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Outside The Law
Michelle Karl
REUNION ON THE RUNWhen 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.
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 (#uede1f8a2-11a3-5519-a6b0-6247d8acd4ff),
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 (http://www.michellekarl.com) or find me on Twitter, @_Michelle Karl_ (https://twitter.com/_michellekarl_). 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 (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
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 (#uc36501a9-4264-5d60-a3ab-7c9d3959e973)
Back Cover Text (#u5c4ae9a4-bbd8-54c2-9b14-b836f888ccc9)
Dear Reader (#u8a6c938f-24cd-5b66-b97e-50a49621eb97)
Introduction (#ubad7e675-c411-599a-97ee-7800641110e6)
About the Author (#u0a5c7807-a26e-59bb-b5e4-bc2d9d03d312)
Title Page (#uc963542b-b3da-5ee9-bd03-a3d8d2ffaca8)
Bible Verse (#u41516848-dce4-5ddd-b9c2-55b16ee79c02)
Dedication (#uc52b6abd-02ec-5ce7-9e2f-5336bb5d007e)
ONE (#ued49dced-7b4d-5547-8c21-896f863b7291)
TWO (#uaad610c2-2a21-5960-bcf5-b40e643c6fa5)
THREE (#u972ea7bd-7f14-5f3c-be81-ea3cefaa278a)
FOUR (#u5039cd1a-6332-50bf-a322-43e9ad92ea11)
FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
ONE (#uede1f8a2-11a3-5519-a6b0-6247d8acd4ff)
“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.
