The Intelligence Unit Series

Roman used all of his strength just to breathe. He'd been on high alert, memorizing everything he could ever since the three assailants had entered the bank and made their intentions clear. This crew was f*****g good, though-military-grade gear, precision timing. Not your run-of-the-mill smash and dash, this whole job was clearly well-planned, which meant there was no way these guys were virgins. The point man was scissor-sharp, having moved just far enough behind Roman after sending Camila to the back that Roman couldn't see him, even though he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that the man saw him. Roman had no way of looking around to gather even the smallest scrap of intel about the man without being noticed. He sure as hell couldn't gauge where the second man had taken Camila, or guess why they might have needed her. F**k. He had to get to Camila. Had to keep her safe.

He couldn't let her die.

Control the situation, his inner voice commanded, yanking him fully back into the moment. Emotions made people stupid. Made them panic. Got them killed. He needed to come up with a strategy, something rational that would ensure everyone's safety now. He wasn't armed-he didn't make a habit of carrying his weapon unless he was in the field-but it didn't matter. Getting into a shootout with three heavily armed robbers with a bunch of civilians in the mix would be the highest order of stupid. Once everyone in the bank was safe, he'd be able to lead a team of FBI agents to take these assholes down.

The time would come for these three criminals to end up in jail for the rest of their lives. Right now, Roman was outmanned and outgunned. Acting like a cowboy would only get him-and the innocent people around him-killed.

Not f*****g happening. Not today. Not ever.

Roman scraped for an inhale, using the opportunity to mentally review as many facts as he could. There was damn little to go on, which pissed him off. With the point man out of his line of sight, Roman couldn't gauge anything other than the seconds dropping off the clock, and yeah, he'd been counting. He knew the guy was still there even though he didn't have eyes on him-there had been no footsteps toward the doorway leading to the back of the bank, and anyway, he was too smart for that. He'd never be so careless as to leave them all unattended. Despite the fact that all three assailants were packing some serious hardware, Roman didn't get a sense that the point man planned to harm anyone unless he felt he had to. This job was too well-strategized to be a one-off, and a body trail would attract far more attention than they'd want. The best plan was to lay low and let this crew steal the money they'd come for.

At least, for now. After they'd gone?

Roman wasn't going to rest until all three of them were behind bars.

The preteen girl beside him let out a shaky exhale. She'd calmed a little bit, her cries having turned into hiccupy breaths as her mother had whispered, "it's okay" over and over in her ear. There was damn little that made Roman's composure hitch, even for a nanosecond. His fellow agents hadn't nicknamed him The Iceman for nothing. So the speed with which the girl's terror had sliced through Roman in that instant when he'd first seen her? Yeah, he'd have to figure out how he'd let that slip past his defenses later, so he could make sure it never happened again.

He'd recovered quickly, at least, strategically soothing the girl's panic so the assailants wouldn't do anything stupid to keep her quiet. And they hadn't.

Not yet, anyway. The point man might not lean toward violence, but the big guy with him? Yeah, he was a bar fight waiting to happen.

Heavy bootsteps sounded off from behind him, and Roman measured the risk of turning his head for a split second before deciding the assailants would be distracted enough to make the move worth it. The two men who had taken Rosalie and Camila behind the counter and out of sight rushed back into the lobby, making Roman's pulse escalate. Neither woman was with them, and Roman's fingers tightened against the back of his head, every instinct he had screaming for him to make sure they were unharmed. No gunshots, the rational part of his brain reminded sternly. It was a good sign.

Not that his instincts were going to give a shit until he saw Camila, alive and unharmed, with his own two eyes.

The point man shouldered the duffel bag that the larger accomplice had dropped at his feet. The other two men had bags of their own, and Roman's breath jammed in his lungs as the point man turned toward their group.

"I have control of the video feed of this room. That means I'll be able to see you after I walk out that door. You will all slowly count to one hundred before you move. Not doing so isn't a risk you want to take."

Pulling a nine millimeter handgun from his hip, he sent a pair of shots at the ceiling to punctuate the threat, the deafening pop-pop! making everyone other than Roman cry out. With all the patrons paralyzed into place, the group turned toward the door and fell out, gone as quickly as they'd appeared.

Roman was moving before the door had fully shut.

