CHAPTER ONE
“Rise and shine, you bum.”
Rafe groaned at the much-too-cheerful voice of his roommate. Crap. Why did he have to be in such a good mood all the time? Trying to ignore his pain-in-the-ass friend, he reached for the extra pillow and dragged it over his head. No way was he going to be up at the crack of dawn, not for love or money.
He snuggled deeper into the bedclothes, gearing up to go his second lap on the sleep train, when the blanket was ripped off his curled-up form, the pillow yanked off his head. Before he could so much as shift, the pillow slammed into his head - not once but two times then three.
And then all hell broke loose.
“Pillow fight!”
Rafe didn’t stand a chance. Like dogs gone wild the other occupants in the tiny hostel room jumped into the melee and with Khalil in the lead they beat him down until all he could do was wrap his arms around his head and hunch down low.
But Rafe wasn't going out like that. Swift as a cat he rolled out of the low bunk bed, dropped onto the floor and grabbed the first ankle he could reach, upending its owner onto the floor with a thud.
In a flash he was rolling across the floor, grabbing occupant number two and giving him the same treatment. He’d pushed up onto his knees and was heading for his final victim but the kid was fast. He dashed toward the bunk bed and was soon up on top and out of Rafe’s reach.
“Ugh.” Khalil groaned from where he lay on his back. “You didn’t have to be so violent, man.” With another groan he rolled over onto his knees then stumbled to his feet.
“Yeah, what’s with you?” Lion shook his head, his long blond dreadlocks slapping his face with every move. “Can’t you take a joke?” His normally pale face now red, he reached out to grab the edge of the narrow bed and pull himself up into a sitting position.
Only the kid who’d bunked in their room that night looked happy. And he had every reason to be. He’d escaped Rafe’s revenge attack and now sat staring down at them, his grin stretching from ear to ear.
Rafe gave the kid a cool stare then a slow nod, letting him know he’d been lucky to get away. Then, satisfied he’d suitably punished the key culprits, he got to his feet and lifted his arms in a long stretch. When his arms fell back to his sides he was ready for the day.
Ignoring the kid he glared at his friends. “You guys need to start acting your age. A pillow fight? Leave that to the teenagers.” Then he shrugged. “Heck, even they would scoff at this kind of stuff.”
Still rubbing his tailbone, Khalil staggered over to his bed on the top bunk. “You talk like we’re old,” he said with a snort. “It wasn’t that long since we left Princeton. I don’t know about you but I don’t call twenty-nine old.” He shoved his hand under his pillow, pulled out his wallet and stuffed it into his back pocket.
Lion was up now and he barked out a laugh as he jerked his chin toward Rafe. “And he’s not even as old as we are. Just turned twenty-six a few months back.”
“Twenty-eight,” Rafe reminded him, “and that’s not the point. What kind of example are we setting for this kid here?”
Lion, as if just remembering the stranger in their midst, peered up at the young man as he watched them from his perch. “What’s your name, kid?”
“The name is Carlos,” the boy said, his heavily-accented voice a lot deeper than what anyone would expect from someone with a baby face like his. “And I’m no kid.” He shifted on the bed till he was sitting up, his legs dangling over the edge and his head almost touching the ceiling. “I’m the oldest one in this room.”
That got him a snort from Khalil and a chuckle from Rafe. “Yeah,” Khalil said. “In your dreams.”
That made Carlos give him an amused smile then he pushed himself up from the bed and dropped, limber and smooth, to the floor. “I’m thirty-three years old, gentlemen. A senior to all three of you.”
Rafe’s brows lifted in surprise. “You could pass for fourteen.”
Carlos chuckled. “Not the first time I’ve heard that. It’s because I’m small-boned and, no matter how I pray, my face stays as smooth as a baby’s bottom.”
Rafe folded his arms across his chest. “You’re sure you’re not fourteen?”
Carlos laughed. “You can ask my congregation back in San Jose. I’m sure they’ll vouch for me.”
“Congre…what?” Lion, who’d been busy digging through his duffle bag, looked up. “You’re a church man?”
Another laugh from Carlos. “You could say that. I’m a minister and I’m on my way to Rothenberg to help set up our newest missionary post.”
“Well, I’ll be…” Lion looked incredulous. “A minister of religion bunking with us. You shoulda told us, man. If we’d known we wouldn’t have been so raucous last night.”
Khalil wasn’t so quick to accept the story. He cocked his head to one side as he listened. “If you’re a minister like you say, why didn’t you fly to this Rothenberg you say you’re going to? A minister trekking across Germany with nothing but a backpack? I’m not buying it.”
Carlos shrugged. “Let’s just say there wasn’t much room in the church kitty for air travel. And besides, I wanted to do it this way so I could meet people along the way. I like to get a feel for the place, you see. And anyway,” he was turning as he spoke, reaching for the knapsack he’d used as his pillow, “it doesn’t matter what you believe. I know what I’m here for,” he turned back to them, “and gentlemen, since I have a job to do, I’ll be on my way.”
Carlos set the knapsack on his back, gave them a smile and a polite nod, and headed toward the door. “God speed, gentlemen,” was his farewell and then he was gone.
“Damn,” Khalil said, looking like he finally believed. “A minister of religion in a pillow fight.”
“Yeah,” Rafe said with a sarcastic snort. “They’re just like regular people. Who’d have thought it?”
“Aaw, shaddup.” The frequent victim of Rafe’s sarcasm, Khalil aimed a punch at his arm but missed when his target easily sidestepped the blow.
“He’s a man on a mission,” Lion said, looking thoughtful. “A serious fellow who knows why he’s here.”