REUNION ON THE RUN

When her apartment is besieged by masked gunmen, Yasmine Browder’s convinced it’s tied to her investigation into her brother’s “accidental” death three weeks ago. Narrowly escaping, she flags down the car of a passerby she thought she’d never see again—her childhood crush. Unlike the local police, newly minted FBI agent Noel Black doesn’t believe the attack is a coincidence, especially when the attempts on her life don’t stop. Yasmine’s onto the truth about her brother, and someone powerful wants her dead. With nobody to trust and just days out of training, Noel must find a way to keep her alive...because now that he’s found Yasmine, he refuses to lose her again.

Dear Reader,

Thank you so much for coming along with Yasmine and Noel on their whirlwind journey. Both of these characters started out feeling a sense of displacement—they were at the start of new chapters in their lives and not entirely settled into the changes yet. I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve felt like that. When folks ask me, “Where are you from?” I tend to answer with, “Which province? I grew up in four.” Yep, my family moved a lot! But each time I entered a new phase of life—and I don’t even think a person necessarily needs to move geographical locations to feel this way—that sense of displacement was a God-given learning opportunity. Often a tough one (albeit not tough like bullets and car chases, phew!), but I’ve learned that home is, well, where you find the ones you love.

I also hope you enjoyed seeing a few familiar faces in this story—if you’ve read Fatal Freeze, you probably recognized the heroic CIA agent Shaun! If you’ve read Unknown Enemy, you probably recognized Chief Black, who helped out Colin and Ginny, as well as a return appearance of the Kingdom of Amar via Yasmine’s family background. I hope these little cameos were as much fun for you to read as they were for me to write!

I love hearing from readers. Come hang out with me at michellekarl.com or find me on Twitter, @_Michelle Karl_. Thank you so much for reading Outside the Law!

Blessings,

Michelle

“We have to get out of here before it’s too late.”

“Leave the safe house?” Yasmine asked.

Noel took her by the arm. “Let’s go.”

But when they stepped outside and saw a black SUV like the one that had smashed into them heading their way, he dragged her into the backyard.

“What are you doing?” she gasped.

“We did an exercise like this in Quantico. Trust me.”

She followed him through the neighboring yard, sure her pounding heart would give away their position, then back to the garage. She joined him in the vehicle there and he pulled out. “So much for our lead. They heard us.”

Of course they had. The past two days had been a nightmare that showed no sign of stopping. Yasmine watched in the side mirror as another SUV closed the gap between them.

Within seconds an arm snaked out the window on the passenger side, holding a gun.

For the first time since all of this had begun, a stark truth hit Yasmine right between the eyes.

They weren’t going to make it.

MICHELLE KARL is an unabashed bibliophile and romantic suspense author. She lives in Canada with her husband and an assortment of critters, including a codependent cat and an opinionated parrot. When she’s not reading and consuming copious amounts of coffee, she writes the stories she’d like to find in her “to be read” pile. She also loves animals, world music and eating the last piece of cheesecake.

Outside the Law

Michelle Karl

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of My righteousness.

—Isaiah 41:10

To my editor, Emily R, for her invaluable insight, and to my KV sisters, for their cherished encouragement.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Dear Reader

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

Extract

Copyright

ONE

“I’m going to be fine, Auntie Zee. Please stop worrying about me.” Yasmine Browder hoisted her messenger bag higher on her shoulder and tucked her cell phone between her cheek and ear so she could reach back to pull her ponytail holder out of her hair. After having her hair up all day at the bakery, her scalp felt tight and in desperate need of relief. “I’m not lonely.”

It was a partial truth, but she wanted to ease her aunt’s anxieties, not add to them.

“I can’t help but worry about you, honey.” Her aunt’s words were strained. “You’ve been back for only eight months and you work so hard, and now, with Daniel gone...”

Aunt Zara’s voice trailed off, but Yasmine caught the unspoken meaning. She ignored it and slipped the hair elastic around her wrist. She pulled her sweater sleeves down, sneezing at the flour released from where it had become trapped in the fabric. She normally wore short-sleeved shirts to work, but the weather had cooled with the change of seasons—and besides, she often found herself chilled by the weather in western New York State. Especially after having returned here only about eight months ago from a ten-year stay overseas in the Kingdom of Amar, the desert-swathed country where most of her mother’s family lived.

