The Intelligence Unit Series

"I've got good news and even better news. Which would you like first?"

Camila looked at Dr. Tess Riley, who held her electronic chart-and therefore her immediate fate-in her hands. She'd met Tess about a year ago, when Delia had gone and fallen in love (still ew) with Matteo. As it turned out, Remington's cops and other first responders tended to co-mingle, and not a little bit. When your bestie became an extension of that group, you went along for the ride, socially speaking. Camila not only knew all of the Intelligence Unit's detectives, but had met most of the firefighters on A-shift at Station Seventeen and many of the doctors and nurses who worked at Remington Memorial.

Of course, Camila had never expected to land in the ED as one of Tess's patients. Especially not with her brother hovering like a mother hen less than four feet away in the chair beside her gurney. Thankfully, the doctors and nurses had cleared her of any spinal injuries not long after she'd arrived. Not-so-thankfully, she'd had to trade her dignity for a hospital gown and spend the last ninety minutes alternating between a half-dozen tests, a neurological consult, and trying to persuade her brother that she didn't need a neurological consult. She'd lost that battle when Tess had gently agreed that perhaps, just for the sake of the fact that Camila had been knocked unconscious by a gun-wielding bank robber, the neuro consult wasn't the worst idea in the universe. But good news and better news seemed to bode well for her status, and Camila wanted nothing more than to reclaim clothing that didn't bare her a*s to the free world, go down to the Thirty-Third precinct to make a statement, and show Matteo once and for all that she was seriously fine. He'd at least held off on calling their parents ("for now," he'd growled, but only after Tess had given the okay for the C-collar to come off) but had also insisted on parking himself in the chair at her bedside without budging.

So she aimed a pointed look at him before turning back to Tess to say, "All of it, please. But you can start with the good and keep getting better, if you like."

"Sure thing." Tess smiled and looked down at the chart in her hands. "The good news is that you don't have a concussion."

"Really? Are you sure?" Matteo asked, causing Tess to raise a light brown brow and Camila to roll her eyes even though it made her temple throb. "She's an attending physician in emergency medicine, mijo. Of course she's sure."

"Sorry," Matteo muttered. "That didn't come out the way I meant it to."

"Eh." Tess shrugged, her smile reappearing. "I have two children under the age of three. It's going to take a lot more than that to throw me off my game."

Camila brightened at the mention of Tess and her husband Declan's newest addition. "Oh, my God, how's the baby? Niamh, right? Am I even close to saying it right?"

Tess laughed. "You're close, actually. It's 'neeve", only not spelled anywhere near how it looks. She's great. Her older brother is a bit disappointed she's not a puppy, but he's coming around. And she's got Declan wrapped around her little two-month-old finger, of course."

"Not shocking," Camila said. Tess's husband was a stay-at-home dad who took his job very seriously. "Do you have pictures?"

Matteo cleared his throat, and Tess shook her head. "Let's do the full health update first, so your brother doesn't explode, here."

Camila sighed, but didn't argue. "Okay. So, no concussion. Does that mean I can go?"

"That would be the better news," Tess agreed. "The neurologist and I are in agreement that your scans are clear and you passed the concussion protocol with flying colors. While neither of us is in love with the fact that you lost consciousness or that you do have a noticeable contusion on your head-that's the medical-school word for a nasty bruise-you have been awake and alert since you arrived and your cut doesn't need any stitches. So, yes. I'm prepared to release you. If"-she lifted a finger, her expression brooking exactly zero nonsense-"you agree to come right back if you feel any numbness, dizziness, tingling in your extremities, or blurred vision."

"Of course," Camila said. Just because she wanted to run for daylight didn't mean she'd get reckless with her health.

"Do you think that will happen?" Matteo asked, his dark brows furrowed over his equally dark stare. "Maybe she should stay a while longer, just to be sure everything is okay. That cut did bleed an awful lot."

"No need," Tess said, before Camila could choose a different two-word phrase to lob in his direction. "Head wounds tend to bleed a lot even when they're superficial because there are tons of blood vessels on the head and face." To Camila, she said, "I wouldn't release you if I was worried. Any of those symptoms, or the conditions that go with them, would be incredibly rare. But we have to let patients know when it would be urgent for them to come back. There's always one in a million." "Thanks," Camila said, and thankfully, Matteo didn't push it.

"You're going to have a headache for a little while," Tess continued, looking at Camila. "Try to limit your screen time for the next few days. It should help."

