Outside the Law Page 2

  “I don’t know.”

  “Were they after you?”

  “It appears so, but I honestly don’t know.”

  “Is there anything you can tell me?”

  “No. Aren’t you listening?” She twisted to look through the window again, then fell back against her seat with a huff. “If they shot up my reupholstered sofa, I’m going to be really upset.”

  Noel almost veered off the road at the inanity of her comment. “Masked men shooting at you for no reason, and you’re worried about your sofa?”

  “I’m probably in shock.”

  “You think?” Noel wanted to laugh, shout at her and run into the fight all at the same time. Apparently a decade hadn’t changed her one bit—she was still the same quirky girl he’d known from those days spent together watching cartoons and, later, preteen sitcoms when both of their moms had Bible study at her parents’ apartment on Saturday mornings. The Browders’ home had always smelled of cinnamon, nutmeg and honey. Didn’t seem to matter what time of day or what time of year, middle of summer or dead of winter. In fact, he thought he could even smell it now.

  The scent grew stronger as Yasmine shifted in her seat. Wait, was that scent coming from her? Noel swallowed a growing lump in his throat, fighting to suppress the surge of memory from those days when he’d accompanied his mother to her place just so he could sit near the pretty girl with the long, dark hair.

  Beeping cut through the moment of memory. Yasmine had her phone out and was pressing buttons. She told the operator what had happened and mentioned that she was on the way to the Newherst Central Police Station. As she hung up and tucked the phone back into her bag, Noel considered how to broach the topic of...anything. Anything at all. What did you say to someone you hadn’t seen for ten years who’d just jumped into your car to avoid gunfire?

  He sent his mind into the past, trying to choose a safe topic. He could ask about her family or her time away. He couldn’t remember exactly where she’d moved—he’d tried to look her up a few years back out of curiosity but couldn’t find any social media profiles. Ask about what she was doing these days? It seemed too benign, especially considering the situation. They had armed gunmen to worry about, not a reunion to stage.

  The police station parking lot came up quickly, and he pulled into a spot near the door. Yasmine fiddled with her seat belt, nervous fingers betraying her calm exterior. Best to take her mind off things with an easy, comforting question.

  “So, how’s your brother Daniel doing these days?”

  Her fingers stopped moving. The silence that followed told him he’d made a huge mistake.

  In one quick movement, she unlatched her seat belt and threw open the car door. She slipped out and leaned over to look at him with eyes of stone. “He died.”

  Noel’s stomach and heart sank into his feet. Not Daniel. Yasmine hadn’t been the only Browder he’d shared Saturday mornings with. “Yasmine, I’m so sorry. I had no idea. Was it recent?”

  “Three weeks ago.” Her voice held no emotion as she pulled her body back from the car, feet and hips distancing themselves from him. “Freak workplace accident.”

  He wanted to ask where Daniel had worked, how it had happened, but the coldness in her expression told him that she’d already shut down. The woman had just been shot at, and now Noel had to go and bring her late brother into the conversation. Could he feel like any more of a jerk?

  “I’ll come in with you” is what he said instead. He slid out of his side of the car as Yasmine slammed the door. “I saw the trucks and some shooters, and ballistics may need to check my car over.”

  She shook her head. “It’s okay. Don’t feel like you owe me anything.”

  He circled his vehicle as she backed away. “You’re the one who hurdled my car and used me as a getaway driver. Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?”

  The barest hint of a smile appeared. “Touché.”

  He came alongside her, and they strolled into the police station together. He reached for the door to hold it open for her, but she grabbed it first and held it open behind her for him. “I don’t mean to pry,” he said, “but do you know for sure no one else was in your apartment?”

  She pursed her lips and sighed as they approached the reception desk. “I shared it with Daniel since coming back from Amar. And with him gone, it’s just me. Shouldn’t I be giving this info to law enforcement first? If you want to listen, fine, but—”

  He felt a smirk crawl across the corner of his mouth as his right hand reached into his inner left jacket pocket. He touched the ID sleeve carrying his badge and FBI identification, which he still hadn’t gotten used to carrying around—not that he’d had it for all that long. Less than a day, to be precise.

