The Intelligence Unit Series

Roman was entirely out of his depth. Yes, he'd been shot at, and yes, he'd (finally) been tasked with tracking down three very elusive, very dangerous criminals, at least one of whom was also a murderer. But none of that rocked his composure more than the sight of Camila standing in front of the open safe house fridge in nothing but a three-sizes-too-big T-shirt, her s*x-mussed hair twirled into a knot on top of her head and a crooked tune humming past the lips he'd just spent over an hour kissing. Of the thousands of scenarios he'd trained for, not one of them had prepared him for how this woman made him feel.

Which would be dangerous. If only he didn't feel too good-too right with her-to fight it.

"Sorry about the clothing situation," Roman said, forcing himself out of his head and back in the moment. "We can ask Intelligence to send some of your things tomorrow so you're more comfortable."

Camila nodded, looking down at the T-shirt they'd found in a drawer in the bedroom. "That would be great. Not that I don't love rocking the safe house chic look, but having my own clothes would be nice." She gestured to the cupboard in front of her. "We've got a few options for dinner, although sadly, none of them are samosas. It looks like nearly everything here is either a sandwich ingredient or it comes from a can. But I think we can make this work."

His resolve kicked in, good and hard. She had to be famished by now, and he'd sworn to keep her safe-which included making sure she got the sustenance she needed-so he rolled through a few fast, easy options in his head. "I don't mean to brag, but I make a mean grilled cheese sandwich, if you're up for that."

"Ooooh," Camila said, her smile sparking a feeling in his chest that he really didn't want to examine too closely. "That sounds great. I think I saw some tomato soup in the cupboard, too."

She shifted away from the fridge, rummaging in the cupboard beside it for a minute before coming up victorious. "Ta daaaaa!" she said, holding up two generic cans of soup.

Roman laughed. "That'll do for tonight, but when we get out of here, I'm going to cook you a meal from scratch."

Camila looked as surprised as he felt at the promise. "So, not only do you dodge bullets and kick a*s at trivia, but you cook, too?"

"Yeah," he admitted. He took the butter and cheese out of the refrigerator, placing them both on the counter, then opened a cupboard to pull out the bread. The self-preservation part of him that had been honed so sharply over the past six years warned him not to elaborate, to put Camila at arm's length, especially after the s*x they'd just had. But she looked so sweet, so wide-open and perfectly herself even in her borrowed, baggy T-shirt, that Roman just opened his mouth to let the words out.

"My mother taught me how to cook when I was still a kid. She was half Hawaiian, half Black, and she brought the best of both cultures to the kitchen. One night, we'd have laulau and lomi salmon, and the next, she'd whip up a double batch of gumbo. She made the best peach cobbler in the world, no exaggeration. She taught me how to prepare all of it, although it took a lot of patience on her part. Not to mention, more than one disaster in the kitchen."

"Wow, those dishes sound incredible," Camila said. "I take it you two were close, then?"

"Very, although I'm a lot more like my old man. There was just something special about my bond with her." He moved to the sink to wash his hands, and having a task to focus on eased even more of the tension from his shoulders. "She named me after her grandfather. She wanted to be sure I carried on some of my Hawaiian heritage because my old man is Black, so that's how I ended up with Kai."

Camila smiled. "My family has some mixed heritage, too, although we're mostly Mexican. I'm pretty sure our names all came from baby books, though."

"Be glad," Roman told her, and damn, how he meant it. "I was teased pretty mercilessly. Kai isn't exactly a common name to begin with, and definitely not common for a Black kid. But it was important to my mother, so I guess it was worth it."

"Are you an only child, or do you have siblings who got cool names, too?" Camila asked. She slid into the spot Roman had just vacated at the sink, washing her hands and drying them on a dish towel, and even though the memory of his mother was bittersweet, something about being here in the kitchen with Camila made him feel safe enough to share all of it.