“I have to put in the work if I want Cinnamon Sunrise to thrive. Starting a small business is no easy feat.” She’d come back to her hometown to live with her brother, but since his death several weeks ago, she’d begun wondering if she ever should have come back at all. He’d been happy to share his apartment with her, but now that she was on her own...well, Auntie Zee wasn’t far off in her concerns. In dusty Amar, she’d never been alone, constantly surrounded by friends and family, whereas the prospect of entering the apartment tonight, knowing she’d spend the evening inside by herself watching television or reading—or, if she was being honest with herself, probably working on new recipes for the bakery’s Thanksgiving menu—sounded less than appealing.

But what was her other option? Admit defeat to her aunt and listen to another lecture on why she was wasting her life running a bakery? Or phone a relative back in Amar, only to hear a different lecture about how she should move back there for good? That wasn’t appealing, either, and besides, she loved Newherst. And New York State, despite the weather. She’d made a good life here in only eight months, and she cherished her childhood memories of this town.

“You’re better than this, Yasmine. All that education and all that discipline you learned in the military, and you spend your days baking rolls. For what? You might as well go out and get married like your cousins. At least then—”

“I like what I do, auntie.” Yasmine tried to maintain her composure as she trudged up the steps to her brother’s fifth-floor apartment. The elevator would have been faster, sure, but staying health-conscious had become a priority since she started spending her days around breads, sweets and pastries. “And I’m surprised you’re not more supportive. You remember that many of my recipes are based on your own wonderful creations, right? The people of Newherst adore your spiced flatbread.”

Her aunt grumbled unintelligibly as Yasmine reached the apartment door and dug in her bag for the keys.

“I’m home, auntie. I’ll call you tomorrow, all right?”

“You’ll come for dinner, is what you’ll do. At six.”

“The bakery closes at six. I’ll come as soon as the doors are shut and locked.” Yasmine found her keys in a side pocket and shook her head at the silliness of constantly losing the same item over and over each day, in the same bag, no less. She slipped the key into the lock.

“Fine.” Her aunt went silent before releasing a heavy sigh. “I love you, honey. And I miss your brother.”

“We all do, Auntie Zee. Love you, too, and see you tomorrow.” She turned the door handle, slipped her phone into her messenger bag and paused.

Something felt wrong.

She pulled the door shut again and slipped the key out. When she’d turned the key, she hadn’t heard a click, which meant that the door hadn’t been locked after all. She clearly remembered locking the door that morning. The only other people with a key to this apartment were the building landlord and her aunt, and her aunt didn’t drive.

Her throat grew tight and dry as she considered her options. Maybe it was a neighbor and the landlord had let the person in. Or maybe there’d been a utilities issue and someone had come inside to fix it, and nobody had locked up afterward.

She glanced down the hallway, seeing nothing else amiss.

“You’re just being paranoid,” she mumbled. “You’re alone and jumpy since losing Daniel, and now look at you, talking to yourself. Get a grip before you give Auntie Zee more ammunition.”

Taking a deep breath, Yasmine gripped the handle again and turned. She pushed open the door and lifted her messenger bag strap up to slip it off her shoulder. A click came from somewhere nearby, and she froze.

“Hello? Is somebody there?” Stop it, she thought. There’s nobody—

Something zipped past her ear, splintering the door frame beside her. At the same instant, the two front windows shattered as black-clad bodies burst through them into the room, aiming large semiautomatic weapons at her.

As the next bullet zipped past her ear, she dropped to the floor and rolled out of the apartment, then sprang to her feet and sprinted down the hallway. Bullets tore through the wall beside her, ripping through her living room and bedroom. Those are powerful guns. She scolded herself for the thought. Why are you analyzing their weapons at a time like this? Go, go, go!

Her left knee began to sting, but despite knowing what that sting might mean, she kept moving. She’d taken a bullet before, during her time in the Amar military. She’d joined out of loyalty to her family’s heritage and as a way to earn dual citizenship with both countries she considered home.

She reached the elevator and paused, but the thundering of boots behind her said she’d run out of time. It was back to the stairs.

She spun on her heel and slammed her body through the door into the stairwell. She felt air displacement as a bullet whipped past her shoulder. She gripped the hand rail and took the stairs three, four at a time, swinging her body around at each landing to gain precious seconds in her escape.

Of course, if whoever was shooting at her had left somebody outside to guard the exits, she’d be done for. And she’d never know why.

It doesn’t make sense. Why are people shooting at me? And why shoot to kill instead of taking me into custody or as a hostage?

