What Lies Within Read online

“Hates Him?”

  “Passionately. With a devotion I’ve rarely seen, not even in God’s faithful. For him, this isn’t a place of worship and beauty, but a chamber of lies and deceit.”

  “But …” Kyla looked around the sanctuary, trying to imagine how one couldn’t see the beauty here. “Why?”

  “His parents, Martin and Rose Ballat, God rest their souls, gave everything to God. Including their lives. Missionaries, they were, in the sixties. In the Congo.” Sorrow weighted his words, and as though it did the same to his head, he lowered it. “Such an endeavor back then, it wasn’t safe. One night rebels attacked their home. Took them prisoner. For days we heard nothing. For weeks no word of hope. No word even of death. Then …”

  The pain in the old man’s voice was so deep, so profound. She placed her hand over his, where it rested on the back of a pew.

  As though plucking the powerful emotions from his heart and setting them on a shelf, just for a moment, Fredrik gathered himself, lifted his head, and continued. “The pictures came.”

  Dread gnawed on Kyla’s nerves. “Pictures.”

  “Martin and Rose. Dead. Tortured. Mutilated. Though their faces were untouched, it was clear they were dead.”

  “Oh, Fredrik.”

  This time it was his hand that patted hers. “We don’t know who took the pictures. Some thought it was a mercy for the family to know what happened to them.”

  Kyla gripped his hand. “And you?”

  “Such things, no one should ever see.” He shook his head, as though to send away the images lurking within. “With the pictures was a letter. The English was far from perfect, but the message was clear. Martin and Rose—their bodies were thrown into a river. With the crocodiles. There … was nothing left to bury.”

  God … God … Kyla had rarely felt such sorrow. And yet she knew what washed over her was a fraction of what this mother and father must have experienced. How did the Maisels endure it? How do Your people survive, hold to their faith, in the face of such brutality?

  “So, Ballat. He blamed God?”

  “With every ounce of his being. And though he was only ten when his parents were murdered, he nurtured his anger, his pain, like a man grown old on rage. Nothing his grandparents or I did could get through to him. He didn’t even come to his grandparents’ funerals. The only time he’s contacted us in the last twenty years was when he had his corporation send us a letter a month ago.”

  Kyla didn’t have to ask. She knew what that letter must have said. “He’s claiming ownership.”

  “Two months. That’s all we have left. If we haven’t finished the renovation by then, all our history, all his grandparents dreamed and intended for this place … all the years of God’s work here will be lost.”

  Kyla wanted to say something. But two words stuck in her throat, blocking her voice.

  Two months.

  Two months?

  Kyla gripped the back of the pew with both hands. Had the room suddenly gotten smaller? “Excuse me?”

  Fredrik’s steady gaze didn’t falter. “You heard me right. Two months.”

  She looked around them again, this time in a new light. The light of impending doom. “Why did you wait so long to bring in a contractor?”

  “We didn’t. You’re the fourth contractor to try and make this place over as we’d like.”

  That didn’t surprise her. It startled her. “The fourth?”

  “We hired the first more than a year ago, before the church actually closed. He didn’t last long once the threats started.” She tried not to let him see her alarm. “Threats?” Fredrik lifted his shoulders. “I couldn’t blame him for leaving.” Neither could she.

  “The second contractor kept saying there were delays. Unavoidable delays with materials. Workers. Permits.” His white head shook back and forth. “Such a list he came up with. And nothing we said or did made a difference. He took his time and our money, but as you can see, neither was used well.”

  Obviously not.

  Kyla could see spots where work had been started, but nothing was really finished. And now, with the fire …

  She couldn’t help but wonder if the best thing to do wasn’t to just bulldoze the place.

  “Finally we fired that contractor. But we’d lost so much money. So much time.”

  Two things you couldn’t afford to lose with construction.

  “The third contractor seemed more promising. But once they started on the work …” He shrugged again.

  His sigh seemed to bear the weight of the world in it. Discouragement warred with frustration in the old man’s wrinkled features. He lifted his shoulders, the shrug eloquent. “Things happened.”

