What Lies Within (25 page)

“Of course”—Fredrik offered her a bright smile; at least he was happy to have her here—“we don’t expect you to remember all the names right off.”

“Just the important ones.”

She smiled at the man teasing her. Don, if she remembered correctly. His brother, who sat next to him, nudged him in the arm. “So you don’t want her to remember your name?”

Kyla’s tension began to ease. She was going to like these men.

“And, of course, our dear Hilda D’Angelo. She’s been the organist and pianist and head deaconess—”

One of the elders—Steve? Was that his name?—gave a good-natured snort. “
Only
deaconess, you mean.”

“—for years. And that large ball of fluff in her lap is Doggy Dog.”

At its name, the dog lifted its head, laying a long, sleek snout on the table and peering at Fredrik. He came to lay a large hand on the dog’s head, scritching its ears. “Doggy has been coming to our church for what?” He looked down at Hilda. “Ten years?”

The woman’s smile was as sweet as her features. A halo of white hair framed her slightly lined face. “About that.”

Fredrik walked back to where Kyla stood. “Hilda’s really the one who
watches over all us old men, making sure we don’t get in deeper than we can get out of.”

“I’m afraid I didn’t do a very good job of that this time.” Hilda’s soft voice held an underlying strength.

“You did as well as you could, considering this stubborn bunch.”

Kyla’s gaze drifted to the back of the room. Her first reaction at seeing Rafael standing there when she came in was pure pleasure. Then she remembered their conflicts—and her devotion to Mason—and grabbed the reins of those runaway emotions, giving them a mighty jerk. She was going to see Rafael on a regular basis. She’d have to keep her traitorous emotions in severe check if she wanted to get through it unscathed.

She turned her attention back to the elders, noting again the lack of enthusiasm in their gazes, the tension in the way they sat there, looking from her to Fredrik. Before she could ask about it, one of the elders spoke up.

“I want to apologize, Miss Justice. I’m sure you can tell we’re somewhat reserved.”

“I had noticed … Steve? Is that right?”

The man’s angular face lit up. “Your memory is exemplary. And it’s not that we’re not glad you’re here, but we haven’t much money left in our building fund. We spent most of our resources on the last contractor—”

“At least Lawton was better than the nimrod before him. Took our money and gave nothing in return.” This muttered comment from Wayne, his grizzled features stormy. “Rotten crook. He should rot in sheol.”

Steve hardly broke stride. “As will we all.”

“Oh, don’t start that again!”

Kyla lifted her brows at Fredrik, who leaned toward her and explained. “Wayne says
sheol
is hell, the place where the evil are punished for eternity. Steve says it’s the grave, plain and simple.” He shrugged. “But don’t let the outburst worry you. They’ve been fighting over this for more than forty years.”

Steve went on. “So I’m afraid we really can’t pay you.”

“Or your crew,” Sheamus piped up.

“Or buy supplies,” Von added.

Kyla almost burst out laughing. It was like working with the seven dwarfs!

“I don’t even know why we’re doing this again.” Wayne crossed his arms and pushed back in his metal folding chair, lifting the front legs off the ground. Kyla was sure he’d tip over backward, but apparently the old gent had better balance than she’d estimated. “Didn’t we lose enough last time ’round? And we haven’t got it to lose this time. I don’t know about you all”—he nodded his head at those gathered—“but I don’t much care to donate my social security to this project. Man’s gotta eat.”

“And remember that the community won’t be much help this time.”

Oh joy. Another bit of encouragement from Little Mary Sunshine. “Why is that, Rafael?”

“Those who came forward to help the last three times paid a high price.”

Sheamus let out a heavy breath. “Their homes were vandalized. Graffiti drawn inside and out.”

“And they received phone calls, threatening them if they didn’t back off.” Fredrik’s tone showed just the faintest hint of anger.

Well. At least she could put one concern to rest. “You don’t have to worry about the cost.”

“Easy for you to say.”

Kyla studied Wayne, careful to keep her expression calm. She’d run into more than her share of naysayers on other projects, so this was nothing new. “You know, my father started Justice Construction. He’s the one who brought me into the business, who taught me how to run it. How to lead well.” She straightened, infusing her words with as much confidence as she could. “And something that he taught me early on was to set aside a certain percentage of company profits for the important jobs—the jobs God wanted done but circumstances or finances said it couldn’t happen.”

She nodded. “Jobs like this one. So when I say you don’t have to worry about the cost, I mean it. JuCo will provide the crew and supplies.”

Astonishment traveled the faces watching her. And hope.

They all started speaking at once.

“That’s too generous!”

“God will bless you, young lady.”

“That’s far more than we ever could have hoped.”

“Maybe this will work after all.”

Everyone was talking, except Hilda. She just sat there, tears coursing down her sweet face.

Finally, Fredrik got them settled down. “So, it looks as though we’re back in business. Kyla, when can you have everything ready to go?”

Normally she’d need ample time to get a crew together, but time was short. Ridiculously so. It’d be a stretch, but … “Give me two days.”

“Fine. Two days it is. We’ll all gather here, all of us and you and your crew, for the blessing ceremony.”

“Blessing ceremony?”

Hilda patted Doggy Dog. “To dedicate the project—”

“And its completion, no matter how unlikely.”

