The Agent
Chapter 16

Roman released an exhale and tried to force his thoughts to order, but it just wasn’t happening. From the second Camila had gotten that call from her brother, he’d been on high alert. As soon as that huge guy had stepped around the corner and looked at her with such murderous rage? Roman’s adrenaline had filled him in a way he’d never quite felt before, his primal instincts firing on all cylinders as they pumped exactly one message from his brain.

Protect her.

The sound of a car passing by their shadowy spot in the parking garage yanked Roman back to the here and now, and yeah, he’d have to do a brain dump on all of this later. Right now, they needed to move.

He turned toward Camila. “We need to get somewhere secure. I know this is a lot”—he reached out to circle his hand around her forearm, partly to comfort her and partly to comfort himself—“but are you okay to get moving?”

Camila was quiet for a beat, then said, “Look, a guy the size of a semi truck just shot at us, so no, I’m not okay. But I trust you. If you say we need to go, then I can do that. I don’t want to sit here if it’s dangerous.”

He put the BMW in gear and swiveled a gaze over their surroundings. “If it was dangerous, we wouldn’t be here. It’s just that there are even safer places, and the faster we can get to a secure location, the better.”

“Okay.” She took a deep breath. “What should I do?”

Roman might be ready to do whatever it took to keep her safe, but no way was he not going to let her be a part of her own safety, either. Camila was far too capable for that.

“Keep your eyes open for anything that looks suspicious,” he said, heading toward the highway. “A car that sticks with us, someone driving erratically, too fast or too slow. Anything like that, just in case.”

She nodded. “Okay. I can do that.”

Wanting to reassure her—at least as much as he could, considering someone had tried to murder her less than an hour ago—he said, “It’s highly unlikely at this point that the guy who tried to hurt you hasn’t gone underground to regroup. He was counting on the element of surprise and it backfired. Plus, he caused one hell of a scene. I’m betting RPD responded quickly. They might even have him in custody.”

“Oh.” Camila blinked, her expression much easier to read now that they’d pulled out of the garage and into the evening sunlight. “Do you think so?”

“It’s possible,” Roman reiterated. “And if they do, this will be a short trip. But it’s equally possible that they don’t, so we have to play it safe. Once we get where we’re going, we’ll be able to check in on a secure line for a full update.”

“So, um, where is that, exactly?” she asked, and Christ, this must be overwhelming as hell for her.

“The FBI has safe locations all over the country. The one we’re headed to is at Arrowhead Lake.”

Her brows shot upward. “That’s over an hour from here.”

“It’s remote,” he agreed. He was familiar with the location as a matter of training—his unit had been responsible for protecting more than a few witnesses who had testified against money launderers and major players in multi-million-dollar racketeering schemes. He always needed to be ready to go there, even at short notice. “But the whole point is to go somewhere we can’t be followed or found. We’ll be able to spot anyone from literally a mile away at the lake house, and Calloway wasn’t blowing smoke about security. There might be closer locations we could use to hole up, but this one is the best spot for us to lie low.”

The words seemed to reassure her. “Thank you for going with me. I know this probably isn’t what you had in mind when you said you wanted to work this case. In fact, it’s probably the opposite.”

“No.” Roman shook his head, adamant, although she wasn’t entirely off base. Under any other circumstances, he’d have been pissed to be saddled with a protection detail over an active investigation, especially one this big. But he’d never be able to concentrate on nailing these bastards unless he knew firsthand that Camila was as safe as possible. He didn’t know if Calloway had managed to sense that (likely) or she still wanted him one step removed from this case (also likely) since he could be in danger, too. Either way, it didn’t matter.

“I’m exactly where I want to be,” he said.

After they got on the highway and a few more minutes passed, it was clear they weren’t being followed. Roman suggested that she try to close her eyes, if not to actually sleep, then at least to rest her mind and manage her adrenaline letdown. She snorted, of course, but compromised by leaning the passenger seat back a little and watching through the window as their surroundings changed from closely clustered high rises to rows of townhouses separated by gyms and restaurants and shops to fields and farms and wider rural spaces.