Had she done something or said something political since returning from Amar? But that wouldn’t make sense. Both countries were on the best of terms, especially since the recent discovery by an American professor of an ancient archaeological site in Amar had resulted in a boost in tourism and significant global press about the partnership between several universities there and here in the United States.

“I don’t know anything,” she said through gritted teeth. “What are you after?”

At the base of the stairs, she pressed her ear against the exit door, listening. She heard nothing unusual outside, but the pounding of heavy footfalls in the stairwell and the sudden ding of the elevator doors told her she’d run out of time to make a decision.

It was escape or die, which left her with only one real choice. She shoved the crash bar on the door, blinking against the descending sun’s rays. The footfalls were growing closer and closer, and another gunshot told her that they weren’t too concerned about ricochets in the metal stairwell—so they were very stupid, they wore full body armor or they were highly trained and incredibly accurate shots when presented with a normal target. Perhaps they hadn’t accounted for her military training. Or maybe they had—maybe that’s why there were so many of them.

Seeing no one outside waiting, Yasmine let the heavy metal door swing shut behind her as she sprinted toward the street. Several cars drove up and down the street on either side of the road, but she saw nothing unusual for this time of day...except the three black Suburbans parked in front of the apartment building. She crouched behind a steel waste container and peered around the corner, praying that nobody in the SUVs had been assigned to watch this edge of the building. When no one jumped out of the vehicles and ran toward her, she sent a quick prayer of thanks to God and tried to calm her racing thoughts.

At any second, men with guns would come bursting out of that stairwell door, and it wouldn’t take them long to find her. She couldn’t run back to the building to reach her car—the parking structure was on the other side, and if there were still men in the black SUVs, she’d never get there in one piece.

None of it made sense, but she’d have to figure out the whys later. If she survived.

She took a deep breath and counted to ten, exhaling slowly. She’d have to make a run for it down the street. She had to make it only one block before she’d reach a fairly busy street, where she should be able to get help and maybe flag down a ride to the police station. She plunged her hand into her bag and touched her phone, thinking to get a head start on a 911 phone call, but she’d run out of time—the side door burst open and five black-garbed men poured out and stood in a V-shaped formation, scanning the area. Even their faces were covered by shiny helmets and faceplates.

She swallowed hard, kicking herself for not moving seconds earlier. She’d taken too long to decide what to do next, but that didn’t mean she was going to stay here and wait for a bullet to find her.

I don’t know what’s going on, Lord, but I’m going to trust that You have a way out for me. She closed her eyes and visualized the route she would take. Three, two, one...

Yasmine took off in a crouch from her hiding place, hoping the waste disposal bin would provide enough cover to distract the gunmen from seeing her right away. It didn’t take long, though. While she didn’t hear any shouts behind her, she felt air whoosh past her arm as she ran. They were still shooting, and they clearly didn’t care if they hit anyone or anything else.

A car turned the corner at the end of the block, and Yasmine’s heart sank. She waved her arms, not caring if it made her a bigger target. “Turn around! Go back!” she shouted, hoping the driver would hear her, but he kept coming down the road. If he continued, he’d head right into the line of fire.

She veered off the sidewalk and into the street, heading directly toward the car. Even if the driver couldn’t hear her or was trying to ignore her waving arms, there was no way he’d be able to avoid a person right in the middle of the street.

“Reverse! Call the police!” She reached the center of the street, but the car didn’t slow down. She put on a burst of speed as more air displacement near her shoulder and waist told her that it was only a matter of seconds before the shooters had her directly in their sights.

And if the driver wouldn’t stop, she’d force him to.

She ran straight toward the hood of the car and let herself be swiped by the side of the front bumper. The car screeched to a halt as she took the hit, tensing her body and rolling off to the side, collapsing on the opposite side of the hood.

Before the driver could open his door and jump out to ask questions, Yasmine reached up, grabbed the passenger door handle and threw open the door. Then she lunged inside, slammed the door shut and slid down in the seat so that she couldn’t be seen through the windshield.

“There are men with guns coming this way,” she said in a rush. “Reverse the car or we’re both going to get shot.”

As if in response, a bullet slammed against the windshield, sending a spider web of cracks spreading out from where it struck. Yasmine gaped. Why didn’t it shatter?

Only then did she think to look at the driver of the car, who stared at her with an expression of utter disbelief. “Noel?” she said. “Noel Black?”

“Yasmine Browder?” He laughed, though his mouth hung open in shock. “What’s going on here? Why are you in my car?”

Ping. Crack. More spider webs spread across the windshield. It didn’t look like the thing could take many more hits.

