Outside The Law. Michelle Karl
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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.”
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