"Is anyone hurt?" he asked, jumping to his feet and scanning the patrons, his gaze lingering for an extra beat on the preteen and her mother, both of whom shook their heads. Thank f**k. "See if your cell phone works," he barked at the bank manager who had been working alongside Rosalie. "If it doesn't, use a landline to call nine-one-one and tell them there's been a bank robbery and the three assailants are armed and on the run." "B-but he said-"

Roman shook his head, already at the door leading to the back of the bank. "He said it to scare you. He needs the lead time to get away. He's too smart to risk coming back. Tell the nine-one-one operator that FBI Agent Kai Roman is on-scene. Go. And you"-he turned toward the middle-aged man who had been on the opposite side of the bank when the robbers had arrived-"come with me. Everyone else, stay here until the police arrive."

Dropping his credentials seemed to do the trick, giving the manager and the other man the reassurance to take action. The man moved toward Roman as Roman moved toward the door to the back of the bank. He ran down the main hallway, sweeping every space he passed for Camila and Rosalie, coming up empty until he reached an open vault door. His heart launched against his sternum-she cannot be dead, she cannot be dead-but he didn't hesitate to run past the threshold. The first thing he saw was Camila crumpled in a heap on the floor.

"Camila." Panic threatened to take control of Roman's limbs, but no. No. Not now. Not for this. He forced himself to scan the room, catching sight of Rosalie, who was pale and shaky, but conscious and semi-alert a few feet away.

"Are you hurt?" he asked her, although he'd dropped to his knees beside Camila. Thank f**k, she had a pulse and was breathing.

"N-no," Rosalie rasped, holding up an inhaler with zip-tied hands. "I...have asthma."

Well, that explained needing a second set of hands. He looked at the man from the lobby, who now stood in the doorway to the vault, eyes wide. "What's your name?" "Victor," he said.

"Victor, I need you to sit with Rosalie and make sure she stays stable until paramedics get here. Nice deep breaths, both of you," he said, turning his full attention to Camila. Cradling her head in one hand and her shoulder in the other to keep her spine stable, Roman turned her carefully to her back. Anger ripped through him, hot and fast, at the sight of the two-inch gash at her temple and the already-swollen bruise blooming beneath it. He stuffed down the useless emotion to focus on the task at hand, searching for something he could use to place pressure on the wound before realizing that they were in the middle of a f*****g bank vault, and of course there was nothing.

His tie wasn't ideal, but it would have to do. "Camila," Roman said quietly, removing the tie from around his neck with one hand. "Camila, can you hear me? I need you to wake up."

Her chest rose and fell, but otherwise, nothing. Folding the tie up as best he could, he pressed the fabric to her temple.

Thatgot her. "Unh," she grunted, eyes fluttering. "Where-"

Roman cut her off before she could try to move-or, worse yet, panic. "You're okay, but you need to be really still. Don't try to move."

Of course, she didn't listen. "Don't be...okay, ow." Camila got halfway to seated before swaying dangerously, making Roman curse.

"I told you," he said, guiding her back to the floor a little more firmly this time. Christ, she was so stubborn. "You need to be still."

Camila blinked, realization hitting her on a delay. "Rosalie," she gasped, struggling again to sit up.

Roman didn't let her budge. She could have a concussion. Or worse. "Rosalie is fine." He softened his tone by a degree, knowing she wouldn't stop trying to get up unless he did. "One of the bank patrons is with her. Everyone is safe, and the police are on their way. But you have a really nasty bump on your head." Damn it, she was bleeding all over the place. "So could you please sit still until the paramedics get here?"

Camila blinked up at him. "The bank was robbed," she said, her eyes filling with fear, then tears. "They had guns. They said they'd kill us."

F**k. He didn't do emotion. So why were hers making him want to lose his shit, right there in the middle of a bank vault? "They're gone now," Roman bit out. "And I'm going to make sure they don't get away with this."

Camila tried to nod, but let out a pained cry at the movement, and where were those paramedics?

"Just breathe," he told her. To his surprise, she didn't protest. Her inhale was wobbly at best, but at least she wasn't trying to get up anymore. Her stillness allowed Roman to finally concentrate on keeping her stable. Speaking of which... "Does anything hurt besides your head?"

Her brow creased in obvious confusion, so he added, "People who lose consciousness can sustain secondary injuries when they fall to the floor. So, does anything else hurt?" He hadn't seen anything obvious, like a broken bone, but that didn't mean she hadn't sprained anything.

"No," Camila finally said. "Nothing else."

"Are you sure?" Roman gave her a quick head-to-toe scan, just in case. Adrenaline could mask a lot of pain. Plus, she'd witnessed a bank robbery, then been assaulted at gunpoint. Shock wasn't out of the question.