  That didn’t sound good. “ ‘Things’? What kinds of things?”

  Fredrik was about to answer when an odd sound caught her ear. A kind of step-tap, step-tap. She turned, senses going on alert when she saw a man walking toward them. The sunlight flowing through the stained-glass windows—Annot would love those windows—illuminated him from behind, making it impossible to see his features.

  “Ah, Rafe, my boy. It’s about time.”

  Kyla glanced at Fredrik. The old man’s face was wreathed in a smile, and there was a definite twinkle in those clear eyes. Like he’d just told the best joke ever.

  “Kyla, meet a friend of mine. Rafael Murphy.”

  Kyla froze. She could see his face clearly now, but she blinked all the same. It couldn’t be. But it was. Kyla blurted out the first thing that came to her astonished mind. “It was you. You were the one in my dream.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  “To see what is in front of one’s nose requires a constant struggle.”

  GEORGE ORWELL

  “No matter which way I turn,

  I can’t make myself do right. I want to, but I can’t.”

  ROMANS 7:18

  Rafe and danger were old friends.

  Bombings, strafing, sniper fire, ambushes. He’d faced them all and come out alive. A little worse for the wear, maybe, but alive. The sound of rapid gunfire didn’t even make him flinch anymore.

  But those seven words—“You were the one in my dream”—from that particular woman?

  Almost sent him scrambling for cover.

  Which, the strategist within him pointed out, was absurd. Talk about a perfect opening. One witty response and he’d set them down the road that led beyond being mere acquaintances. Just give her a glimpse into his feelings, a hint of what she meant to him …

  But even as he acknowledged all that, his features fell into a polite smile. One that greeted even as it kept distance.

  “Miss Justice.”

  And then he put his hand out. Yup. A handshake, grip firm, but not lingering. Quick, professional, disconnect.

  And above all, unemotional.

  What was it Olivia said about him? He was too tough to express his emotions? Oh, how he hated to prove his sister right.

  When Kyla turned away from him, her cheeks tinged with red, he pretended not to notice. Better to focus on the matter at hand.

  Safer.

  “Rafe owns a coffee shop downtown,” Fredrik was saying. “Cuppa Joe’s, I believe.”

  Kyla nodded, though her focus seemed fixed on the wall. “Um, yes. I’ve been there.”

  “Oh? So you two are friends?” Fredrik took their hands and tugged them together, joining them. “That’s good. Two such attractive single people should be friends. Maybe more. Only God can say.”

  Rafe wanted to pop the old guy on his white head. Kyla’s fingers in his were rigid, and her cheeks flamed. What was Fredrik trying to do? Give the poor woman a heart attack?

  As though they’d choreographed it, they pulled their hands apart and launched into clarification.

  “Well, not friends, exactly—”

  “Kyla comes in to buy coffee—”

  “I mean, I have a man friend—”

  “She’s a customer—”

  “Well, not a friend, really. A boyfriend, I
guess. Yes, I suppose that’s right.”

  “We just know each othe—” Rafe’s words caught in his throat as her last comment registered. He turned to Kyla. “You do?”

  Kyla blinked, as though Rafe’s abrupt question caught her as off guard as Fredrik’s earlier comment. “I do what?”

  “You know. What you just said. You have a—”

  “Did you know Rafael works with the gangs in the area?”

  Both Kyla and Rafe stared at the man standing between them.

  “It’s true.” Fredrik bobbed his head, as if that would make his off-the-cuff comment make sense. “He volunteers his time to help kids caught up in gangs. Don’t you, Rafe?”

  Where on earth was this leading? Rafe narrowed his gaze. “You know I do, old man.”

  “You’ve gained the trust of those in leadership, yes? Acted as a mediator when needed. Established yourself in the minds of the police and those who live in the neighborhood as a force for good. And then there’s your background in the Marines, hmm?”

  This was starting to sound like some kind of bad political ad. I’m Rafael Murphy and I approved this ad. “Fredrik, what on earth—?”