“Can we do this later?” She pointed at the cracks. “Preferably while we’re both still alive?”

“Right.” He threw the car into Reverse, looked over his shoulder and stepped on the gas. The car shot to life. He backed down the street, turned the wheel and shifted gears to lunge forward and around the corner.

Yasmine released the breath she’d been holding and peeked through the rear window. “Thank you. If you don’t mind, can I get a ride to the police station?”

* * *

Noel Black tried not to stare at the woman sitting in the passenger seat of his car. She looked terrified and trying very hard not to show it. After spending twenty weeks in the FBI Academy at Quantico for his special agent training, he’d seen that look on the faces of many of his classmates—and he’d probably worn it himself, to be honest—more than once in the time they’d all spent together. And those had only been Hogan’s Alley training scenarios. He’d always hoped that look wouldn’t appear on his own face the first time he tackled a real-life threatening situation, but he hadn’t counted on receiving the shock of his life less than twenty-four hours after graduation.

He had a feeling he wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding his surprise at seeing his childhood crush jump into his vehicle to avoid getting shot. My poor car. Good thing I had her readied for duty last week.

“You want to tell me what just happened?” he asked her, though what he really wanted to do was pull over and savor the moment of this reunion. How long had it been since he’d seen her—ten years? More? “Were those guys actually shooting at you?”

Yasmine shook her head and chewed on the edge of a fingernail as she stared through the back window. “Yes? No? I don’t know. Look, Noel, I’m sorry to ask this of you, but I really do need to get to the police station. Actually, I should call 911 first, get them over there.”

“Who were those guys?” He’d seen the black Suburbans at the end of the street and what appeared to be men in full black tactical gear—including facial coverings—down by the Willow Street apartment complex.

“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 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.”

THREE

Yasmine’s hands trembled as she waited in the police station for Noel. She held a lukewarm cup of coffee that she’d accepted more for the warmth radiating from the beverage than anything else. She felt cold, so very cold, and her stomach hurt. Whether from lack of food or the strain of the day, she didn’t know. Did it matter?

She rubbed the side of her left knee, feeling for the place a bullet had grazed her as she ran through the apartment building only hours before. It still stung, but it hadn’t bled too much, and going to the hospital to stitch it up seemed a needless waste of time. It would heal if only she stopped running away from shooters and watching them die in front of her.

It didn’t make sense. Why would anyone want to kill her? And why would the shooter, once caught, commit suicide to avoid talking? The only thing she could figure was that this whole day had to be a case of mistaken identity.

Noel had wanted her to talk immediately about Daniel’s death, but the police had arrived on-scene—thankfully Officer Wayne hadn’t been among them—and they’d had to give those reports first. Besides, she felt a little silly for having blurted out her suspicion to him earlier. She’d been pumped up with adrenaline after escaping the shooters in her apartment, not to mention unexpectedly seeing Noel again after ten years. When it came right down to it, her hunch about Daniel’s death was just that—a hunch. She had no proof, nothing concrete but a knowledge that Daniel was an exceptionally careful worker and that the routine investigation into the work accident that claimed his life had been wrapped up in less than forty-eight hours. Packaged up with a little bow and presented in a press release in the local paper. Unfortunate tragedy, they’d said. Completely preventable, if only Daniel had taken the correct precautions during his shift. Yasmine couldn’t believe that her brother, the safety fanatic, would have done anything to endanger himself or others.

And it only added to her uncertainty about the whole thing that just a few days before, Daniel had said something she wished she’d paid more attention to at the time.

“I think I stumbled across something at work today,” he’d said as she rushed to pack herself a lunch at quarter to five in the morning. Daniel wasn’t usually up so early, but sometimes he had trouble sleeping and spent time online playing games or working on lesson plans for the online engineering courses he occasionally taught through a local adult education center. She’d hardly paid attention to him as he spoke to her that day. “I was waiting in the boss’s office to present him with a briefing, and I saw one of the reports I’d filed a week earlier. It didn’t look right.”

“Mmm-hmm,” she’d said, barely giving him a second glance. “Not right, how?”

“The numbers on the inspection sheet... I didn’t get much of a chance to take it all in before Clarke returned to the office. We got caught up in conversation, so I forgot about it. But now that I think back, it can’t have been right. Those numbers were not the same.”

“You probably missed the date or something,” she’d said. “Maybe you were looking at an old report. You said yourself that you didn’t get much chance to take it all in.”

Daniel had rubbed his eyes and sighed. “That’s true.”

