The Intelligence Unit Series

October, Kai Roman didn't belong here. Granted, he'd felt that way about nearly every place he'd found himself over the past five years, and the busy bar and grill where he currently stood wasn't as bad as most. But as he took in the crowd of Intelligence detectives, firefighters, first responders, and their various significant others, one thing became startlingly clear.

These people didn't just work together. They knew each other, in a way that only those with careers that put their lives on the line could. They were a family-in some cases, like firefighter Kellan Walker, Detective Isabella Walker, and the infant they'd been handing back and forth all night like a football-literally. But in so many others, this was a great, big family that had been forged by trust and locked into place by all the emotions that went with it.

So, yeah. As an FBI agent, Roman might've just closed the books on a case he'd worked with the Intelligence Unit, and more yeah, his life had been on the line right alongside theirs. For f**k's sake, he'd taken a nine millimeter bullet to the chest plate two months ago when all the shit had hit the fan. But he didn't belong like the rest of them. Hell, Detective Matteo Garza still hated his guts (feeling: mutual) even though the Remington Police Department's many debriefs had proven that Roman had not only done his job on the case they'd worked together, but had saved Garza's girlfriend Delia's life in the process.

To be fair, the tension between them was well-deserved. Any time the FBI fought a police unit for jurisdiction of a case, the detectives in question got uppity with the agent doing the fighting. Garza might've been a d**k even after they'd joined forces, but Delia had been in mortal danger, and Roman hadn't done anything to endear himself to the guy, either. It wasn't personal. Freezing people out made things easier in the end. He'd done it with the agents in his own unit, too, to the point that they called him The Iceman. No camaraderie. No closeness. No f*****g feelings getting in the way.

As it turned out, that whole "it was better to have loved and lost" adage was a load of shit. Roman had barely survived losing the one person who had been closest to him five years ago. There was no chance he was ever going to risk that again. "Agent Roman! There you are. Are you ready to kick some trivia a*s?"

The question brought him back to the bar in an instant. He couldn't help but give up a rare semi-smile at the sight of the blonde in front of him. Delia Sutton was a forensic accountant, absolutely brilliant, and genuinely nice, although not necessarily in that order. Roman liked her enough to overlook the fact that she was in a serious relationship with Detective Garza. When she'd called him to ask if he'd come celebrate closing the case against the man who'd tried to murder her to cover up a massive money laundering scheme, he'd figured it couldn't hurt. When she'd tacked on an invite to be on her Trivia Night team at said celebration, he'd found it too hard to say no. Yeah, he always stuck to the perimeter, never getting too close to the center of any group. But she'd caught him at a weak moment. They'd just wrapped the paperwork on their case, which meant his job had been done, and done well. Sentences had been agreed upon and jail time issued. They wouldn't have to deal with a trial. The person who had committed a half dozen crimes and fired a bullet into Roman's body armor without knowing he was wearing any was going to jail for the rest of his natural born life. He'd been in the mood to celebrate.

Plus, his competitive streak was about six miles wide, and, although it was a little known fact, he kicked a*s at trivia. It was just this once. His urge to be social would be over by morning-hell, he'd be shocked if it didn't pull a Cinderella by midnight, to be honest. Then he'd go right back to normal.

Alone. Just how he liked it.

Roman lifted a brow and looked at Delia. "Well, I'm guessing you didn't invite me for my charm."

Delia surprised him with a laugh. "It's true. I did invite you to be on my team for your brain. Specifically, your hippocampus and your cerebral cortex."

"Wow. You really know how to flatter a guy," Roman said, but Delia shook her head.

"Oh, no! It's a compliment. Or two, actually. Because, while I do believe you have a vast knowledge of a lot of varied topics and excellent recall, both of which will make you an excellent trivia team member, I also think you possess a fair amount of charm." His brows shot up. "You think I'm charming?" Most people would use literally every other adjective in the English language before settling on that one to describe him.

