“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