"I'm an only child. My parents had me later in their lives-my mother was forty-one and my father was forty-three when I was born. She always said I was her life's 'greatest surprise'. Once I got old enough, I realized that meant I was an unexpected surprise." Camila laughed, moving around him to take a saucepan from a cupboard next to the stove. "My sister Marianna's got one of those. He's about three months old now. Cute little stinker. We all adore him."

The way she spoke about her family with such obvious affection, despite the tension Roman knew she felt over how they babied her, sent a pang through his belly. He hadn't known closeness like that -and all the complex emotions that went with it, good, bad, and ugly-in so long.

"My parents thought they couldn't have children," Roman said, taking a skillet from the same cupboard where Camila had found the saucepan and placing it over an unlit burner, then turning his attention to the bread. "Then, one day, when they were least expecting it, my mother found out she was pregnant with me."

Camila smiled, her dark brows lifted. "Ah, so you were a miracle baby. That bond with your mother makes even more sense now."

"I was close with my mother my whole life," Roman said, an ache spreading out in his chest. It had been so long since he'd let himself think of his mother for more than a passing minute that the pain felt almost fresh, and he chased the ache with a slide of his hand over his T-shirt. "She was diagnosed with b****t cancer when I was twenty-one. It runs in her family. She caught it early enough to do chemo and radiation, but..." "It's an aggressive and horrible disease. I'm so sorry."

Camila's voice was as full of empathy as her stare, and Roman soaked in both, letting them give him strength. "Thanks. She died less than a year after her diagnosis."

if sensing his need to breathe for a minute, Camila worked quietly next to him, opening both cans of soup and pouring them into the saucepan, then placing it over the cooktop and clicking the burner to life. "How about your dad? You said you're more like him. Are you close, too?"

Hell if that wasn't a question more loaded than his Sig. "Not so much, no. He's a man of few words," Roman said, prompting Camila to huff out a laugh.

"Ooohhh, yeah. You're definitely a chip off that block." Her brows gathered on a delay, her chin springing up a minute later. "So, your father is still living, yes?"

"Yes." Roman's heart kicked, but he forced his hands to remain steady as he slid one sandwich, then the other, into the skillet he'd warmed. "We....don't really talk, though."

Camila didn't say anything, her silence offering him the chance to air out the rest, and even though he knew it made him vulnerable as hell, he took it.

"I've never doubted that both my parents loved me, but my old man was never the type to put it into a lot of words. When my mom died, I was devastated." It was an understatement-God, he'd felt the sadness all the way to his soul, especially in those first few months. "My father was grieving just as much as I was. He never talked about it, and I didn't know how to ask. I definitely didn't know how to share my grief with him. I mean, I knew he was in so much pain of his own. Burdening him didn't seem right. But there was just this...I don't know, this silence between us without my mother there. Like we'd lost our bridge when she died, and we didn't know how to reach each other without her."

Camila stood beside him, seeing everything with those big, brown eyes, and damn it, he couldn't stop his words even if he wanted to.

And he didn't.

"Gabi and I were together by then, although we weren't married yet, and she helped me through the worst of my grief. She pushed me toward therapy, which, to be honest, was a smart call. My father and I kept in touch, of course, but things were never the same. Then, when Gabi died a few years later..."

Roman stopped for a breath, but Camila was right there, holding him up.

"You were devastated again," she whispered.

He nodded, his throat going tight. "I couldn't take any more loss, you know? The people closest to me, my anchors? I thought I'd never lose them. But I did, and it left me gutted. I went through the motions, eventually. I needed something to bury myself in, and work was all I had, at that point. But after Gabi died, I was too scared to lose anyone else."

Understanding dawned on Camila's face all at once, everything Roman had been stuffing down for years finally out in the open. "So you pushed everyone away. That's why you keep everyone at arm's length."