The quiet gave Roman time to process what he knew and formulate questions about what he didn’t—which, he supposed, was his own way of dealing with adrenaline letdown. By the time they’d reached the gravel road leading to the lake house, the sky had begun to turn pink, but there was still plenty of daylight left for him to see the dark gray SUV parked beside the bottom of the driveway.

Camila sat up straight, panic filling her eyes, but Roman shook his head. “It’s okay. This is protocol. There’s always going to be someone here keeping an eye on the house and doing perimeter sweeps. I’ve got your back inside the house, but I’m never going to be your only line of defense.”

He put his hand on his weapon anyway, just until he’d verified both agents’ badges and IDs. When everything checked out, they proceeded to the house. Roman had only been here once before, a few years ago, but nothing had changed. The house itself was a single-story cottage, similar to the small vacation homes dotting the perimeter of the lake. Although none of those were visible from here, not even when the trees were all bare in the winter, the safehouse was meant specifically to blend in with the others. Nothing extraordinary. Nothing different. So, like many other properties in a ten-mile radius, it was surrounded by neatly kept landscaping in the front and a short yard that gave way to marshy reeds and a dock leading to the water in the back. In the evening sunlight, it actually looked more like a postcard than an FBI safehouse.

“Okay, wow,” Camila said, taking in the cottage and the lake sparkling in the lowering sunlight beyond. “This is not what I was expecting.”

“Let me guess,” Roman said, backing into the one-car garage bay and killing the engine. “You were thinking we’d end up in a dingy motel with bad bedspreads and musty carpets?”

Her sheepish smile said he’d had her dead to rights. “I know, I know. I shouldn’t watch so much Law and Order.”

“Eh.” He shrugged. “Sometimes we do use motels, and the FBI doesn’t exactly have the budget for someplace like The Plaza. But locations like this are easier to keep secure. Not to mention easier to control.”

“Like with the guards at the end of the driveway, you mean?”

Roman waited for the garage door to fully close before getting out of the car. “Not quite. Let’s go inside and I can show you what I mean.”

Keeping his weapon at his h*p and his senses on high alert, he got out of the car. Camila followed suit, eyeing the heavy-duty storage lockers that lined the far wall. The garage had been built with extended storage space, which most people probably assumed was for outdoor equipment or maybe even a kayak or two. In reality, the metal lockers contained everything from meal rations and water to secure satellite phones and bulletproof vests.

“Supplies,” Roman said. “We like to stay self-sustaining up here, since heading into town for groceries isn’t really an option.”

Camila nodded. “That makes sense.”

She followed him through the garage and into the cottage. Unlike the other lake houses in the area, most of which were vacation homes, the interior here wasn’t massive or glamorous. There was a small but functional kitchen and a living room only big enough for a couch and one chair beside the fireplace. The walls were plain white and bare, and while the house was clean and the amenities fairly modern, there were no frills to be had. No throw pillows, no houseplants, no art to liven the place up. A dining area stood off the kitchen, with a small, round table and two chairs facing the large windows offering a view of the lake. Or, they would offer a view of the lake, if they weren’t covered by wood-slatted interior shutters that had been snapped tight, just like all the other windows.

“Obviously, the place is built for function over form,” Roman said. “The windows are all made of bullet-resistant glass, but we’ll keep the shutters closed, just to be safe. The doors are always locked”—he gestured to the front door, in a vestibule by the living room, which had not one, but two deadbolts engaged—“and so are the windows. There are also sensors on each one, to include breach and glass break.”

“Oh.” Camila blinked, and while he thought she might be overwhelmed by how seriously they had to take security in a safehouse, she actually seemed comforted. “What else should I know? I don’t want to accidentally trip an alarm or something.”