  “What?” Yasmine’s hands landed on her hips, the movement releasing more of that delicious scent of honey and cinnamon. “Since when is any of this something to smile about?”

  He pulled out the ID holder and flashed his shiny new FBI shield for the first time since leaving Quantico, making sure Yasmine was the only one to see it. No need to alarm the local police or have them think he’d come to pull rank. They might not understand that he’d stumbled into the shooting scene by coincidence, and he’d rather have a handle on the situation before revealing his credentials.

  Yasmine gaped at the badge, then looked from him to the receptionist and back at him. “What is that? Noel?”

  He touched a finger to his lips. “Yasmine, I am law enforcement. And as much as I want to think that you returning from Amar, your brother’s death and this attempt on your life are not related, let’s not rule it out.”

  “But—” She stopped and crossed her arms. Looked at the floor with a frown and then back at him, her stony eyes reflecting a deep, fresh pain. When she spoke, her voice was almost a whisper. “Noel, there’s something else you should know, something no one else believes me about because I don’t have any proof.”

  He gripped her by the shoulders so she faced him straight on, but he let go just as quickly when he saw the surprise in her face. “You can trust me.”

  Whether she actually did or not, he couldn’t tell, but he could tell she was keeping a secret that was eating her alive inside. He’d learned to identify that in training, so the knowledge was recent and clear.

  She came to a decision, her eyes flicking first to the pocket where he’d tucked his badge and then back at him. “I think Daniel might have been murdered.”

  TWO

  Yasmine watched surprise blossom across Noel’s face and immediately regretted her words. She shouldn’t have said anything. She had no proof, nothing but a bad feeling about Daniel’s death that had followed her for three weeks. Ever since the afternoon the phone call had come into the bakery as she served elderly Mrs. Notting her daily cinnamon bun and cup of sweet Turkish coffee.

  She could still see the plate and cup hit the floor and shatter, mirroring Yasmine’s heart in that very moment. She could feel the burn of the hot coffee where it had splashed back on her leg, leaving a round, red mark that stayed for a week after the incident. She remembered Mrs. Notting’s surprised face at Yasmine’s blunder, then the woman’s leathery, wrinkled hands as they held Yasmine’s flour-dusted palms and stroked her back as she knelt on the floor and wept.

  “Forget it,” she said, turning to the receptionist. “Hi, I’m the one who called in about the shooting at the Willow Street apartment complex?”

  “Of course,” said the receptionist, a willowy, forty-something woman with light brown skin and a name tag introducing her as Nia Hardy. “Officer Wayne is waiting to speak with you. One moment.”

  As the receptionist picked up her phone to call Officer Wayne to meet them, Noel touched Yasmine’s arm, his brow furrowed.

  “Please tell the police what you just told me.”

  She already had, weeks ago when she’d come to make a s
tatement about Daniel’s death, but the lack of proof hadn’t gone over well. The officer she’d spoken to had taken her statement and done the equivalent of patting her on the hand and sending her away. “Forget it.”

  “Yasmine, I’m serious.”

  “I said, forget it.”

  “Is that a no?”

  “Ah, Miss Browder.” Yasmine’s heart sank as Officer Wayne rounded the corner. This was the same officer who’d taken her statement about Daniel. He now gave her a look akin to mild suspicion. “What have you come to see us about today? Not more conspiracy theories, I hope.”

  Yasmine nearly lunged at the man, but Noel’s arm shot out to grasp the receptionist’s countertop, blocking her way. Part of her wanted to shove through and give the officer a stern talking-to, but another part felt grateful for Noel’s intervention before she made a bad situation worse.

  “Miss Browder was attacked in her home by armed gunmen,” Noel explained. “I happened to be driving by and brought her to safety.”