Wait, had she just rolled her eyes at him? "Seeing as how it's my body you're asking about? Yeah, I'm pretty sure."

"I didn't mean you know what, forget it." Clearly, she couldn't be that badly hurt if she had the energy to give him crap. Although, knowing Camila, she could be missing a limb and probably still want to get snippy. She wasn't too unlike her brother that way. He stilled. F**k, her brother. He'd gotten all overprotective about Camila flirting with Roman in the middle of a crowded bar. It was statistically impossible that Matteo Garza wouldn't lose every last ounce of his shit once he found out his sister had been injured in a bank robbery and that said injuries were being tended to by none other than his biggest nemesis.

Roman's thought was thankfully interrupted by footsteps thundering down the hallway. A white, dark-haired patrol cop who Roman recognized as Xander Matthews rushed into the vault, his eyes landing on Roman's for a fraction of a second before he assessed the rest of the scene.

"Clear in the vault. But we're gonna need that gurney in here, and another set of paramedics," he said loudly over one shoulder before locking eyes with Roman again. "You good?"

"Affirmative." Roman punctuated the claim with a single nod. "She needs medical care, and so does the bank manager."

"Anyone critical?" Xander asked, and Roman shook his head.

"Asthma attack and head injury from a pistol whip. No one's been shot." Speaking of which... "We're looking for three men armed with AR-15s, all masked, all in black tactical gear, including full face coverings. You're going to need to pull all the street cam footage from at least a three-block perimeter. They had to have had a vehicle waiting."

"Okay, let's slow our roll just a little bit," Xander said. Another patrol officer-

presumably Xander's partner, if the way they communicated so easily was anything to go by-arrived in the vault, rushing over to tend to Victor and Rosalie as Xander dropped to Camila's other side. "This place is swarming with cops, and Intelligence will be here in less than five minutes. For now, maybe let's just get these two to the hospital."

So many things Roman wanted to run with, there. But he could have the jurisdictional pissing match with the Intelligence Unit's leader, Sergeant Sam Sinclair, once the guy arrived, and anyway, Xander was right. Getting Camila into an ambulance so she could be checked out by a doctor or six was of the most pressing importance.

"Oh, hi, Xander," Camila said, snagging the cop's attention. He dropped a wide-eyed stare to Camila's face, concern taking over his expression for only a second before he blanked it.

"Camila?" He shot a nonverbal WTF at Roman that Roman promptly ignored. "Sorry, I didn't know that was you. Quinn and Luke will be here in a second, okay? So will your brother. Just sit tight."

She groaned. "I'm seriously fine."

"You're not fine," Roman countered. His tone earned him some raised eyebrows from Xander, but oh look, Roman didn't give one single f**k. "Your head is still bleeding, and you lost consciousness. You need to go to the hospital."

"Hate to say it." Xander leaned in, his smile probably much kinder than the scowl Roman knew he was wearing. "But Roman is right. At the very least, you'll need to get checked out." He turned and looked at his partner before Camila could protest. "You good?" The officer, a petite woman with light brown skin who Roman would put in her early forties, gave Xander a look that suggested she was very rarely not good. "Rosalie, here, is doing just fine. Victor, too."

Voices filtered over the radio at her shoulder, echoed by the one on Xander's gear, and he nodded, then looked at Camila. "Paramedics are here."

Relief flooded Roman's chest as Xander turned toward the two-way and responded with their location in the vault, requesting a second gurney. Two paramedics, who Roman recognized as a husband and wife team he'd met the same night he and Camila had engaged in their flirt-a-thon last year, moved briskly over the threshold. The blonde headed their way, jump bag at the ready, while her husband moved toward Rosalie.

"Hey, Xander. Oh." Her blue eyes rounded in surprise as she caught sight of Roman, still stabilizing Camila's head and neck. "Okay, the FBI is here. It's a party."

"Roman was in the bank when it was robbed," Xander said, while the woman-Quinn, Roman remembered-rushed forward. "So was Garza's sister, unfortunately."

Quinn's brows shot upward, but she didn't falter as she knelt by Camila's shoulder, opposite Xander. "Hi, Camila. It's me, Quinn. I need to take a quick look at you and see what we're dealing with, here. Is that okay?"

"Yes," Camila said. "But please make sure Rosalie is okay, too. She had an asthma attack."

