Читать книгу Outside The Law - Michelle Karl - Страница 11

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 statement 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.

“Everyone okay?” he called into the restaurant. “Has anyone been hurt? Check your neighbor!” The patrons scrambled to check limbs and look each other over, sending thumbs up his way to indicate they were all right. With no immediate injuries to handle, he turned his attention back to Yasmine.

“You all right?” The way she favored her left knee looked worrisome.

“I’m fine,” she said. She crouched next to him behind the next set of booth seats. “Shouldn’t we get out of here?”

“Not until I know it’s safe.” He touched the gun holstered on his side, reminding himself it was there if he needed it. He peered around the corner of the booth, scanning for any unusual movement across the street, but at seven o’clock, the descending twilight made it difficult to see anything out of place. Plenty of cars zoomed through the intersection just outside the front door, oblivious to the goings-on inside the restaurant.

“How will you know that?” Yasmine sounded impatient. “I feel like a sitting duck here. We should move.”

“No. We wait for the police.”

“Whoever shot at me will be gone by then. If it’s a sniper, he won’t have had time to set up again and will be on the move. We can spot him. It’s not like it’s easy to disguise a sniper rifle. Let’s go!”

Noel stared at Yasmine, whose entire body seemed to tremble with the need to get up and move. “No. We let the police handle it.” He pulled out his phone and began to call the direct line to the station, but a growl of frustration stopped him short.

The sharpness of Yasmine’s glare could have cut him in two. “I thought you were the police now.”

“In a manner of speaking, but this isn’t my jurisdiction.”

“Sounds like an excuse. I’m not going to cower here. This is the second attempt on my life today, and that shooter might have information about why it’s happening.”

She had a compelling argument. But it seemed foolhardy to run into danger, though it was still early evening and the streets crowded. A sniper would certainly be in retreat, and she made a good point about being able to spot him.

He ran a hand across his face and groaned. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

“Of course not. Make the call on the way if you have to. Let’s go.” Without waiting for his assent, she clapped him on the shoulder and ran in a crouch past the remaining front windows. When she reached the door, she scanned the roofs of the nearby buildings, then took off outside. Noel scrambled after her, trying not to show the shock he felt at her audacity. What made her think she could take on a sniper?

For that matter, how had she gotten away from all those gunmen who’d come after her less than two hours ago at her apartment building? And how was she keeping her cool so well? There was more to Yasmine Browder than he remembered. Something had happened to turn his delicate and shy but sarcastic childhood friend into a woman of strength and confidence.

When he stepped out of the restaurant, he saw Yasmine weaving between people on the sidewalk, heading away from the police station. He was loath to leave the crime scene, but there were many eyewitnesses inside who could explain what they’d seen. And when the police finally caught up with him and Yasmine...well, flashing the shield was inevitable at this point.

“Black!” she called him, gesturing while looking down the street. “This way.” He noticed she took care to position herself near garbage cans and mailboxes along the block as she went. She’d learned how to seek cover, how to make herself less of a target. And she claimed not to know anything about these people after her? Believing that was becoming more and more difficult.

He caught up to her. “Don’t run off like that. If we’re going to find this guy, we need to stick together.”

“Yeah, well, if I hadn’t waited for your go-ahead, I’d have him already. The delay cost us. He’s probably long gone.” Her glance at him was not friendly. “I thought Feds were trained to protect the public from danger, not sit around and wait for local PD to think about maybe doing something.”

He felt his hackles rise at the insult. “Listen, Yasmine, I don’t know what makes you think you can—”

“There!” She pointed down the sidewalk, two blocks away. A man with a large black backpack had just crossed the street. There was nothing otherwise incriminating about him, but the moment Noel saw the man’s profile, his newly honed instincts kicked in.

There was something off about that guy, and Yasmine had found him before Noel did. Some new Fed he was turning out to be.

“Come on, Black.” Yasmine began walking quickly down the sidewalk. Noel followed close behind, keeping one hand on his sidearm, but at this distance he noticed again that she favored her left leg. It didn’t seem to slow her down, though, and they started to gain on the man.

Noel tried to memorize a description of the individual as they drew closer. Dark clothing, close-cut dark hair, small ears, sharp nose. The backpack was black and had no logo, and if a shooter had the dexterity to take a shot and disassemble his weapon quickly, it would fit inside the main compartment of the bag.