“So why are you losing sleep over it? And if you’re worried about a problem, you should talk to your boss about it, not me.” She’d closed her lunch sack and tucked it into the colorful patchwork messenger bag she used as a purse, a gift from one of her Amaran cousins. “He might even be grateful—if there is a problem, he might be too busy to have spotted it. You might be doing the place a favor.”

He’d nodded, but even when he agreed with her, his voice sounded uncertain. “Yeah. Maybe. Thanks, sis. Hope you don’t burn anything today.” He’d playfully punched her in the shoulder and she’d punched him back. “Bring me home a cinnamon roll or some baklava.”

“You don’t need any more sweets, Daniel.” She’d given him an appraising eye, just like their mother used to do when either of them took a second helping of dessert, and they’d both laughed. He’d waved her off and she’d headed to work, forgetting about the conversation moments after closing the apartment door.

Days later, he was dead. And it wasn’t until a week after the funeral that she’d recalled their conversation and realized that maybe—just maybe—she’d told him to do the very thing that had gotten him killed.

It was supposition. Pure conjecture. But still, she couldn’t shake the awful feeling that somehow, Daniel might actually have seen something he wasn’t supposed to. And she’d told him to tell his boss about it.

The timing all seemed a little too convenient.

On the other hand, without proof or anything to substantiate her feelings, nobody had any reason to take her seriously. Especially not Noel, the big FBI agent.

“Ready to go?” Noel crossed the station toward her, tossing a set of keys up and catching them as he moved. Officer Wayne came with him, his expression flat and unreadable. “I went through your old reports with Wayne, and we’re set to go.”

“You have your car back?” Yasmine made a point of not looking in the officer’s direction, but that meant she needed to focus on Noel—and it was hard not to notice once again that the physique of her childhood friend had changed considerably in the past decade. He’d been such a scrawny thing back in the day. It was going to take some getting used to, seeing him filled out and carrying himself with the utmost confidence. What on earth had inspired timid Noel Black to enter the FBI, anyway? She also hadn’t yet had the chance to ask him about his family. What a day this was turning out to be.

“No.” Noel sighed. “Not yet. But Officer Wayne here knows a guy and had him bring over a car for us.”

“Us?” Yasmine narrowed her eyes at him.

Noel cleared his throat and clutched the keys as they dropped once more into his hand. “Yes, us. I’m taking you to my parents’ place. You’ll be safe there. You can’t go back to your apartment tonight, and I’m sure my mom would love to see you.”

Yasmine almost laughed. “I’ve seen your mom more than you probably have, Noel. I own a bakery here in town, and she’s come in a few times.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, and she was flooded with the memory of Noel and Daniel as they joked together while playing board games. What was that old one, Mastermind? They loved to play that, though they always seemed to make up their own rules. “I guess she wouldn’t have mentioned I went to Quantico, since I didn’t even tell her at first. I wanted to make sure I could hack it, since the drop-out and dismissal rate is fairly high.”

“She did mention once that you’d gone through police training a few years ago or something like that.”

Noel grimaced at her words but didn’t elaborate. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“FBI and Police Academy,” Officer Wayne muttered. “That explains it.”

“Anyway, I can stay with my aunt.” She didn’t want to, really didn’t want to. “There’s no point in me putting your mom out, especially not when I have family here in town. Officer, are you sure I can’t go back to my apartment and pick up a few things?”

Officer Wayne frowned. “No.”

“Maybe by tomorrow?” Noel glanced at Officer Wayne, who only shrugged. Was that remorse she saw on Wayne’s face? Had he finally realized that Yasmine hadn’t been overreacting all this time? “I wouldn’t recommend going back by yourself,” Noel said.

“Not until we’ve got a better handle on what’s happening here.” Officer Wayne looked at the floor for a moment before training his steely gaze on her. “We’re going to find out who did this to you and why.”

She swallowed down a sarcastic retort about the police’s refusal to take her earlier suspicions seriously. “So you’ve been reexamining the reports I’ve given to date?” When Officer Wayne grunted in the affirmative, she stood and pulled out her cell phone. “Good. You know how to reach me if there are any further questions. I’ll have my aunt come and get me.”

Noel shook his head and backed toward the exit. “No way. It’s been ten years, Browder. I’m not letting you get away that easily, not when we have a whole fifteen minutes to catch up on the way to your aunt’s place. Plus, this way I can keep an eye on you. We don’t know if the shooter was acting alone or if the person who sent him is anywhere nearby. The shooting at your apartment may or may not be related, and whether the guys who shot up your apartment were gang members or not, I’ll feel better personally seeing you safely to your aunt’s place. Did you want to call and let her know you’re coming?”