"Luke's with her," Quinn promised, looking across the vault just long enough to get the thumbs-up from her husband. "She's in great hands. Speaking of which"-Quinn did a lightning-fast assessment of Roman's hold on Camila's head-"it looks like Agent Roman's got you pretty stabilized, so can you tell me if you're in any pain?"

Quinn did a rapid trauma assessment, asking a handful of questions as she expertly slid a C-collar around Camila's neck, then took her vitals and replaced Roman's makeshift bandage with sterile gauze pads. Of course, Camila didn't give Quinn any shit when she asked if Camila was sure she didn't have any other pain. But the paramedic earned a lot of points from Roman when she got to the next bit.

"Okay, Camila. I'm going to get a backboard to stabilize you fully while we take a ride to Remington Mem."

"I'm fine," Camila protested, but nope. Roman had had enough.

"You're not," he argued, ignoring the looks he got from both Quinn and Xander in return.

Quinn responded first. "I think what Agent Roman is trying to say is that you've been through a lot." The glance she shot his way told him in no uncertain terms to stay quiet, and he bit his tongue, but only because they were wasting time. Quinn continued, "You're awake and alert, and those are both really good things. But adrenaline is tricky. It can make you feel fine even when you're not. Plus, you lost consciousness, so by rule, I have to take you to be checked out. I know it sucks." She squeezed Camila's hand. "But the docs at Remington Mem are the best. Trust me, you want them to take a look. If you're okay, they'll give you the green light to go home. I promise."

"Fine," Camila whispered, her eyes filling with tears that she furiously blinked away, and God damn it, Roman was going to make sure they melted the key once he brought these assholes in and locked them up. He forced himself to focus on the step-by-step of helping Quinn get Camila strapped to the backboard and gurney she and Luke had brought into the vault upon arrival. Another pair of paramedics had arrived to help Rosalie, which left Roman to very reluctantly step back from Camila as Quinn and Luke prepared her for transport. They were the experts, though, and he'd already lost precious minutes on the hunt for these bank robbers. Roman turned to call his boss and secure jurisdiction over this case once and for all, but a very angry, very familiar voice cut through his thoughts to claim his full attention.

"Where is she?" Matteo Garza asked, rushing into the vault a nanosecond later.

Camila tensed on the gurney, which made Roman tense in return, and seriously, what was wrong with his ability to compartmentalize today?

"I hope you have a sedative in that bag," Camila muttered to Quinn as Garza ran over, his jaw cranked tight. "A big one."

"Jesus. Camila." Grabbing her hand, he turned toward Quinn while something very protective and weird unfolded in Roman's gut. "Is she okay? Tell me she's okay."

"I'm fine, Matteo," Camila said, tacking on a slightly irritated, "also, I'm right here. Awake and everything. Just in case you wanted to ask me if I'm okay."

"You're bleeding from a head wound that you sustained in an armed bank robbery, Camila. Nothing about that is fine," Garza pointed out, and huh. For the first time ever, he and Roman agreed on something.

Camila sighed. "Okay, yes. I have a bump on my head. But it's not a big deal. Rosalie, the bank manager? She had an asthma attack and couldn't even breathe until she got her inhaler. That's far worse." "Rosalie the bank manager isn't my baby sister." Garza looked at Quinn again. "You're taking her to the hospital, right?"

"Right now, actually." Quinn shouldered her jump bag and lifted her chin at Luke, who fell into place at the foot of the gurney.

Garza turned toward the vault door. "I'm going with you."

"No," Camila said, and Roman's pulse escalated at the panic in her tone. "I don't need a babysitter. Plus, the bank was robbed. Don't you have to investigate?"

"Well, yes, but my unit-" Garza looked up, his stare snagging on Roman's. "Wait. What the hell are you doing here?"

"I was in the bank, too."

Not a lot threw Garza off his game, but that? Definitely got him. "You...what?"

Roman didn't blink. "I was in the bank with your sister when it was robbed. Pure coincidence."

Garza shook his head, clearly still trying to process everything. But Quinn jumped in with, "Hey, Garza. We really have to head out."

"Right." The words seemed to snap the guy into place. "Okay, Camila. I'm riding with you. I'll call mami and papi on the way and have them meet us there."

"Don't you dare," she snapped. "One Garza losing their shit about this is enough. Anyway, I won't be at the hospital for long. I have to give a statement, right?"

Garza paused, then bit out a curse. "Yes, but I can take your statement at Remington Mem. You need to rest. Let someone take care of you."

