Page 1 of Noel Secrets
All the Guns and Whistles
Katy Lee
“A gift in secret pacifies anger, and a bribe behind the back, strong wrath.”
Proverbs 21:14
To my daughter Brianna: so thankful you found your home with us.
Chapter One
Jayda Simone always carried her pink bedazzled stun gun—she just never thought she would have to use it in Yale’s law library. Lately, coffee was her weapon of choice, and after three years of law school, she’d come armed with a tumbler full to tackle a night of studying for her last final—criminal law—the test that had the potential to kill her more than the guy she zapped. Her stun gun wasn’t supposed to come out, but the guy in the stacks dressed in black was stealing the file she needed. He gave her no choice. She wouldn’t let anyone stand in her way of passing this exam.
Even if he had a gun.
It had been a typical wintry December day. Jayda had trudged through the snow that covered the courtyard and made her way up the steps to Yale’s Sterling Memorial Library—a towering gothic castle. Inside, her boots clicked along the marble floor like war drums. Anyone looking at her saw only a polished law student with a chic hair twist that commandeered her black curls. They saw a young woman with her head held high and sporting a smart winter coat.
But the truth?
Jayda was an impostor.
She never understood why Yale had said yes to a girl from the New Haven streets and figured eventually someone would find her out. She hadn’t grown up in libraries, hadn’t had winter coats that weren’t three sizes too big until she was fourteen, and only started drinking coffee when she realized it helped her stay awake in foster homes where locks on bedroom doors were optional. Hence the stun gun—you can take the girl off the streets, but the street smarts never die.
Unbeknownst to the man awaiting her, she had rubbed her weary eyes and tried not to stumble into the elevator to head up to the quiet law stacks. The lights were dimmed when she’d entered the deeper shelves—only making her sleepier for the task ahead—and she had muttered, “Here lies Jayda Simone. Survived the New Haven gangs but slain by criminal procedure.”
Jayda never wanted to be a criminal lawyer. Definitely not. She’d seen enough criminals up close. What she wanted was family law, a nice safe courtroom where she could help kids find better outcomes than hers. But Criminal Law was a required class for her degree, and this final exam would determine whether she’d graduate with honors. It would determine her future at a reputable law firm.
She had to ace this test.
Jayda downed another swig of her fuel and had headed to the old case files where Professor Dandridge said they’d be—buried in the annex behind the dustyFederal Reportervolumes. He had told the class this case was back in the headlines because the convict was due to be released from prison after thirty years. One of Dandridge’s earliest cases,People v. Langston,was about a woman who’d vanished after turning state’s evidence and was rumored to have entered witness protection. It had nothing to do with family law, but Jayda had always wondered what it would be like to disappear and start over.
The thought had made her smile…still completely unaware of what awaited her right around the corner.
She took the turn and froze.
The thief was dressed in black. Tall, broad, and in an expensive leather coat. She had caught him rifling through the locked filing cabinet—the one she needed. At the sight of his hurried movements, Jayda had known he didn’t belong. This section was for students only, and she had never seen him before.
Jayda’s instincts had flared. She knew a bad vibe when she felt one. The scar on his cheek looked like it had come from a run-in with a knife.
“Hey,” she had said, voice firm. “You’re not supposed to be in here.”
The man had stiffened but didn’t turn. Instead, he slid a thick file into the inside of his coat like it was his birthright. Jayda had stepped closer.
“Those don’t leave the library. I’m calling security.”
That’s when he’d turned.
His face—pale, sharp, and carved from stone—held the look Jayda had seen once before in a man who beat his foster kids and got away with it for years. Cold. Calculating. Dangerous.
“I said,” Jayda had repeated, louder now, “put it back.”
He’d moved toward her. Fast. So fast that his coat opened, sending the file to the floor, papers flying like the squalling snow outside.
That’s when she’d seen the gun.
And him reach for it.
Jayda had dropped her tumbler on the floor. Her fingers dove into her coat. Not for her phone. She wasn’t that dumb. Phones didn’t stop guns.