“I’m not getting out of this, am I?”

“Nope.” Noel jingled the keys and waved one hand to the retreating Officer Wayne. “Come on. We have some catching up to do. It’ll take your mind off the events of the day.”

Not likely. She followed him to the car and made a quick phone call to Auntie Zee, who was ecstatic to hear that she was coming over—less so to hear that she’d been involved in the shootings reported on the news that day. Yasmine left out most of the details, just giving her aunt enough to understand why Yasmine would be coming over for the night.

She climbed into the car as Noel got himself oriented to the new vehicle. The concentration on his face reminded her of the times they’d spent trying to figure out the newspaper crossword puzzles together, or the look on his face during a particularly trying round of Scrabble. A sudden pang of longing struck her—a longing for the past, for how close they’d been, for how Noel had treated her like she was a precious jewel. She’d been too young and hadn’t appreciated it until it was too late.

“So—” They both spoke at the same time, bringing an extra layer of awkwardness to the moment. Noel laughed nervously and started the car.

“You first,” Yasmine said. “And sorry again about getting your car shot to bits.”

“You’ll have to remind me how to get to your aunt’s place. And it’s not your fault my car got shot up,” Noel said with a shrug. The vehicle reversed out of the parking lot, and he turned onto the main street. “I’m blaming the guys who did it, and when the police catch them, you’d better believe that they’ll be paying.”

“The police? You’re not helping?”

He shook his head. “There’s nothing in the shootings that places this within federal jurisdiction. So far a building and a restaurant have been shot up while you were inside, but I can’t take over because of that. I realize that sounds ridiculous, but the FBI works differently in reality than in movies.”

“We caught the restaurant shooter. And he killed himself. Can’t you step in and look for the guys at my apartment now?”

“Doesn’t matter. Until there’s a cause of death determined for sure, and only if that gets passed up the chain, there’s nothing I can do. The FBI isn’t exactly called in for suicides, Mina.”

Yasmine stared at the man beside her. She hadn’t heard anyone call her that in...well, ten years. “Mina. You remembered.”

He glanced sideways at her with a half smile. “Of course I remember. It’s been a while, but we’re not strangers.”

Warmth and regret flooded Yasmine’s heart, but she shoved it aside just as quickly. So what if he’d grown up to be a handsome man? She had no place thinking of him as anything other than a childhood friend. And besides, he’d only be in her life for a day or two at most. She didn’t know much about how the FBI worked, but she did know that they tended to send people all over the country. There was no way Noel had been assigned to their little town in western New York.

“Turn left at the next stoplight,” she said. “And you’re right, but ten years is a long time not to speak to someone, Noel. We’re strangers in almost every way at this point.”

She’d meant it to be a lighthearted comment, but it came out sounding cold.

“You’re right. It is a long time.” His voice had gone flat, emotionless.

“That’s not what I meant. It’s more like, what have you been up to? Are you married, have kids? Do you still like to watch Saturday morning cartoons? I’m curious. It’s like having a big brother who goes away to school whom you don’t get to see until after graduation.”

“Big brother, huh?” He remained rigid, not looking at her. “But I’m not the one who went away, Yasmine. I’m not the one who disappeared for ten years without so much as a goodbye.”

Yasmine’s heart sank toward her shoes. This wasn’t how she’d imagined their reunion would be, not that she ever truly entertained the notion that they’d see each other again.

And she’d meant to look him up once she returned to the United States. She really had, but getting the bakery up and running took first priority, and helping Daniel manage the apartment, plus volunteering on her church’s outreach committee...well, connecting with old friends had taken a backseat.

It wasn’t like Noel had reached out to her, either. Surely his mother had mentioned running into her at the bakery. And he was FBI now, so it was hard to believe that he couldn’t have found her if he’d really searched.

So, why did she feel so guilty?

“Look, I didn’t mean to leave without saying goodbye.” Her voice was so soft, she wondered for a moment if she’d spoken out loud or merely thought the apology. “I considered you my best friend. Even after I acted like a jerk and laughed at your declaration.”

Noel chuckled, and she heard the ache behind it. The memory clearly remained as fresh and painful for him as it did for her, as if it had happened yesterday. “I should have known better. We were friends, that’s all. You’d never shown interest in me that way, and I was an awkward kid. If I’d had any smarts about girls, I’d have been much smoother to ensure that by the time I said something, you’d have liked me back.”

