The Intelligence Unit Series

Archer stood in the evening shadows and watched. Frustrating, yes-he'd spent the last three and a half weeks waiting to do this one last chore that would guarantee his escape. But watching was better than the waiting he'd been doing up until four days ago, and both had been necessary, albeit annoying as f**k. But as soon as Camila had disappeared, Archer had known the Intelligence Unit had taken the extra precaution of putting her into some sort of protective custody. With her brother in the unit, Archer hadn't been surprised, although the inconvenience had made him want to kill Thorn all over again for making this so goddamned difficult. Shutting Camila up should have been a matter of minutes, a quick grab and drag to a secluded spot so he could cut her throat, toss his blood-soaked clothes in a metal barrel with a match and a bunch of lighter fluid, and get on with his day. But Archer had learned to play the hand he'd been dealt, so he'd taken Portia underground and waited. Planned. Then waited some more. And his patience had finally paid off. Camila Garza was back in Remington. Which meant his carefully constructed plan could finally move forward. All he needed was just a little more recon, a little more security, and he'd be able to kill Camila to keep Portia safe, and both of them out of jail. He had a Plan B, of course-contingencies were a f*****g way of life for a guy like him, and even though this one came with a hefty price, he wouldn't hesitate to use it to buy his freedom.

He'd earned it. He deserved it. And nothing was going to stand in his way.

Not even his sister.

Archer watched from across the street as Camila made her way from the spot where she'd parked in front of Agent Roman's townhouse up to his front door, key in hand. Kick in the pants that the guy just happened to be an FBI agent, and in the fraud division, no less. Archer would find it funny if it hadn't proved to be such a giant pain in his a*s. Roman had schooled her well, though-no cell phone in her hand, no AirPods blocking out the world around her. No, Camila walked with purpose, Point A to Point B with her head on a swivel, ready for any danger she'd encounter. Archer would bet she even had pepper spray in the pocket of that bright red peacoat of hers, her free hand wrapped around it as she walked.

She probably thought she was keeping herself safer with all those precautions, and with anyone else trying to harm her, that might be the case. But as he watched her from the narrow alleyway between the two rows of townhouses across the street-a spot just outside the reach of the street cam on the corner, not that the hat he'd pulled just low enough over his face would allow for a peek even if it caught him-he simply let her show him what not to do.

Snatching her from the street wasn't an option. Too risky, especially in a neighborhood this nice. Same with trying to get past the security at the school where she worked. He'd need something else.

Camila paused on the sidewalk directly in front of Agent Roman's townhouse, her smile wide as she greeted a woman walking her dog. The dog, a purebred mutt from the look of it, sniffed at Camila happily. After gaining permission from the dog's owner, she bent down to give the animal a good scratch behind the ears, and the seed of an idea bloomed in Archer's head, taking root.

After a few seconds, Camila waved in parting and headed to the front door of the townhouse, sweeping a glance over her surroundings one last time before sliding the key into the lock and heading inside. Archer wasn't close enough to hear for sure, but he could imagine the click of the deadbolt moving into place a few seconds later, another tiny puzzle piece that probably made her feel safe.

Good. Let her feel safe. That would only make it easier for him to take her when the time was right, and he was nothing if not patient. He'd wait for her and Agent Roman and the whole f*****g Intelligence Unit to get good and comfortable. They'd already had a few days to dig in to the tipline calls that had placed both him and Portia in Ohio. Archer had made sure the leads were just credible enough while leaving a tiny margin of error, having written the callers' scripts himself. Disguising himself, then finding two junkies willing to make the anonymous calls in exchange for a couple hundred bucks had been all too easy. But it was all part of the plan.

It was the ultimate bait and switch. The Intelligence Unit already thought he and Portia had run. Tactically, it was the smartest move. The one they'd assume he'd make. The longer Camila went untouched, the more lax they'd get. She'd grow comfortable in a sense of security that she'd only have because Archer allowed it.

And that was going to give him just enough time to get away with the murder that would buy his ticket to the happily ever after he deserved.

