Outside The Law. Michelle Karl
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