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 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