"I think you have your own brand of charm," Delia said, her blond hair brushing the shoulders of her Doctor Who T-shirt as she nodded. "But yes."

Roman picked up his beer and took a healthy swallow to finish it off. "You're probably the only person in this bar who thinks so."

Before she could argue-and she looked like she might-a curvy brunette walked up and knocked him on his a*s. Okay, so it was figurative. The woman had simply arrived at Delia's side, hugging her in greeting and giving up a smile that Roman felt in no less than a dozen places. The twinkle in her eyes balanced out their dark color, her gold-toned skin taking on a glow in the soft bar-light. She was taller than Delia by a good few inches, which made her only a few inches shorter than Roman's six-foot-two. From the glossy black hair tumbling down her back to the bright-red heels peeking out from the cuffs of her jeans, this woman was f*****g gorgeous.

Also, staring directly at him.

"Hi," she said, for what Roman just realized was the second time, and shit, Delia must have introduced them. "It's nice to meet you."

His brain, thank God, bitch-slapped him back to reality before sending his hand out to meet the one she'd outstretched in greeting. "You, too," he said.

Okay, so his tone was maybe a little more chilly than he'd intended, but he had no business being poleaxed, however momentarily, by anyone. Especially a beautiful woman.

She turned her smile on him, putting his resolve to the test. "So this is the notorious Agent Roman."

Roman channeled all of his effort into keeping his surprise-or any other emotion, for that matter-far from his face. "Notorious?"

"Absolutely." She nodded, sending the honey-vanilla scent of her hair into the air, and Christ, she even smelled distractingly good. "I was hoping you'd be here tonight, actually. I wanted to thank you."

This was getting weirder by the second. He was one hundred percent certain he'd never seen this woman before. He was good at faces, and hers? Yeah, he'd have to be six feet beneath the dirt to forget one so pretty. Although, now that he looked with more care, something about her was vaguely familiar.

"We just met," he pointed out, trying to place a) how she knew him despite that fact, and b) how she looked so familiar even though he was certain he didn't know her.

Her laugh, as it turned out, was even sexier than her smile. "Well, yes. But you saved my best friend's life, so I thought thanks wouldn't necessarily be out of line. Even if I am offering them right out of the gate."

Roman searched his memory for any mention Delia might have made of her best friend in passing, and wait. Camille. No-Camila! At least now he wouldn't have to scramble to try and catch it. "Oh. Well, that was all just part of the job." "Wow. Are you always this modest?"

"I'm not being modest. It's just the truth. My job comes with a lot of occupational hazards. I knew that when I signed on, so..."

One black brow kicked up, then one corner of her mouth matched it. "Maybe I should've asked if you're always this argumentative."

"I'm not arguing," Roman...well, shit. Argued. Five years of zero social interaction had turned him into an idiot. "Not on purpose, anyway."

Funny, Camila seemed unfazed by his complete lack of grace. "Oh, don't worry. I happen to think getting-to-know-you chitchat is boring as hell, and I love a good challenge. Should we take this argument to the bar?"

He might be averse to emotions, but he wasn't dead. He knew Camila was flirting with him a little, just like he damn sure knew he shouldn't flirt back. But as much as he liked keeping his distance, he also wasn't a d**k on purpose. It was a beer and a few minutes' worth of conversation, not a f*****g marriage pact. He probably wouldn't ever see her again after tonight.

So he meet her sassy smile head-on and said, "Why not? You're not the only one who loves a good challenge."

CAMILA GARZA HAD WON the hot guy lottery. She made a mental note to give Delia a hard time for not telling her how sexy Kai Roman was. Granted, Delia was all about making goo-goo eyes at Camila's brother (ew) and every interaction she'd ever had with Roman had been of the I'm-in-peril variety. She'd probably missed all the broody deliciousness the FBI agent had going on. But, come on. Dark brown skin. Bronze eyes. Muscles that Camila could clearly see the outlines of beneath his long-sleeved shirt-biceps, shoulders, and ohhh yeah, abs for days. Layer in the broody thing, and this guy checked every last one of her happy boxes. Plus, he'd saved Delia's life, at the risk of losing his own. He could hardly be a terrible guy, right?