“Give yourself a little credit, at least. That was a very brave thing to do.”

“I don’t know about that.” She saw his hands tighten around the steering wheel. “Sometimes I wish I hadn’t said anything at all.”

Yasmine sighed and leaned her head against the window. “I’m glad you did. I only wish I’d clued in sooner, because by the time I tried to tell you the same thing, you already had a girlfriend from school. Do you remember that?”

Noel scratched his chin, thinking. “Actually, no. You tried to tell me you had a crush on me?”

She laughed softly. “Figures. Yes, it was the last time we saw each other. Our moms had Bible study group and you hadn’t come for a while, but that day you came and you brought Suzanna. Cute blonde, thinner than me. Great legs—I think she ran track at school? Anyway, I poured sparkling apple juice for all of us and then went to the freezer for a package of frozen pitas to make a snack. You followed me and asked if you could help with anything. I was so startled that you’d do that—you were usually clueless about that kind of thing.”

“How do you remember all this?” Noel shook his head in disbelief. “I remember that I came over that day and there was a girl with me, but I can barely recall what she looked like, let alone what happened.”

Yasmine groaned. “Boys! Go figure! It was literally that moment that I tried to tell you I finally had a crush on you, too. But I tried to be, you know, kinda subtle about it because I was afraid that Suzanna would overhear.”

“Uh, I think you were far too subtle, because I honestly don’t remember that.”

“Turn right up here. And of course you don’t.” She twisted in her seat to face him, though he kept his eyes on the road. “I don’t remember what you said, but it was something hurtful. I know it wasn’t meant to be and you’d misunderstood me, but it felt like a rejection all the same. The next day, my aunt and mom explained that we were going to visit family in Amar because my grandmother had fallen ill.”

“But you never came back. You’re telling me you were supposed to be there only for a visit?”

She swallowed the urge to cut off her story, to give him a patronizing answer and not relive the next part of the tale. But she’d already started telling it, and it would be cruel to back down now. “I promise this is the truth, Noel. I didn’t mean to disappear without a word, but the illness was sudden, and we had to leave quickly. I’d never met my grandmother before, and my mom wanted me to have that chance before she passed. When we arrived, her condition had worsened, and it was clear she wouldn’t be with us much longer, so mom wanted to stay and be with her to the end. My schoolwork for the rest of the year was done through mail and email, and by the time my grandmother went to be with Jesus, we were so engrained with my extended family and my mother was so heartbroken by the loss of her mother that we stayed. My dad was still alive at the time and able to work remotely, so one week blended into the next, and the next thing I knew...”

“Ten years had passed,” Noel murmured. “That still doesn’t explain why you didn’t contact me. Daniel sent a few letters. Did you know that? I didn’t see him after he moved back to the States, but he called me once to see how I was doing.”

“Sounds like Daniel,” Yasmine said. Her words hitched, a lump forming in her throat. “I really miss him.”

“Me, too.” She wasn’t the only one having difficulty—she heard Noel’s words grow thick with emotion. “I wish I’d had a chance to say goodbye. Or anything, really.”

Silence descended once again as the memory of Daniel washed over them. She heard the hitch of Noel’s breath and wished that they weren’t driving so she could reach out to him, take back the way she’d snapped at him earlier when he’d only tried to help. He had helped, and generously so. Then again, what made her think that he’d find comfort in her?

“It’s the third house on the right up here, the yellow one with lavender flowers in front.”

Noel pulled into her aunt’s driveway, and Yasmine couldn’t help but feel regretful that their conversation had ended on such a low note—but at the same time, she didn’t know what to say to make it better.

“Breakfast tomorrow?”

She whipped her head around, certain she’d heard him wrong. “Breakfast? Together?” He laughed, and she felt a rush of warmth to her cheeks. Of course he didn’t know what a ludicrous suggestion that was. “You realize I have to be at the bakery by five in the morning to get everything ready for the day, right? We’d have to eat at four fifteen, four thirty at the latest.”

His smile slipped at the mention of a four o’clock start to the day. “That’s... You do that every day? Do you have to?” She raised one eyebrow at him, and he lifted his palms in defeat. “Okay, okay. How about this? I’ll drive you to work. We can grab coffee and a breakfast sandwich on the way, and we can talk in the car. I’m heading that direction back to the station tomorrow anyway. Officer Wayne started to see reason and agreed with me that where there’s a shooter who takes his own life, the boss can’t be far behind. Just in case there’s still a danger to you, I’m going to be hanging around outside your aunt’s place tonight. An officer on patrol might come spell me for a bit if I can convince Captain Simcoe, but you won’t be alone. I don’t think we can be too careful after today’s events.”