The man approached the next intersection as the light turned red. Noel and Yasmine were only half a block away. Noel gripped the handle of his sidearm, ready to act. They’d reach the man in a matter of seconds.

The man looked to his left and right as he waited. And then over his shoulder. He locked eyes with Noel and, in an instant, shifted from person of interest to suspect.

The man took off, dodging oncoming cars as he sprinted across the road. Horns blared and onlookers shouted in surprise, and of course Yasmine was right behind, taking advantage of the braking cars to weave the same path. Adrenaline shot through Noel’s system as he drew his gun and raced after both of them.

“Stop, FBI!” His shout only spurred the suspect on. In a burst of speed, the man continued down the sidewalk, pushing people out of the way. Noel ached to stop and help them, to make sure they were okay, but if the runner was also the shooter, he’d do far greater good by catching the man and bringing him in.

“This way,” Yasmine said suddenly, grabbing Noel’s arm and pulling him off course.

“What are you doing?” Noel growled at her, but their momentum had already been redirected as she led them down an alley behind a building. Their path, unimpeded by passersby or sidewalk signage, brought them to the other side of the block. They emerged from the alley moments before the suspect turned the corner, looking back over his shoulder for his pursuers.

With practiced efficiency, Yasmine grabbed the man’s shoulder and pushed him to the ground, twisting his arm behind his back. He tried to rise, but Yasmine managed to grip his other arm and hold them both in place.

“Get off!” The man shouted. “I’ve done nothing wrong!”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Noel said, training his gun on the struggling suspect. He really needed to find out how Yasmine had learned that move, too. He leaned over and carefully, with Yasmine’s help, pulled off the man’s backpack. The man groaned in pain as Yasmine held him in place. “I don’t want to hurt you, sir, but I am armed and authorized to use lethal force if necessary.”

“Get her off me, man. She’s going to break my arm.”

“You’ll be fine,” Yasmine muttered. “It’ll just hurt for a few days.”

But the last thing Noel needed on his first day as an official special agent was an assault charge on his hands. He kept his firearm trained on the man and waved the backpack. “Yasmine, I’m throwing this to you. Release his arms. He’s not going anywhere. Right?”

“Whatever,” muttered the man.

Yasmine released her hold, and Noel tossed her the backpack. She unzipped it and looked inside, then nodded at him. The gun was there. They had the sniper.

“Who sent you?” Yasmine looked angry enough to rival any FBI interrogator. “Why are you shooting at me? Who shot up my apartment?”

The man on the ground flipped onto his back, looked up at her and grinned. His jaw tensed as though he’d bitten down on something, and a shiver ran down Noel’s spine. Something about this wasn’t right...

Suddenly the man’s eyes rolled up, and he began to convulse.

“Yasmine, get back!” Noel reached for her and pulled her next to him, stepping away from the suspect.

Foam rose from between the man’s lips as he shook. Then, as quickly as it started, it was over. The man didn’t move. His eyes were open and glazed, lifeless. Horror seeped into Noel’s insides as he considered the meaning of the man’s seizure. He stepped up to the body and knelt, pressing his fingers against the side of the man’s throat. No pulse.

“What just happened?” Yasmine stared at the man on the ground. “We had him. We had him and he was going to tell me why I’ve been used for target practice today.”

Noel shook his head and stepped back. “No, he wasn’t.”

Yasmine regarded him with wide eyes. He didn’t want to have to tell her this, to explain that he suspected something very big was going on and that she had to know why. She had to be hiding information. No one got targeted twice in one day.

Even fewer had their assailants commit suicide upon capture.

“Yasmine?” He tried to keep his voice level, for her sake. It had taken only seconds for this seemingly fearless person before him to go from warrior to worried young woman.

“What?” Her hands shook as she held the backpack, and he wished he knew what thoughts swirled through her head.

“You said when we were in the police station that you suspect your brother’s death wasn’t an accident. Regardless of what Officer Wayne believes, I think we need to sit down so you can tell me why. Because if it’s true, seems like the death of one Browder wasn’t enough. Somebody’s eager to make sure you’re out of the picture, too. It’s time to tell me what you know.”