"Not freaking likely if you call mami and papi," she argued as Quinn and Luke wheeled the gurney out the door. On the one hand, Roman didn't disagree that she needed to be thoroughly checked out. Quinn might be a good paramedic, but she didn't have X-ray vision. Camila might have an internal injury none of them could see. But she had been pretty calm overall in the face of danger, and she'd clearly helped get Rosalie much-needed medical attention at some point during their time in the vault. She was tougher than her brother was giving her credit for.

He'd have to worry about Camila later, though-and the weird nagging in his gut told him with certainty that he would. But right now, he had a case to work.

With both Rosalie and Camila on their way to the hospital, Roman turned to make his way out of the vault. The bank was swarming with cops and crime scene techs, but he was looking for one cop in particular. He found Sergeant Sinclair in the center of the lobby, his jaw set in firm determination as he watched his detectives interviewing bank patrons, and yeah.

Here we go again.

"Roman," Sinclair said, meeting him halfway across the marble floor tiles. "I heard you were on-scene during the robbery. You good?"

Surprise flickered through him at Sinclair's primary concern, but only for a breath before he snuffed it out. "Of course. I assume you've called Agent Calloway."

The mention of Roman's boss, Olivia Calloway, had the desired effect. Sinclair's gray-blond brows rose. "No. As it turns out, I've had a few more pressing things on my plate, trying to secure the scene. But you're welcome to loop her in to let her know you're alright, and that we'll need you to give a witness statement."

"I don't think you understand. My unit is taking jurisdiction of this case."

Okay, so maybe Roman had more leftover adrenaline than he'd realized. But there was no point in sugar-coating things. No way he was going to be a bystander on this one. For f**k's sake, he'd had an assault rifle pointed at his head while a felony had gone down, with a dozen other lives on the line right alongside his. He hadn't been able to do anything about it in the moment, but he could damn well take control of the situation now.

His unit was going to work this case. No matter how hard he had to fight Sinclair to get jurisdiction.

Detectives Shawn Maxwell and Isabella Walker peeled off from the group of uniformed officers standing at the front of the lobby just in time to hear their boss's protest. "First of all, you don't get to make that call. Secondly, no." Maxwell's stare went wide as he connected the dots. "You're not seriously trying to take this case?"

Roman didn't care that the guy was six-four and roughly the size of a small nation. He wasn't backing down on this one. "If you'd been held at gunpoint by three assholes robbing a bank, would you let someone else take the case?"

Isabella-the only cop Roman knew who went by her first name rather than her last-dug in even harder than Maxwell. "That's kind of the point," she said, sliding one hand to her hip. "You're a witness, which makes you too personally invested. Besides, bank fraud is a whole lot different than bank robbery. This isn't a case for the Feds."

She had a point, one Roman's boss would likely make, too. While the FBI's Fraud Division could technically handle a bank robbery, those usually fell under the umbrella of violent crimes rather than the white collar felonies his team usually investigated. If he wanted this case, he was going to have to fight for it-hard-and his boss would have to back him up, one hundred percent.

But this case had gone beyond personal the second those gunmen had threatened Roman's life. No way was he letting anyone else take it.

"Look, Roman"-Sinclair stepped in, his voice dropping to keep the conversation as private as possible, considering the circumstances-"my team is already on this case. I get that you want in on it. I really do." Hell if the guy's expression didn't back up his words, and damn it, Roman hated everything about this situation. "But you and I both know that Calloway won't back you on that call. You're too personally involved to take point."

A laugh crossed his lips as little more than a huff. "Right. But Garza can work the case when his sister was involved, no problem."

Well, that got him. "I'll make sure Garza stays in line, and if he doesn't, he'll be riding the pine, just like you," Sinclair said after a beat. "But Intelligence is taking this case."

"Do we have eyes on the offenders?" Roman asked, ignoring Sinclair entirely. "We need to pull street cam footage. There's got to be at least one good view of the front of the bank. It may not be too late to locate-"

"Agent Roman, maybe you're not hearing me," Sinclair said, his tone covered in frost. "My unit has got this case."

Roman's heart beat faster, his pulse whooshing against his ears in a rush of white noise. "And maybe you're not remembering that last year, I took a bullet for one of your Cls."

"You did," Sinclair agreed. "And it saved Delia's life. But that's your job. Now you need to let us do ours." He stepped closer, his voice low and his eyes like steel. "If you want to bring Calloway in on this, I can't stop you. But if you do, I'm going to tell her what I'm telling you. My unit is taking point on this robbery. Now, would you like to give your witness statement here, or would you like to do it down at the precinct?"