  “What do you think, Kyla? Quite the man, isn’t our Rafe?”

  Poor woman looked as confused as Rafe felt. She managed a nod, but her cheeks were approaching meltdown red.

  “Fredrik, what are you talking about?”

  The old man waved a veined hand in the air, brushing off Rafe’s question as though it were a pesky gnat. “I’m just explaining to our new contractor here why I’ve invited you to come here for this meeting, that’s all. So she can know she’s safe with you here. A woman should know that, yes? That she’s safe.”

  Rafe looked from Kyla—whose expression resembled someone who’d just swallowed the pesky gnat—to the old man who surely had gone completely around the bend. “Of course she should.”

  “Good. Then it’s settled.”

  “I … what?” If Rafe didn’t love the old coot so much, he’d throttle him. “What’s settled?”

  “As long as you’re here, Kyla can know she’s safe.”

  Thus assaulted by Fredrik’s so-called logic, Rafe responded in the only way he could. He fell into military posture—back straight, arms crossed over the chest, feet planted a foot or so apart. He directed his best staff sergeant glare at the old man—a look that had stopped many a Marine in his tracks.

  A look that had no impact whatsoever on Fredrik.

  “So, as I’ve been saying, Kyla, the ministry here isn’t done. We’ve made some ground on the renovations. Or we had, until the fire.”

  Kyla’s features as she studied the sanctuary reflected her sadness over what was lost. “And how did the fire happen?”

  “An accident?” Fredrik’s doubt suffused both his tone and features.

  A fact not lost on Kyla. “You don’t believe it?”

  Rafe couldn’t take it any longer. “Nobody believes it.”

  Those beautiful eyes swiveled to his face, but Rafe didn’t let them stop him. This was not the time to mince words. “That fire was set. I hate to tell you this, Kyla, but our friend here is wrong. You’re not safe. No one is. Because as determined as Fredrik and his friends are to make this youth center happen, there are others equally determined to stop it.” He held her increasingly troubled gaze. “And they won’t stop at anything.”

  Her eyes widened a fraction. Well, good. At least he was getting through to her.

  “Anything?” Her brow puckered. “Are you saying …?”

  Best to hit her with the truth now, before she got sucked in on a project doomed to failure. Really, he was only doing this for her good. “I’m saying they’ll do what it takes. Theft. Arson—”

  “But these people—” The pucker deepened. Apparently she was having a hard time getting her mind around what he was saying. “How serious a threat are they really?”

  He hardened his tone to honed steel. “Serious. As we said, we’re sure they were behind the accidents, so we know they don’t mind hurting people. And if you take this project on, you can be sure of one thing.”

  Her chin tipped a fraction at his tone, and she squared off with him. “And what, Mr. Murphy, might that be?”

  Each word clipped, like jagged shards of ice. Hmm. The lady was getting irked. Fine. Match ice for ice. “That you, Miss Justice, will become their prime target.”

  Kyla stared at Rafael. She couldn’t tell if he was being hard for her good or just condescending. Either way, his tone sent irritation snaking through her. If he thought she would be scared off by his dire pronouncements, well …

  “Just one more thing, Kyla.”

  “Yes?” She matched him, crossed arms for crossed arms. Men didn’t have a corner on the tough exterior market.

  “Go home.”

  “I—excuse me?” Kyla stared at the man in front of her, the man she’d spent months thinking about, who’d been kind and encouraging, who’d so disturbed her dreams last night that she’d been unable to shake the effect all day.

  The man whose nose she’d love to smack right now.

  A soft tsk drew her attention from Rafael’s scowl. Fredrik stepped between them, patting the muscled arms crossed over Rafe’s chest.

  “Now, Rafael, please. You paint too dark a picture, I think.”

  The younger man didn’t give an inch. “And you paint it too bright.”

  Kyla couldn’t deny the relief when Rafael’s gaze shifted from her to Fredrik. Or the touch of umbrage when Rafael’s hard features softened. Why glare at her and not Fredrik?

