Read Online Out of the Shadows (Falcon) by Geri Foster - Free Book Online Page A

skin resembled distressed leather. The clothes she wore were soiled, ragged and possibly all she owned. A colorful bandana covered dull black hair as proof that regardless of her situation, she was a woman. When she placed a plate of beans and two tortillas in front of him, Brody noticed the dirt beneath her fingernails.
    This kin d lady knew few luxuries if any. But she possessed a generous heart, and that touched him in a way that would make his mama proud.
    He shoved the plate away. “Thank you, ma’am, but I won’t take food from your family.”
    “We have beans and flour. It’s all we have. You are welcome to it.”
    “That’s kind of you.”
    “You must get strong if you are to fight the devil.”
    “Be quiet,” a young man said from the doorway. “You are not to help his man. Chavez gave the order for Papa to kill him.” He knocked the chair over. “And here you are feeding him.”
    The woman Brody had thought kind and demur walked over and slapped the teenager across the face. The boy lowered his head in shame. “Do you forget what he took from us?”
    The locals crowded into and around the woman’s home. “Have you all forgotten?”
    Murmurs circulated, and Brody had a hard time keeping up.
    The padre stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his head lowered. “We cannot bring more violence to this village.” He turned and walked toward the door. “Feed him and send him on his way. For the sake of all of us, Alana.”
    The people left and quiet settled over the small house. Brody picked up the battered spoon and scooped the beans from the tin pan. Then he ate the tortillas. The young boy stood in the corner, his eyes never moving from the floor.
    Brody stood and approached the kid. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble to your people. I just have to get my friend.”
    The boy said nothing as Brody crossed the room and hugged Alana, wh o’d shown him such kindness. From his bag he took out two canteens and walked toward the well.
    He’d need water, but he planned to get away from the village then try to rest.
    As Brody filled the second container, the padre came out of the tiny church and took him by the arm. He pointed him in the direction of a straw strewn lean-to. “Sleep here tonight. You can leave right after dawn.”
    “I thank you for your hospitality.”
    “Before you sleep, come inside the church. We’ll pray and maybe have a glass of communion wine.”
    He smiled and held out his hand. Brody dropped his bag in the straw and entered the church.
    Made of crumbling sun-bleached stone, it resembled the old abandoned missions dotting the city of San Antonio, Texas, except some of churches there were in better shape than the one in this village.
    Inside at the altar hung a statue of Jesus on the cross looking down at the congregation. Painted red blood dripped from the nail wounds on the sacred figure. Head bowed, eyes half closed, it depicted the imminent death of Christ.
    No doubt a cheap imitation, but the reverence was clearly visible when the priest knelt beside one of the benches and made the sign of the cross. 
    Brody si mply nodded. He’d been born and raised a Southern Baptist and didn’t know a lot about the Catholic faith, but his mama taught him to respect everyone and their beliefs.
    Their way lit by many burning candles, t hey walked past four rows of benches. Down two steps, they entered a small room with another crucifix on the wall, along with a desk and two wooden chairs.
    “Where do you come from?” asked the priest.
    “Dallas, in Texas.”
    “You are a man of war?”
    “I guess someone dressed like you might think so.”
    The priest held out his hand. “I am Father Ayaaya.”
    Shaking the offered hand, Brody replied, “Brody Hawke.”
    After Father Ayaaya poured two small glasses to the rim, he offered Brody a chair, and they sat together and sipped the bitter wine.
    “ Brody Hawke, you want to kill Chavez?”
    “I want to free my friend