Roman shook his head, moving into the kitchen and opening the fridge. Damn, someone had stocked this place fast. “The security system is pretty intense, and it includes video monitoring, but all the cameras and motion sensors are outside. Just don’t open any exterior doors or windows and you’ll be fine.”

She took the water bottle he handed over, cracking it open to take a long sip before saying, “No windows, no doors. No going outside. Got it.”

“I’ll be here with you the whole time, although you’ll have privacy for things like showering and sleeping, of course,” he said, drinking from his own bottle of water, then nodding toward the short hallway on the opposite side of the vestibule. “The bedroom and bathrooms are down here.”

He led her the dozen and a half paces through the space, his boots thumping on the hardwood floor until they passed a half bathroom, then arrived at the only other door at the end of the corridor. The bedroom was large enough for a neatly made double bed, nightstand, and dresser, and not much else.

Camila hitched to a stop, her eyes scanning the bedroom. “There’s only one bed.”

Roman, having known this well before they’d arrived, nodded slowly. “There’s only one bed. But it’s fine. I’m sleeping on the couch.”

“No,” she blurted, her cheeks flushing a shade of pink that set him on f*****g fire. “I mean, that’s silly. We can switch off.”

Knowing how stubborn she was, and also that they had more ground to cover before calling it a night, he tabled the argument, although he was careful not to agree, because he had no intention of letting her sleep on the damn couch. “There’s a full bathroom in here, too. And that, on the nightstand, is a panic button.”

He had her full attention. “A panic button,” Camila repeated, looking at the nondescript device with wary eyes.

“Yes. Think of it like nine-one-one. If, on the very off chance, there’s an emergency of any kind, you just hit the red button and hold it down for three seconds. There’s another one just like it in the kitchen, and a third one in the garage.”

“Oh. That’s probably a good idea, since I’m guessing there’s no phone,” she said.

“Yes and no.” He moved back into the hallway, and she fell into step with him as they headed back to the kitchen, where he opened one of the deep drawers built into the cabinetry. “Neither one of us will be able to use our cell phones while we’re here. But we have a satellite phone to keep in touch with Agent Calloway and the Intelligence Unit, and there’s a secure laptop so we can do video calls with them for updates. In fact”—he looked at his watch—“we’re scheduled to check in with the team in a few minutes. It’s protocol once an asset is secured at a safe house. You don’t have to be here for that,” Roman added. “You’ve had a hell of a day, and adrenaline burnout is real. It’s understandable if you want to tap out for now. I can get you up to speed on anything urgent.”

Camila, not shockingly, shook her head. “No. I mean, I’m not going to sit here and pretend that I’m not basically one big batch of adrenaline soup over here, but knowing what’s going on helps me.” She gestured from him to the sat phone he’d placed on the kitchen counter. “This helps. You help.”

Her voice had dropped to a whisper over the last two words, and they shot directly to his chest. He would protect her. At all costs, including his f*****g life, he would keep her safe.

“Camila, this is going to be okay.”

She took a step toward him. Roman was fully prepared to wrap his arms around her, to hold her and k**s her and do all sorts of ill-advised things that he wanted more than air. But the sat phone cut out a shrill ring, dousing the moment and making Camila jump.

She cursed under her breath. “Good thing I didn’t need those two years that phone just scared off the end of my life,” she muttered as he grabbed the sat phone and took a deep breath.

“Roman.”

“Agent Roman,” came Calloway’s voice. “We’ve secured the video feed. I’m sending you a link now.”

Roman grabbed the laptop out of the kitchen drawer, plugging it in and flipping it open. It took only seconds to boot up, and he navigated through a set of familiar prompts until a dual screen appeared, showing the FBI field office on one side and Roman’s face on the other.

Adjusting the laptop so he and Camila could share the screen equally, he settled on one of the two bar stools tucked beneath the short stretch of counter space that served as a breakfast bar while Camila sat on the other.

“Good to go,” he said, lifting his chin in acknowledgment when Calloway, Sinclair, and Capelli appeared on the screen. “Have you caught the guy who came after us?”