***

Camila hummedto herself as she sketched with one hand and took a sip of coffee with the other. She'd woken ridiculously early for a Sunday morning, and although she'd been more than a little tempted to wake Roman up in a very creative fashion, she'd ultimately decided to let the poor guy sleep in after a long week back at work. She'd tiptoed to the main level of the townhouse, brewing a cup of coffee and making good use of the early morning light sparkling past the trio of large windows in the dining area off the kitchen. The townhouse was gorgeous, with high ceilings and an abundance of windows that boasted plenty of natural light, pewter oak hardwood floors, and warm, cream-colored walls. Roman had given all the credit to the decorator he'd hired when he'd moved in four years ago, but little touches, like high-end pots and pans and the huge collection of political thrillers in the bookshelves flanking the fireplace in the family room, totally gave him away. The five nights they'd spent here had been some of Camila's happiest, the tiny worry that she'd be intruding on his personal space obliterated by the pure goodness she felt letting him share that space with her, and sharing it with him right back.

Her cell phone chimed with an incoming text, snagging her attention and making her heart tap faster in her chest. Who on earth would text her this early on a Sunday morning?

A quick look at the screen answered that question with ease. Someone with a three-month-old baby, that's who.

Dinner tonight at Mami and Papi's. Everyone will be there. Don't even think of making another excuse.

She had to give it to her sister, Marianna. She didn't pull any punches. Kind of a Garza family trait, actually. Still, it didn't make the tension that had just set up camp in Camila's shoulders any easier to manage.

In order to avoid family drama and create worry while she'd been in protective custody, Camila had given Matteo permission to text their family thread from her cell phone with messages she'd scripted. He'd sent them with enough frequency to keep the rest of the Garza familia from suspecting that anything was amiss, but it hadn't changed the fact that she'd been noticeably absent from their weekly family dinner for over a month now. The excuses she and Matteo had come up with had been as decent as possible-one week, she'd been "sick" and hadn't wanted to share germs with either her parents or the baby, another, she'd had an online certification she'd needed to complete for work, and yet another, a friend in need of help. Her family had been giving her an increasingly difficult time about not being there, and even though Matteo had acted as a buffer, saying he didn't want her germs, either, and actually skipping one of the dinners himself so she wouldn't be the odd person out, now that Camila was actually back, she wasn't going to be able to avoid them any longer.

She was going to have to s**k it up and be scrutinized from head to toe at yet another Garza family dinner.

"Whoa," Roman said, his dark brows tugging down in concern as he walked into the kitchen and caught sight of her before she could rearrange her expression to something more neutral. Or, at least, less pained. "Are you okay? You look upset." After a beat, his expression grew more serious. "You didn't get a threatening message or anything, did you?"

"What? Oh, God, no." Camila shook her head. As promised, the Intelligence Unit had kept watch over her for the past week via regular check-ins, and she'd worn her lavalier tracker twenty-four seven even though the idea of it still ruffled her nerves.

"I'm fine. It's just..." F**k it. She was never going to get away with sugar-coating this. Not with Roman. "Every Sunday, my family does a dinner thing. All of us together, usually at my parents' house. I obviously haven't been for a while, so let's just say my presence is expected and will probably be picked apart in the first five minutes of my attendance."

"Ah." Roman considered this as he made himself a cup of coffee, then brought it into the dining area to sit down across from her. "I know you said they're..."

"Nosy and meddlesome and highly opinionated about every aspect of my personal life?" Camila supplied.

Roman tilted his head, taking a sip from his coffee cup. "I was going to go with 'difficult sometimes'. I take it your brother came up with some good excuses for your absence these past few weeks?"

"He did," she agreed. "And his and Delia's wedding is only a few months away, so I might be able to deflect a little bit of the spotlight from shining on my failures. Still. It's going to be agonizing." "Want a wingman?"

Camila's coffee cup hit the table in front of her with a clunk. "What?"

"A wingman. You know, someone to go with you and-"

Her laugh arrived from out of nowhere, knocking the tension in her shoulders aside. "I know what a wingman is, Roman. But you don't seriously want to go to a family dinner where you'll be asked no less than six thousand questions by my family, who-oh, by the way-have absolutely zero filter, either individually or as a collective unit."

"Am I wild about the fact that things will probably get uncomfortable? No," Roman said, probably because he knew she'd call him out on it if he tried for a full-on "sure, sign me up". "But I'm wild about you, so, yeah. I'll go with you if you want me to. Plus"-he grinned, sending a shot of heat all the way through her-"the look on your brother's face when we walk through the door together will be worth every minute."

Camila laughed again. "You have a point."

She slid from her chair to his lap and let him kiss her like they had nothing but time to do exactly that, and suddenly, her brother, her whole family and all of their disapproval, were the last thing on her mind.