"It's not that I want to," Roman said, because Christ, he missed having a family. Friends. Someone to hold as he fell asleep at night, and someone who would hold him back. "I just...I don't think I'd survive it again, you know? The risk scares the shit out of me, so I push people away."

"That's one hell of a defense mechanism," Camila said, no trace of judgment in her voice.

Roman's laugh in response didn't hold any joy. "Well, you blew it to f*****g pieces." Here he was, in the middle of an FBI safe house, spouting out feelings that hadn't seen daylight in years. Might as well tell her everything-she was the only person he trusted. "For five years, I kept everything on lockdown. Every emotion, good or bad, went into the vault. I lost friends. Distanced myself from my old man. Even my unit-mates don't really know me. But you showed up in that bar and grill and upended everything. I wanted you so much. I've wanted you every night since. And now, I don't know how to not want you."

Camila turned off both burners, then took his face in her hands. "Hey. Roman, look at me."

He did, and she was so beautiful that it hurt.

"I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. I'm so sorry you've endured so much loss." She kissed him softly, anchoring him to the moment. To her. "I'm sorry because it hurt you so deeply, but also because it made you close yourself off. You are such a good man. You might bury it and try to hide it from others, but I see you. The man who puts himself in harm's way to keep strangers safe. Who spends his free time making sure hungry people get fed. Who literally saved my life tonight. You deserve to share that goodness with people and not be afraid of losing them."

The words unlocked something inside of him, and he pulled her close, holding her like a lifeline. "Thank you," he whispered into her hair.

He hadn't thought it possible, but she held him even tighter. "Solidarity. You've got my back, and I've got yours."

And there, in the safety of Camila's arms, Roman let himself do something he hadn't for the past six years.

He felt everything.

***

Archer watchedthe breaking news on three different local outlets, examining each clip for even the smallest details while rage filled his chest. This bank robbery plan had taken nearly a year to properly hatch, growing from a hazy idea to an intricate, highly detailed series of steps that had been nearly f*****g foolproof. Archer had put months' worth of thought and research into it, meticulously studying everything from security systems and floor plans to psychological studies on fear. He had been the brains behind the entire thing. He'd considered every angle. He'd done every ounce of the hard work.

Pulling the jobs off alone would have been impossible, of course. He'd needed players he could trust, yeah, but also ones he could control. Archer had brought Portia on board because she'd do whatever he told her, up to and including commit a series of felonies that could potentially land her in prison for the rest of her life, although he could admit that a smaller part of him had been driven by remorse for leaving her in that shit situation with their step-monster. Thorn had been more of a wild card. Archer had always known that cutting him in had been risky, and he'd planned accordingly. He'd needed a third person to make this work, though, someone without a conscience but who could be managed. Archer had needed to finesse every move-Thorn's hair trigger was real, and his penchant for violence, even more so.

He just hadn't thought Thorn would be so stupid when shit got critical. The consequences of his stunt tonight would be dire.

They'd all end up paying for what he'd done.

The door between the garage and the house creaked open, the sound of heavy bootsteps kicking Archer's pulse into gear. He waited until Thorn got halfway through the darkened kitchen before deciding to use the surprise to his advantage. "Where have you been?" he asked, satisfaction unfolding in his chest as Thorn startled.

“F**k, Arch. Make a little noise, would you?" Thorn slapped at the light switch, turning to nail Archer with a glare. "Next time, I might shoot you by accident."

"Where have you been?" Archer repeated. He was going to need to know every detail before he could decide how to proceed.

Thorn shrugged. "Out."

Archer lifted a brow. "You killed a cop in cold blood eight hours ago. Is there something about 'lay low' that doesn't make sense to you?"

"I needed to blow off steam," Thorn said, his voice loaded with disdain. "What are you, my mother now?"

Portia appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, dressed in a tank top and pajama pants, her blond hair sleep-tangled. "What's going on?" she asked, and while Archer hadn't really wanted to do this in front of her, he wasn't about to skip it or put it off. "Thorn was just trying to dance around the fact that he snuck out of the house a few hours ago to try to publicly kill the woman who witnessed the three of us robbing a bank last week."