“Nice to see your work ethic is still alive and kicking,” Calloway said, a wry smile flickering over her mouth before she got right down to it. “Not yet. But a lot has happened in the past few hours. Why don’t we take this from the top? Camila, we haven’t formally met. I’m Special Agent Olivia Calloway. I’ve taken point on this case in conjunction with Sergeant Sinclair, who you obviously know. I understand you’ve been through a lot, both today and last week at the robbery. I can promise we are going to do all that we can to get all three of these robbers off the street and behind bars. Until that happens, I can also promise we’ll do everything in our power to keep you safe.”

“Thank you,” Camila said.

Calloway nodded, then continued. “Capelli is streaming this to the Intelligence office via a secure feed, so the entire unit can see and hear you even though you can’t see and hear them. Future check-ins will likely be between you two and Intelligence, but for situational awareness, this one is just a bit different.”

Capelli looked at Sinclair, his dark blond brows raised behind the dark frames of his glasses. “Confirming that Intelligence is online and connected. Also, that this equipment is definitely something we need to pitch to HQ, because”—he broke off with a low whistle, and yeah, when it came to technology, the FBI didn’t f**k around.

“Noted,” Sinclair said. “Since we’re all present and accounted for, let’s not waste any time. This afternoon, three assailants matching the description of our robbers entered Prosperity Savings and Loan. The M.O. for the robbery was the same as last week’s.”

Capelli clacked out a few keystrokes from beside Sinclair, and a video feed of the street outside the bank popped up in the lower righthand corner of the screen. “They parked just outside the camera’s range, but here they are, entering the bank.”

Sure enough, three people dressed in full tactical gear appeared on the screen, masks on and AR-15s drawn as they approached the bank’s front entrance, then slipped inside.

“That’s definitely them,” Camila said, and Roman agreed.

“They began the robbery according to the same script as the one you witnessed,” Sinclair said, and it didn’t escape Roman’s notice that although they probably had video capturing the second robbery, he didn’t put it on the screen. “The security guard was a rookie police officer picking up extra work at the bank on his days off. He worked the desk here at the Thirty-Third.”

Roman’s chin lifted in realization at the same time his stomach sank with dread. “Bart Barton? The redheaded guy?”

Camila straightened over her bar stool. “Oh, my God. He walked us upstairs the other day.”

“Yes,” Sinclair said. “We believe that when he escorted you to the Intelligence office, he stayed in the hallway and managed to eavesdrop on the update we gave you, as well as on the intel we pieced together while you were here.”

Damn. “So, that’s how he knew Camila saw the smaller robber’s eyes.”

Sinclair nodded. “Witnesses from today’s attempted robbery corroborate that Barton told the robbers what Camila saw and that she was able to produce detailed drawings of the smaller assailant’s eyes. Barton also disclosed our suspicion that the smaller robber is female. A suspicion that’s likely well-founded, because the larger robber grew agitated enough to shoot Barton.”

“Oh, my God.” Camila covered her mouth with one hand. “He died because of what I told you?”

“No,” Roman said at the same time as both Calloway and Sinclair, but Sinclair took the lead on finishing with, “He died because he was shot in cold b***d by a man who will be held accountable for that crime. No one else is to blame.”

“But Barton must’ve hit a nerve,” Roman said, his mind methodically turning over all the information. Or maybe more than one, since disclosing Intelligence’s potential leads had earned the poor guy a trip to the morgue. “These robbers are clearly worried about it enough to not only kill Barton, but to come after Camila, despite the risk.”

“Well, that’s where things get a bit interesting,” Calloway said. “We’ve gone through the video footage from Camila’s apartment building. We caught the shooter on several different cameras, although he’s smart about keeping his face hidden.”

“He was wearing a baseball hat,” Camila said, and Capelli put a still image of the guy on the screen. “Yes!” Camila said, nodding emphatically. “That’s definitely him.”