She shook her head. “I appreciate it, but you don’t have to do that.”

“I want to, and you can’t talk me out of it. I’ll be ready to go at quarter to five tomorrow, okay?”

Yasmine wanted to yell that the police should really be the ones setting a watch for her when Daniel’s killer roamed free, that Noel didn’t need to exhaust himself on her behalf, but at least it would be a start. Once Officer Wayne finished examining her reports and corroborated them with the events of today—and accepted that even an FBI agent believed that something dangerous was happening—he’d have to believe her. Maybe even send the case up to the captain, who held the power to launch a real investigation.

In the meantime, Noel driving her to work would be, well, nice. He didn’t think she was crazy, and she found herself almost looking forward to spending a little more time together. Their conversations had all been cut too short.

“Fine, but four thirty is a better time. I don’t want to stop for any of those mass-produced chain restaurant pastries. Mine are much tastier. Actually—” She paused, her legs dangling out the door. “We’ll go right to the store. You can sit behind the counter as I prep. I’ll make breakfast. Tomorrow is salted caramel cinnamon roll and blueberry lavender scone day.”

Noel’s smile returned, and Yasmine felt her expression mirror his in spite of herself. “Now that will be worth waiting here through the night for.”

He waved as she shut the door and walked up the front steps to her aunt’s house. As she stepped inside, she looked back over her shoulder at the childhood friend who waited to ensure she made it safely. She waved back at him as she crossed the threshold, then closed the door as he parked across the street.

Only then did it occur to her that her heart was beating rapidly, her palms warm and her cheeks flushed. And as much as she didn’t want to admit it, the truth was impossible to deny—her reaction had nothing to do with all the bullets that had flown at her today, and everything to do with the handsome FBI agent whose car she’d leaped inside of only hours before.

* * *

Noel’s cell phone alarm woke him at four thirty-two the following morning. He waved at the police cruiser that had pulled up a few hours ago to allow Noel to get a bit of rest. He didn’t want his ability to protect Yasmine compromised by exhaustion, and it hadn’t been difficult to convince the police captain last night to send some officers over to help out—especially after he played the FBI card. The police cruiser revved up and pulled away as Noel rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Despite his best efforts to rest, he’d spent most of the past few hours fidgety and unable to stop the events of the day from playing out over and over again in his mind. One thing was certain: they needed to talk more about Yasmine’s suspicions surrounding Daniel’s death. Despite the police’s dismissal of her claims, he wanted to hear the story straight from Yasmine herself.

He unclipped his seat belt to head up to the house and collect her, but she slipped outside just as he disengaged the vehicle locks. She closed the door behind her and jogged down the driveway with far too much energy for this early in the morning.

As she climbed into the vehicle, she looked at him with wide-eyed concern. “What is it? Is there something on my face? I know, same clothes as yesterday, but my aunt is tiny and doesn’t have anything that fits me.”

He pulled his gaze from her with a light shake of the head, consciously aware of how his heart had begun to beat a little faster in her presence, and how the suddenly pervasive scent of cinnamon and honey on yesterday’s outfit made him want to lean in a little closer.

They were childhood friends reunited by circumstance. That was all. That was all it could ever be, especially with him straight out of Quantico and about to embark on a brand-new career that could take him who knew where.

“Thanks for playing early morning chauffeur,” she murmured.

“You’re welcome,” he said. He yawned, unable to stifle it any longer. “You’ll have to direct me to the bakery.”

“Back to the main drag and head south.”

They drove in silence for a few minutes as Noel racked his brain for the right thing to say. He didn’t want to push for details about Daniel’s death and risk her closing herself off to him, but on the other hand, he couldn’t help unless he had all the information.

“Mina—”

“Take a left here,” she said, pointing at the intersection lights ahead of them. Noel nodded and took advantage of the green light to move into the intersection, waiting for a chance to turn. “I did some thinking last night, Noel. I’m worried that—”

He shifted his gaze ever so slightly toward her, ready to listen, when his eyes alighted on something outside the passenger side window.

“No!” He shouted and reached for her as a massive black shape barreled toward them. With a deafening crash, the side of the car crumpled inward, the window shattering as Noel’s world descended into darkness.

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