  Rafael’s arms fell to his sides, the barrier broken. When he spoke again, his tone was gentle, but firm. “You have to tell her the truth, old friend.”

  At the misery on Fredrik’s face, Kyla stepped forward and linked her elbow with his. “He’s told me all I need to know.”

  “I’m only trying to ensure you know all the facts.”

  Kyla heard the concern in Rafael’s voice, but it made no sense. “What are you afraid of, Rafael? If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think you were trying to undermine this project.”

  That ruffled his feathers. His brow darkened. “Don’t be absurd.”

  She stepped away from Fredrik—and closer to Rafael. “One thing I have never been, sir, is absurd. I’m only telling how it seems to me. Clearly, this is God’s call to Fredrik and the church people. And yet when you arrive, rather than offering constructive suggestions, you spout dire warnings—”

  “Kinder, please.”

  “—and act as though you’re the only one with a rational thought in his head. Even you—”

  The frown between those dark brows deepened. “Even I?”

  “—must see how odd that is. Which leads me to wonder at your motivation.”

  “Really, both of you—”

  Rafael’s sharp words sliced through Fredrik’s objection. “What are you trying to say?”

  “Only that Fredrik trusts you implicitly, and I hope he’s right to do so. Because all I’ve heard today seems to imply that, for whatever reason, you’re part of the opposition.” She made her own gaze as pointed as she could.

  “And all I’ve heard proves you haven’t a clue what’s going on here. Which makes you more dangerous than the gangs.”

  “Please, don’t you two see how wrong it is?”

  Kyla shushed Fredrik with one hand, even as she demanded Rafael’s attention by laying the other on his arm. “And what is that supposed to … to …”

  She swallowed whatever she’d been about to say. The moment her hand touched Rafael’s arm he’d flinched, then gave her what she wanted.

  He looked at her.

  Right into her eyes.

  And suddenly all words were gone. Melted away in a gaze so intense it made Kyla pull back as though she’d touched fire.

  Which, from the heat in Rafael’s eyes, she might have done.

  The only question now was if that heat was intimate … or incendiary
.

  TWENTY-TWO

  “He is a fool who thinks by force or skill To turn the current of a woman’s will.”

  SAMUEL TUKE

  “I have seen that fools may be successful for the moment, but then comes sudden disaster.”

  JOB 5:3

  What was wrong with him?

  Here he’d spent all these weeks thinking and praying about Kyla, and now that he was face to face with her, all he could do was antagonize her.

  He might as well be twelve years old again.

  Still, as much as he wanted to stop what was happening, her defiant accusation stuck deep in his gut. The idea. That he’d undermine God’s work.

  If she’d been a man, she’d be on the ground. Nursing a broken jaw.

  “Rafael!”

  He started at Fredrik’s harsh tone, but before he could ask what the old man wanted, his arm was gripped by aged fingers and he was led to the side, away from Kyla.

  Probably a good thing right now.

  “You must listen to me, Rafe. Listen and hear. You are not at war here. And this woman? She’s not some target to be taken off—”

  “Out.”

  “I … what?”

  Rafe’s lips twitched. “Taken out. You take targets out, not off.”

  Fredrik’s head wagged back and forth. “Out, off … oy! Such a schmendrik, when you want to be. But this stops now. No more, my boy. All you’ve been doing is hearing words. But you must listen to a woman’s heart to hear what she means.”

  “Fredrik …”

  “No. On this I insist. Go now, back to mein kind, but this time not so much of this”—his finger poked at Rafe’s mouth—“and substantially more of this”—a finger jabbed at Rafe’s ear. “Because then, dear boy”—Fredrik laid his hand over Rafe’s heart—“this will know what to do.”

  Ancient eyes rested on his face. Eyes holding such wisdom. Rafe pursed his lips, then gave one slow nod. He turned and walked back to Kyla.

  She stiffened at his approach, and he forced a calm he did not feel into his voice. “I’m not against the youth center, Kyla. I’m only concerned.”

  Her posture relaxed a fraction. “About what?”