Free What Lies Within by Karen Ball Page A

young kid he caught stealing from the construction site. Then two thugs who tried to intimidate him as he left the church one morning. Rafe smiled at the memory. They’d found themselves on their backs, staring up at the sky.
    And, of course, Tarik.
    That’s when Rafe finally gave in. Accepted that he was being called to build some bridges, to help the 22s understand the church wasn’t a threat. He’d worked so hard with these kids, been so sure they were going to leave the church alone. “What makes the elders think the 22s are involved?”
    “The elders at the church believe the gang is being used. Hired thugs. But have I actually seen them do anything? No.”
    “Well, if not the Brotherhood …”
    Fredrik tapped his two index fingers together. “Ballat.”
    Of course. No one else had more motivation for stopping the renovation. “What can I do to help?”
    “Pray.” Fredrik let his hands fall into his lap. “And suggest a good contractor. One who won’t be frightened away by opposition.” He heaved himself out of the chair, laying a hand on Rafe’s shoulder as he passed by. “But mostly, pray. That’s what will see us through this.”
    “You got it.”
    “Thank you.” Fredrik blessed him with a fond smile, then made his way to the door. “Now, it’s home for me. I need to spend time with the Father. I may not know what the next step is, but He does. I just have to listen so He can share that knowledge with me.”
    As Fredrik reached the door, it opened toward him. He stepped aside so the man coming in could pass by. “Come, enjoy!” Fredrik waved a hand at the menu board. “Such nectar even heaven hasn’t got.” He tossed a wink at Rafe and was gone.
    Rafe stood, laughing to himself, and went to greet his customer. It was a man Rafe hadn’t seen before—blue-collar type. Interesting. With all the construction going on, road and buildings, he was seeing more and more strangers lately. Even so, his usuals normally came in before anyone else. “Mornin’.”
    The man glanced around as he came to the counter. “Morning.” His gaze came to rest on Rafe, who fought a smile. Clearly, this guy wasn’t overly comfortable in a coffeehouse. “I hear you got good coffee.”
    “Nope.” Rafe crossed his arms. “We have great coffee.”
    The man’s lips twitched. “So prove it.”
    “Let me guess … you want black. Straight up. No frills.”
    The man’s smile widened. “You got it.”
    As Rafe went to pour the coffee, he watched the man glance around. His eyes widened a fraction when he saw what was on the walls, and then, as so many had before him, he walked to study one of the photos displayed there.
    The same photo that seemed to catch everyone’s eye.
    It was a typical shot of a Marine. Military-issue green tank over desert camo pants. Muscled arms, one with a tattoo from shoulder to wrist, projecting strength despite their relaxed state. Gloved hands rested with familiar comfort, much the way many men’s hands rested on their briefcases, on the assault rifle hanging in front of him. Everything about the picture said gung-ho, hard-as-they-come, Semper Fi Marine.
    Until you noticed a splash of color.
    There, out of the side pocket of the Marine’s camos, peeked a brightly colored bouquet of wildflowers.
    That unexpected sight never failed to impact. Especially when the viewers spotted the two items next to the photo: one was a picture of a beautifullittle girl of about six, dark eyes wide and happy; the other held a bouquet of dried wildflowers.
    Rafe’s customer studied the photo, glanced back at Rafe, then went back to the picture. His hand came up to touch the glass over the dried wildflowers.
    “Coffee’s ready.”
    The man eyed the picture a moment longer, then returned to Rafe. He took the cup Rafe held out, eyes traveling to the tattoo on Rafe’s left arm. He gave a slight nod. “It’s you.”
    “It’s me.”
    “Marine, huh?”
    “Yup.”
    He sipped the coffee.