Thorn actually had the balls to look shocked, and good Christ, he was more of a liability than ever. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said as Portia gasped, but Archer didn't back down.

"Yes, you f*****g do," he bit out, clicking his laptop to life and swinging the screen bearing the Remington Daily News's home page to face Thorn. "You went after Camila Garza and tried to kill her after I specifically told you not to."

Thorn and Portia both watched the video clip of the news coverage, complete with a surveillance image of himself, gun in hand in Camila's apartment building, with the words "Man Wanted in Connection with Attempted Murder of a Witness" splashed across the bottom of the screen.

Portia's eyes widened, her jaw going slack with shock. "Thorn, what the hell? You tried to shoot her in the middle of her apartment building?"

"She knows too much," Thorn snapped. "She saw your eyes well enough to draw them. Your brother can sugar coat that to keep you from freaking out all he wants, but he and I both know that now that the FBI is involved, they'll open their search up to DMV databases. They won't stop until they find you. And once they do, we're all f****d."

"Is...is that true?" Portia whispered, her face going pale as she swung toward Archer. "Will they look at my driver's license photo?"

"It might be," Archer said, resisting the urge-albeit barely-to close his fingers around Thorn's neck.

Thorn snorted his disagreement. "It is. The cops are going to put your name on a list of persons of interest. Then they'll do a photo array, and once this bitch makes a positive ID on your eyes, they'll dig in good and hard. They're going to find out you left Arkansas months ago, and that you've been off the grid ever since then, which is suspicious as shit. They'll know you're involved in these robberies, and it ain't gonna take a rocket scientist for them to connect you to me and Archer. I already told you, I'm not going back to jail. Shutting Camila up so she couldn't make an ID was the only option."

Archer's patience tilted. "Do you think I don't know she needed to be dealt with?"

Portia's brows shot upward as Thorn's gathered over his stare. "You said we couldn't kill her."

"I said we couldn't kill her yet," Archer corrected, ice on every word. "Of course we need to shut her up. I'm not risking a loose end like that. But we needed to do it carefully, and you went and screwed all of that up."

"You're not the only one who can come up with a plan, you know," Thorn snarled. "I had the jump on her. She had no f*****g clue I was coming. Neither did the cops. I would've gotten away with killing her if that other guy from the robbery hadn't been with her." Thatgot Archer's attention. "What guy?"

"The guy who jumped in front of her when we barged into the bank," Thorn said.

Archer's mind did a mental rewind back to the robbery, pulling up the memory of the Black guy who had wanted to go into the vault instead of Camila. Early thirties. Nice suit. Noticeably calm. Archer had known he'd be able to control him as soon as he'd put himself in front of Camila when they'd entered the bank, though. He'd known he'd needed to control him as soon as the guy had volunteered to go to the vault, not once, but twice, and at least his motivation made a hell of a lot more sense now. But Archer would have to unspool all of that later, because right now, he had a new plan to execute. "You created a steaming pile of problems for us, Thorn. Every cop in the city is on full alert, looking for you." "Whatever. They aren't gonna find me," Thorn said, and Archer shook his head.

"No, they aren't."

Archer had the Glock out of the back waistband of his jeans before either Thorn or Portia could blink, let alone register what he was doing, and he didn't hesitate to put four bullets directly into Thorn's chest.

"Archer!" Portia screamed, her hands flying up to her mouth. Thorn dropped like a sack full of stones, his right hand reaching for the weapon Archer knew he kept tucked in his own waistband. Thorn's body refused to comply, his heart likely having been shredded on impact. Archer was an excellent shot, and he'd chosen to cluster the bullets exactly where Thorn would not only have no chance of survival, but have no hope of being able to retaliate before he started to bleed out.