She ignored Sheamus’s sour comment. “—to God and His protection. We’ll pray, you’ll dig a shovelful of dirt for a memory book photo, and then you can start.”

“Sure, okay.” Kyla tipped her head. “But you know, it’s not really a groundbreaking. We’re not going to put up a new building.”

Hilda nodded. “I know. But we’ve taken the same picture the other three times, so why break with tradition now?”

Because tradition has been that the project fails?

Kyla didn’t say it out loud. She nodded and said that would be fine. Sometimes it just wasn’t helpful to point out the obvious.

TWENTY-EIGHT   

M
ost holy God, we beseech Thee, walk among us today in power and protection …”

Warriors.

That’s what Kyla was listening to, as sure as if they’d come decked out in shields and swords. But these people didn’t fight with weapons of steel and wood. They used words. Powerful, heartfelt words.

“… that all may know this, Thy house, stands by Thy almighty will.”

Prayers to a God far more powerful to them than the obstacles standing in their way. Prayers for His presence. His overshadowing.

His blessing.

“Work within us, gracious Father, that we might serve Thee with our talents and skills.”

The task was as large as ever. Kyla still didn’t know how they were going to rebuild the burned-out church into a youth center in a matter of weeks. Contrary to Hilda’s assertion, they weren’t the
Extreme Makeover Home Edition
crew. Nor did they have the show’s budget.

Which made it all the more odd that Kyla wasn’t worried. Because the prayers—and the pray-ers—had made her realize this wasn’t her task.

It was God’s.

“Lead us in going beyond our own strength so that we might rely on Thee.”

Good thing too. Because it was certain they wouldn’t get much help from the neighbors. The church folks were all here, of course, and her crew, hard hats in hand, ready to get started at the “Amen.” But despite church members putting up fliers about the dedication, even going to visit the homes of those they knew, only a handful from the neighborhood showed up. It would seem Rafael was right.

The Blood Brotherhood had everyone scared.

An elbow nudged her side, and Kyla turned to the man standing beside her, Grant Wilson, her first-line supervisor. “We’ve got an audience.”

“Let us see not only this task, but all involved with Thy eyes of love and compassion.”

She followed his gaze to a young black man standing on the fringes, watching, listening. She took in his attire—and ground her teeth.

Fine.

The Blood Brotherhood … 22s … whatever they called themselves, didn’t want the neighbors around, and yet they had the gall to be here? If she wasn’t afraid it would disrupt the ceremony, she’d march over there and tell that thug exactly what she thought of him. Since she couldn’t do that without drawing attention from the prayers, she’d have to settle for making her feelings clear in her gaze.

“And should any of us walk in ways contrary to Thy will, pull us back, holy God, but do so with love and compassion …”

While she wouldn’t want that old adage “if looks could kill” to come true, she wouldn’t mind if they managed to wound this hood and his buddies a bit.

“… for we are all Thy children, dearly loved by Thee and called to Thy service. All this we ask in Thy Son’s most precious name …”

The target of her attention looked up. His eyes collided with hers, and even from this distance she could see him start. Good! She narrowed her glare. Take tha— “
Oomph!
”

She glowered at Grant, who’d just jabbed her a good one in the side. “What?”

He jerked a nod toward the elders and hissed at her. “A-men.”

“Amen?”

“They said it twice now, boss. They’re waiting for you to take the shovel.”

Sure enough, Fredrik and the elders were standing there, watching her.

“Oh! I’m sorry. I …” She clamped her mouth shut. No way she was going to admit she wasn’t listening. Cheeks on fire, she hurried to take the shovel from Willard and dig it into the ground. But as she lifted the pile of dirt, she didn’t look at Hilda, who was taking pictures of the event. Instead, she glanced past the little woman to the cause of her humiliation.

And almost dropped the dirt.

“Smile, Miss Justice.”

Even as the camera snicked, she knew what crossed her face was more grimace than grin. But that was the best she could do.

Because the gang member was no longer alone. There, right in front of God and everyone, stood Rafael Murphy. Next to the enemy. And from the looks of the two of them, the conversation wasn’t only civil.

It was downright friendly.

“So, you gonna stick around all day?” Rafe kept his stance relaxed as he glanced at the tall young man beside him.

“Don’t know. Just figured I’d watch until I got bored.”

That wasn’t likely to happen anytime soon. Even Rafe was all but mesmerized as he watched Kyla and her crew go to work. He’d never seen such precision and energy before—at least, not outside of the military. “They’re pretty impressive.”

“They?” Tarik slanted him a bland look. “Or her?”

Sometimes that kid saw entirely too much. “I was surprised to see you at the dedication ceremony.”

Tarik shrugged. “I wasn’t really at it.”

“Okay … I was surprised to see you around it.”

Another shrug. “I decided I should. Just in case.”

Made sense. If the Brotherhood showed up, Rafe and the others would need Tarik. Big time. Which, unless Rafe missed his guess—which didn’t happen often—was why Tarik was still here.

Just because the Brotherhood didn’t show up at the ceremony didn’t mean they weren’t coming.

“You know this is trouble.”

Rafe didn’t deny the boy’s quiet words. “Has it started yet?”

Tarik slid his hands into his pockets. “There’s a lot of trash talk going on, but nothing definite. Not yet.”