  Officer Wayne eyed Noel warily as though uncertain whether to trust anyone associated with her. The men were silent as they sized each other up, until finally Officer Wayne sighed, dropped his shoulders and waved them forward.

  “Right. Come down to the desk so I can take your statements.”

  Fifteen minutes later, she stormed out of the station with Noel on her heels, though he was obviously less incensed. They’d given their statements to Officer Wayne, who’d refused to tell her anything about what the dispatched police had found when they’d arrived at her presumably shot-to-pieces apartment.

  “He thinks it’s gang violence, Noel.” She glared at him as he came alongside her. “Gang violence!”

  “There is a precedent for groups from Buffalo extending their reach into small towns.”

  “Do you really think that my apartment was shot up randomly? Three weeks after my brother—You know what? Forget it.” She blinked away hot tears behind her anger lest he, too, think that she was overreacting. She stalked away from Noel, from Officer Wayne and everyone else who looked at her like she’d gone crazy.

  The worst of it was, if she’d been in their shoes, she’d probably have thought the exact same thing about her claims and accusations. No proof, no evidence, no reason to suspect anything other than the obvious answer.

  “How are you planning to get home?” Noel quickened his pace to get in front of her as they reached the parking lot. “Do you have someone who can give you a ride?”

  She stopped walking and stared at the lot. Right. She hadn’t driven here, and Noel’s car was needed as evidence for ballistics. He’d handed over his car keys to Officer Wayne.

  “And do you have someplace to stay tonight?” he continued. “Somewhere to go since your apartment is off-limits?”

  It was a lot of questions from a man she hadn’t seen in ten years and who didn’t even live here anymore. They might have been friends once, and she might have had a childish crush on him a decade ago, but as grateful as she was that he’d appeared in her street at just the right time and had pursued a law enforcement career, she’d had enough of surprises and other people for one day.

  “I’m going to walk down the street and get something to eat, since apparently I’m in no danger and am simply an incidental victim of gang violence. It’s been a long day, and I’d like to get off my feet. I’ll figure out the rest as I go.”

  “Want company?”

  “Not particularly.” She shoved her hands in her pockets, squeezing her arms to her sides.

  “Okay.” He looked disappointed but didn’t press her. “Can I at least give you my phone number while I’m here? In case you run into more trouble, or if you can’t find a place to stay? I’m sure my parents would put you up in the spare room.”

  “Aren’t you staying in the spare room?”

  “Not if you need it. I can go elsewhere.”

  He stopped walking, and she noticed only after she’d taken several steps ahead. Was he really going to give up that easily? The sincerity on his face made her feel bad for rejecting his company. After all, he’d driven her here and gotten his car shot up by the guys who’d come after her.

  She’d also be lying to herself if she said she wasn’t curious about what he’d been up to since she’d boarded the plane for Amar a decade ago. Maybe a little company wouldn’t be too bad, at least for dinner. It didn’t have to mean anything. Keep telling yourself that, Yasmine.

  Her heart did a little flip when she looked back at him. He’d grown into his frame well. The last time she’d seen him, he was all arms and legs, with spiky blond hair and front teeth that only a mama rabbit would love. Now his shoulders were broad and strong, and he’d filled out his features. His stance radiated confidence, and if she hadn’t known he’d gone into law enforcement, she’d have guessed at some kind of work that required both strength and mental fortitude. He hadn’t flinched when she’d given the order to drive as bullets peppered his car’s windshield. Quite a different Noel from the boy she’d known who’d refused to talk to her for months after he’d confessed his crush on her when she was nine and he, eleven.

  She’d developed feelings for him far too late to do anything about it—they’d been like ships passing in the night, because by the time she’d gathered the courage to tell him about her girlish crush at fourteen years old, her parents had already planned to whisk the family off to be with her ill grandmother before she passed away, and the trip became a move. Besides, at the time, she’d thought he probably didn’t care for her anymore. Not as more than a friend, anyway, since he always seemed to be holding hands with one girl or another in the hallways at school.

