crackled to life. “Hey, Sarge.”

  Rafe keyed the mike. “Yeah, Monroe?”

  “I’m hungry.”

  “You ate two steaks at dinner tonight!”

  Sabada’s voice joined in. “That was just the appetizer, sir.”

  “Keep eating like you do, Monroe,” Rashidi added, “and you’ll weigh four hundred pounds.”

  Thales grinned at Rafe and keyed his mike. “Now Rashidi, you know that boy is from Iowa. They got hollow legs there, as well as hollow hea—”

  “Stuff it, Thales.”

  “Back atcha, Monroe.”

  It was so familiar. The banter to ease tension. Standing shoulder to shoulder, studying the terrain as night began to fall. Like coming home. Rafe hadn’t realized until this very moment how much he missed it.

  No … missed them. The Pride. The Corps. The sense of belonging to something bigger, something that mattered in ways you couldn’t by yourself.

  All of it.

  He lifted his gaze—and his sorrow—to the sky. Where do I belong now? I want to belong. No, more than that. I need it.

  “Asadi?”

  Rafe pulled his focus back where it belonged. “Right here, Thales.”

  The big man nodded, the matchstick between his teeth making a slow dip up and down as he chewed on it. “Sorry, sir. Just makin’ sure.” He didn’t look at Rafe, but his concern came through loud and clear in his tone. “You seemed kinda gone for a minute there.”

  Rafe drew in the night air, letting it expan
d his lungs. A wry smile made its way across his mouth. “You saying I’m not as sharp as I used to be?”

  This time Thales turned, his eyes wide as they met Rafe’s gaze. “Nah, sir. I’d never—”

  Rafe chuckled and waved the younger man’s chagrin aside. “Never mind.

  You were right. I was gone. But I’m focused now.” He frowned, remembering. “Hey, you said something when you snuck up on me a minute ago.”

  “Didn’t sneak, sir. You just wasn’t payin’ attention is all.”

  Rafe let that pass. Hard to debate the truth. “You said ‘It’s comin’.’ ”

  Thales nodded. “Yes sir.”

  Rafe’s frown deepened a fraction. “What is?”

  Thales’s gaze drifted past Rafe, to the street and beyond. He studied the night like a rabbit searched the skies when a hawk cried. “The storm. It’s comin’.” His gaze cut back to Rafe. “Soon.”

  Rafe wasn’t afraid, but this wasn’t Iraq, and it wasn’t war. Not the official kind, anyway. Overseas, the enemy was clear; the objective honorable. He’d never doubted what they were doing, not for a second. In-country, it was kill or be killed. Right and wrong. Freedom.

  Here … it was about real estate.

  Money. Power. That young men were willing to kill, or be killed, for such things made no sense. Yes, Rafe had made every precaution to avoid having to take someone out. But if he’d learned anything in Iraq, it was that even seemingly perfect plans had a way of going wrong.

  “Sure would feel better if our ammo was the real deal, sir.”

  Rafe agreed, but even blanks sound real enough when fired from an M16. And that’s what they wanted: the convincing sound of automatic gunfire. Even the most battle-tested hesitated to move in on automatic weapons. That sound alone would give them time—maybe enough time for the police to deploy—before their attackers mustered the guts to come at them again.

  Then the fight would be hand to hand.

  At least they wouldn’t be facing the 22s. King K was holding to his word—the Brotherhood was out of this fight. All Rafe knew was that another gang was coming.