But Roman cursed under his breath. “Please tell me there’s a clear shot of his face somewhere.”

Capelli hedged. “There are a few partials we’re trying to work with. So far, no hits on facial rec, although that’s not a fast process.”

Frustration sizzled through Roman’s veins. He knew facial rec wasn’t nearly as instantaneous as it looked on TV, but still. While they might get a hit off a partial, they could also get a big, fat goose egg.

“I could draw him,” Camila ventured. “I mean, I know that’s probably not, like, official, or anything. But I’m never going to forget his face. Ever.” Goose bumps appeared on her arms, but still, she said, “I can draw him. If it will help.”

“You’re a witness. The fact that you can draw him without us having to work with a sketch artist is extremely helpful,” Sinclair said, and Calloway nodded her approval, too. “We’ll also get photo arrays out to both of you and continue to run facial recognition on the partial images we have, but an accurate drawing would be key.”

Roman shouldn’t be surprised that this guy had been smart about averting his gaze from the cameras. Still, this attack on Camila couldn’t have been that well-planned out if the robbers had just discovered how much Camila really knew. Something about this didn’t add up.

“You said there’s an interesting part?” he asked Calloway, and one corner of her mouth lifted in a smile.

“I should have known you wouldn’t miss that.” She waited until Capelli had pulled up a series of video footage from several cameras, showing the robber outside Camila’s apartment building, then in the lobby, then again as he pursued Roman and Camila outside. “We can track this guy’s movements from when he first appears in the parking lot to when he exits the building and gets into his vehicle. Stolen, by the way. We’ve got a BOLO out on it, but so far, nothing. He was gone by the time officers responded and we lost him on street cams.”

“Okay,” Roman said, his eyes narrowing over the footage. The guy got out of the driver’s seat when he arrived, then got behind the wheel after running out of the building, and wait…wait…

Holy shit. “He’s alone.”

“That he is,” Calloway said. “This attack couldn’t have been terribly pre-meditated. It happened only a few hours after the robbers found out how much Camila told Intelligence. It’s possible they wanted to use surprise as an advantage and figured one of them doing the job was less risky than all three coming out in the open. Especially for a crime like this.”

Roman shook his head. “No. These three have a system. Everyone has a role, specifically designed to pull off robberies without a hitch. They’re orchestrated down to ten-second intervals. They wouldn’t screw with that.” He thought back to the way they’d all acted and interacted during the robbery he’d witnessed and—according to the Intelligence Unit—all the robberies before that, certainty forming in the pit of his stomach. “This feels less tactical and more aggressive. Impulsive. The leader is the calm one. I think this guy is going rogue.”

“It’s entirely possible,” Sinclair said. “But he’s still smart. After he realized you’d left in a vehicle rather than on foot, he didn’t try to follow you. See how he heads in the opposite direction when he leaves the parking lot? He knew a car chase wasn’t going to end well.”

Camila watched the video clips, which were playing on a continuous loop on the laptop screen. “Okay. So, what does all of this mean?”

“It means they’re getting sloppy, for one,” Roman said. At least, this guy was.

“And it also means they might not all be on the same page,” Calloway added.

“That’s good, though, right? If they’re getting sloppy, won’t it be easier to figure out who they are now? Or be more likely one of them will screw up and get caught?”

Christ, she was fierce. Who else would call a situation in which they’d been shot at a good thing? “The fact that this guy got brash enough to show his face is going to work against him and his crew, yes.”

Camila looked from him to the laptop screen. “Do you think they’ll just leave now? I mean, if they’re falling apart and they know we might’ve seen at least this one guy’s face, wouldn’t that be the smartest thing to do?”

Capelli met Camila’s gaze through the camera. “Statistically speaking, criminals rarely do smart things. This group does seem to be less impulse-driven than most,” he added by way of a caveat, “so they might leave Remington to avoid the risk of being seen or caught. But this man killed a police officer in cold b***d, and you saw his face well enough to be able to produce a drawing. It would be ill-advised to trust that he won’t try to hurt you again just yet. Or that these three won’t try to rob another bank. After all, they weren’t able to steal any money today. If that’s their motivation…”

“No matter what their motivation is, we can’t take the risk,” Roman cut in, and Sinclair nodded.