  Surely he’d gotten married and had several children by now. She couldn’t see his ring finger from where she stood, but the thought of allowing a married Noel Black to eat dinner with her and catch up seemed less threatening than it initially had.

  “Look, I didn’t mean to sound rash,” she said. “There’s a little Mediterranean restaurant up the road, a five-minute walk. I’d like to hear what you’ve been up to and how you got that flashy new accessory.”

  He nodded and rejoined her. They walked more or less in silence toward the restaurant, Yasmine leading the way. After a few minutes, Noel broke the stalemate.

  “Yasmine, what you said about Daniel—”

  “Can we not? Not right now. Not here.”

  “Sure, sure.”

  The silence resumed until they neared the intersection where the little restaurant was located. They stood waiting for the walk signal, but when the light turned green, one of the cars at the intersection backfired. Yasmine gasped and ducked out of instinct. Her cheeks immediately warmed as she realized her blunder, seeing an antique-looking red convertible sputter through the intersection and down the road.

  She accepted Noel’s outstretched hand to help her back to her feet, but resented the raised eyebrow he turned on her.

  “Can you blame me?” she muttered before hoofing it across the street. As if she didn’t have enough to deal with today, without getting jumpy at every loud noise. She pulled open the door to the Mediterranean restaurant and held up two fingers for the hostess. The young woman pulled two menus from a pile at the host stand and seated Yasmine and Noel in a booth by the front window.

  Yasmine flipped open the menu but closed it immediately. She knew what she wanted to eat. Something familiar and comforting. Today was not the day to take risks.

  “What’s good here?” Noel perused the menu with feigned interest. Yasmine could tell that he wasn’t paying full attention. His frequent glances at her said that he had questions to ask, but he hoped she’d answer them without him saying a word.

  She tried to pretend she didn’t notice and gazed out the window at the passing cars. “The moussaka here is fantastic. Better than my aunt’s version, but don’t tell her.”

  “
Moose-what? What’s in that, eggplant?” He tapped the plastic-covered menu and sighed. “I have to admit, I’m relieved that I was the one driving down your street this afternoon. I was on my way to the bank on the other side of town and decided to take a shortcut down Willow. If I hadn’t come along when I did...”

  His voice trailed off, and she felt his eyes bore into her. She wanted to eat and find a place to sleep. Her aunt would take her in without question—well, maybe a few questions—but she’d also want to talk about Daniel. And there’d be worry and fussing and phone calls overseas. Yasmine just wanted a place to lie down and close her eyes. Her 5:00 a.m. start at the bakery would come soon enough, as it always did.

  “Yasmine?”

  Her attention snapped back to him at the sudden tension in his voice. His posture had gone rigid, and he stared at a spot below her clavicle. She tried to follow his gaze.

  “Don’t!” he exclaimed.

  Alarm sliced through her stomach, and she hardly dared to breathe. She saw the panic in his eyes, panic that he’d obviously been trained to bury. “What is it?”

  His throat tightened, and she looked anyway as he took a sharp breath. She froze as her eyes locked on the red dot that wavered directly over her heart.

  A sniper outside had pinned her in his crosshairs.

  * * *

  Noel tried to clamp down on the panic. This was real life. Not a training exercise. Less than twenty-four hours out of Quantico and the woman across the table from him had a sniper ready to end her life at any moment.

  What was the right move in this situation? You’re sitting here thinking, and that shot could kill her before you blink.

  “Get down!” he shouted. He waited until he saw her move before launching himself sideways.

  Glass shattered around them, and the thud of bullets hitting the back of the booth told Noel she’d gotten out of the way just in time. She lay sprawled on the floor as screams erupted inside the restaurant, patrons leaping from their seats to head to the back of the room. He reached for Yasmine’s arm, and she crawled toward him.