Delia, being the smart cookie that she was, caught on, lickety split. "Right," she said, pressing a smile between her lips. "I'm just going to go...somewhere that is not here. I'll see you both later. Have a fun argument."

"Thanks," Camila said. Roman nodded at Delia with one firm lift of his chin (which had a God's-honest cleft, was he trying to incinerate her panties?) then gestured toward the semi-crowded bar.

"Should we go find a good spot for you to lose this argument?"

She snorted. He might be hotter than the Sahara, but a girl had her pride. "You're very sure of yourself."

"I'm very good at winning arguments," he countered, leading her to the back of the Double Shot. The bar itself spanned the entire far wall of the place, lined with a dozen and a half ladder-backed stools and illuminated by both overhead light fixtures and copious strings of tiny white lights. Roman pulled out one of the last empty bar stools for her, waiting until she was fully seated before getting comfortable at her side. Having hung out here a bunch of times with Matteo, Delia, and the Intelligence crew, Camila recognized the bartender, smiling as he came over. Sawyer Knox might look imposing, with his larger-than-average frame and the tough outward demeanor he'd picked up courtesy of the Army. But she knew he was really just a big ol' cinnamon roll, especially when it came to his girlfriend, Jo, and her daughter, who were having dinner at the other end of the bar.

"Hey, Camila," Sawyer said, giving Roman a lightning-fast once over in a move that was probably as ingrained as breathing.

"What can I get you?"

"I'd love the pale ale you've got on tap."

Sawyer nodded, then looked at Roman. "And for you?"

"I'll have the local IPA. Thanks."

Sawyer made fast work of pouring their drinks, then placing both glasses on the bar in front of them. Camila took a sip, enjoying the citrusy flavor of the hops before deciding to give in to her curiosity. "So, do you really think that something as big as saving Delia's life is all just in a day's work?"

"Yeah." He paused to take a draw from his glass. "I mean, don't get me wrong. Most of my time is spent in the field office, not the field itself. The case we just wrapped was more hands-on than usual."

Camila followed his unspoken "but" with a lift of her brows, and he didn't disappoint. "But I signed on for all of it. Danger included. So, whether I'm analyzing intel or going blind on financial reports or chasing down criminals while they're trying to shoot me, it's all part of the job."

"Even though your life is on the line in some of those situations but not others?"

Roman nodded. "In the end, I just want to catch people who are committing fraud. Sometimes that's more literal than others, but I'll do whatever it takes to send them to jail. Even if it's dangerous."

"Spoken like a true workaholic."

Although she'd meant the words teasingly, they sent a twinge to her belly. But no. Nope. No way. She was not going to let her own career issues commandeer this perfectly good conversation. Anyway, despite what her family said, her work ethic was just fine. Or, it would be, if she could actually find a job she loved the way Roman clearly loved being an FBI agent.

His half-smile let her stuff the thought fully away. "Now that, I may be guilty of. Being an FBI agent isn't exactly a nine to five."

"There are worse things a person could be than a workaholic," Camila said.

"Well, there's at least one thing we can agree on." His smile lingered, his bronze stare doing all sorts of not-suitable-for-public things to her body, and she didn't hesitate to lean closer.

"Did we just reach a truce?"

"That depends." He didn't close any more of the space between them, but he also didn't pull away. "On whether or not you're willing to admit defeat on the rest."

Her pulse sped up in the best possible way. "Never."

"Then I guess we'll just have to keep arguing."

Roman's voice was honey, thick and sweet and so delicious that Camila wanted to taste it. She opened her mouth to tell him she could do this all night. But before she could get so much as a single syllable past her lips, she was interrupted by a very familiar, very irritated voice.

"What the hell are you doing?"