“We’re all in agreement on that. We’ll keep working on facial recognition and dig deeper into everything we have from today to see if anything pops. Camila, once you’re done with the sketches, we can release them to the media. See if anyone’s got eyes on the guy who came after you. We’ll also send over photo arrays of known offenders matching our robber’s description, just in case we get lucky there.”

“Copy that,” Roman said.

“We’ll do the usual security check-ins and monitor the lake house via surveillance, per protocol,” Calloway said, then turned her attention to Camila, “and we’ll reach out to your employer about your absence. Your brother has volunteered to assure your family that you’re safe, although we obviously can’t share any details with them.”

Camila gave up a weary smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Thank you.”

“Speaking of which”—Sinclair gestured to Capelli, who typed rapidly until the screen switched to another video feed—“your brother wanted a word with both of you privately before we sign off. We’ll leave you to it, and I’ll be sure to patch through any updates as soon as we get them.”

Roman opened his mouth to say that any conversation he and Matteo Garza might have, especially now that Roman was literally locked in tight with his sister, wouldn’t end in anything good. But then the guy’s face flashed across the laptop screen, his hair sticking up in about six different directions and his dark eyes loaded with concern, and hell. Camila was his sister. Of course he’d been worried about her.

“Camila. Jesus, I’m so glad you’re…” Garza stopped to take a breath. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No. I’m okay,” Camila told him. “A little freaked out. Well, maybe a lot freaked out. But thanks to Roman, I’m not hurt.”

“We’re going to catch these guys, mija. I won’t rest until we do. I swear,” Garza said, then turned his gaze toward Roman. “I saw the footage from the hallway of Camila’s building and the parking lot. I know we’ve had our differences.” He paused, although it did nothing to stop the shock from pumping through Roman’s system. “But you saved her life. You kept her safe. So, thank you.”

He was tempted, and not a little, to tell Garza that the reasons he’d kept Camila safe had nothing to do with obligation, or even honor. But rather than pulling out either of those little nuggets and starting an argument none of them needed, he went with a different truth.

“You’re welcome. But the truth is, she’s strong as hell. She’s doing a lot to keep herself safe, too.”

Surprisingly, Garza nodded. “I’m starting to see that. I promise to hold up my end here to get you both back home soon.” To Camila, he said, “I love you, mija. Stay safe.”

A second later, they disconnected the call. Closing the laptop, Roman turned to take care of his next order of business.

“You must be hungry,” he said to Camila, sliding off his bar stool to go see what their dinner options were. She was strong, sure, but physiology wasn’t something you could outsmart, and they’d both missed dinner.

But she stood, too, and the look on her face made his thoughts crash to a halt. “I don’t want to eat,” she said, her voice breathy and soft, and f**k. F**k, he didn’t have the restraint for this.

“Oh,” he said, his pulse ratcheting higher as she edged closer, her beautiful face tipped up toward his.

“I could have died today,” she said.

Roman’s instincts bucked at the thought. “I’m not letting that happen. Ever.”

“I know you’ll do everything you can to keep me safe,” Camila said. “But the truth is, there’s no way of knowing what might happen. You could have died today, too.”

She was, of course, right. Christ, if anyone knew how precarious life was, it was him. Still… “I didn’t, though. Neither did you.”

“No. We didn’t. We’re alive.” She closed the space between them until barely an inch separated their bodies, and Roman’s breath hitched at the heat of her, so tantalizingly close. “And I’m not taking that for granted anymore. I want you, Kai Roman, and I’m tired of fighting it.”

She stayed perfectly still, letting him make the next move, and God help him, he didn’t f*****g hesitate to crush his mouth to hers even though he knew it might destroy him.