Archer strode forward, putting one last bullet in Thorn's skull before turning to Portia. "Go turn off all the lights in the rest of the house," he said calmly. "Then carefully look outside to be sure nothing seems suspicious." He'd been sure to rent a house in a neighborhood where gunshots weren't out of the ordinary and everyone minded their own damn business, but still. Taking chances, especially now, wasn't on his agenda.

Portia stood glued to the floor, her expression half a step away from pure panic. "You...you...shot Thorn. Oh, my God. Oh, my God, Archer. He's dead."

Archer proceeded with care. He needed her on board, and fast, so he tucked the gun back into his waistband and stepped into her line of sight, blocking her view of Thorn's body. "I planned to kill him from the beginning, P." "What?" she breathed, but he just nodded calmly.

"I was always going to kill him. Granted, I had to do it earlier than planned." He paused here to feign a look of remorse, but in reality, he didn't have a shred of the stuff. "Thorn was a liability. We needed him for the robberies-it was never going to work with just two of us-but I couldn't trust him to keep his mouth shut. All it would take was one night of him getting high and bragging to the wrong person about what we'd done, or, worse yet, one sloppy crime he'd get pinched for, then start singing to the cops in exchange for a deal. For Chrissake, he'd throw his own mother under the bus. I couldn't leave a loose end like that."

"You couldn't tell me?" Portia asked, anger streaking through her blue-brown eyes. "We're supposed to be in this together."

"We are in this together," Archer said. "I was going to tell you once we'd hit the last bank, but Thorn went and f****d everything up by going after Camila too soon. He was going to get us caught. It had to be done."

Portia gave up a slow nod. "I guess that makes sense. But he's dead in the middle of the kitchen, Arch, and we still don't have all the money we need. How are we going to get out of this?"

Ah, the million-dollar question. Fortunately, Archer had come up with the answer not long after he'd seen that news report. "Well, first thing's first. We're going to need to clean up this mess. Can you go turn off those lights for me? I don't think anyone's going to come poking around," he added quickly, because he needed to reassure her to get her to comply. "But we need to be sure."

"O-okay. Yeah," she said. The task gave Archer a chance to cover Thorn's body with a plastic sheet he'd bought weeks ago-who's the p***y now, you a*****e?-and he turned off the kitchen lights before meeting Portia in the cramped living room. "All the lights are out," Portia said. "Should we turn off the one on the porch, too?"

"No," Archer said. A completely dark house in a neighborhood like this was practically a welcome mat for burglars, and the last thing they needed now was for someone to try and break in. "We just need to wait a little while to be sure we're in the clear. Then I'll take care of Thorn and the car we used today. I'll need you to clean the kitchen, though, and pack up everything we brought with us. Thorn's stuff, too. Can you do that?"

He caught Portia's nod in the scant porch light illuminating the room from the other side of the cheap blinds. "Are we going on the run?"

"Not quite," he said, although they damn well couldn't stay here, in this house. People in this neighborhood kept to themselves, but that didn't mean they were blind-or stupid. If anyone had seen Thorn and connected the dots with the partial image of him being wallpapered all over the internet right now, he and Portia would be hosed. But they still had business in Remington, so he said, "We need to find a safe place to hole up for a while so I can come up with a plan to finish this, once and for all." "Finish this how?" Portia asked, flattening a hand over one hip. "I don't want to be in the dark anymore, Archer. If you're going to kill anyone else, I want to know."

For a brief second, Archer contemplated lying. But Portia was tougher than she looked, and she was already in for a penny.

So he said, "I didn't do all this work just to have the payday I earned yanked out from under me. Thorn was right about one thing. Camila Garza is a witness. She can tie you to the robberies, which means she's too big of a threat to ignore. I'm going to kill her." Resolve filled his chest. This was necessary, and he wouldn't hesitate to f*****g do it. No matter how long he had to wait. "I just have to figure out how."