Camila bit her lip. There went work, with all the computer screens and smartboards. "Can I draw in my sketchbook?"

Tess nodded. "I don't see why not, but if it strains your eyes, you'll need to rest."

At least there was one small win. Drawing was a weird way to relax, Camila knew, but then again, she'd never really done things the way everyone expected her to.

"You can manage the pain with ibuprofen," Tess said. "Just try to make sure you take it with food. Some patients can get a bit of an upset stomach with repeated doses of NSAIDs."

"Sounds good," Camila said, although the thought of food right now made her stomach tighten.

You have twenty seconds, and I am counting. F**k around and I'll shoot you both...

She swiped at the memory, pasting a smile over her face as she asked Tess, "So, can I get dressed?"

"Of course," Tess said. "I'll go ahead and have a nurse bring you some ibuprofen for the road while I process your release."

Camila thanked her, but didn't waste any time after the woman had left before giving her brother a determined stare. "So, now can I go with you to give a statement?"

Matteo paused. "I told you, we can do that right here. You don't need to come to the precinct."

"Did everyone else go to the precinct to make their statement?" Camila asked.

"No one else was knocked out by one of the gunmen," he countered, but at her continued silence, he finally added, "Yes. Everyone else is making full statements. We were able to take some of them on-site, but most of them are being taken at the precinct." An image of Roman, intense and beautiful and stupidly calm, popped into Camila's head, completely unbidden. He'd probably been first in line to give a full account of everything that had happened. He'd been so composed during the robbery that she'd wanted to wonder if he was even human. She, on the other hand, clearly had a fight, flight, or freeze instinct that was set firmly to "freak the f**k out", having been less than a breath away from full-on panic as the robbers had burst into the bank. Roman-and the ice water in his veins-had jumped all over telling her to breathe. Camila had sworn that this was just a byproduct of his training as a badass FBI agent who dodged bullets on the regular, probably as ingrained as his own ability to breathe in scary situations. But then she'd heard him murmur to the preteen beside them in the same reassuring tone, and something about it snagged in her mind now that she'd had time to examine it.

He hadn't just been trying to infuse his calm into both of them for the sake of protocol. He'd seen both of their fear and he'd wanted to tend to it. He'd meant the words as comfort.

And that meant Kai Roman had a heart somewhere beneath that Frosty the Snow Agent exterior.

"Right," Camila said, blinking back to the trauma room. She couldn't afford to get lost in thought about Roman or the very weird way he'd been able to calm her in an impossible situation. She needed to show Matteo that she was tough enough to handle herself, by herself.

She straightened her shoulders. "Well, if that's where everyone else gave their statement, then that's where I'm going, too."

And before he could argue, she slipped off the gurney, grabbed her bag of clothes from the shelf beneath it, and pulled the curtain between them so she could get dressed.

***

Camila got allthe way downtown, past the security check-in at the Thirty-Third, and up the stairs leading to the Intelligence Unit's office before realizing that her nerves had come along for the ride. Her heart tapped out a steady drumbeat that kept time with the dull throb at her temple with every step, dread suddenly bursting through her belly at the thought of having to recount everything that had happened. Which was stupid, really, since she was literally in one of the safest places in Remington right now, with her very overprotective brother beside her, to boot. But the closer she got to the Intelligence office itself, the faster her pulse thudded against her ears, a sheen of sweat forming at her brow. You're going to be okay, Camila. Just breathe.

She'd have to unpack the fact that her internal pep talk had been delivered by Kai Roman's sexy, smoky voice later. Right now, she had a statement to give.

Camila pulled in a long, fortifying inhale and walked over the threshold into the bustling, brightly lit space. She'd never been inside the Thirty-Third before, and the office wasn't quite what she'd expected. Yeah, it was one large, open space with pairs or trios of desks clustered together, not unsimilar to the police department offices she'd seen on various TV shows. But the Intelligence Unit office also boasted a wall of second-story windows that offered plenty of sunlight and a high ceiling that made the place feel spacious and comfortable. Camila would do unspeakable things to have a studio space like this. Not that she had a studio space at all, since all of her drawing had been relegated to the hobby zone. But she'd bet she could sketch for hours with all this perfect light. Of course, not everything about the office was a surprise. In addition to the desks where most of the Intelligence Unit detectives currently sat working, a longer workstation spanned most of the wall across from the windows, complete with a six-monitor video array above the center desk, where the unit's tech and surveillance expert, James Capelli, currently sat typing at the speed of light.

"Camila," he said, his black-framed glasses emphasizing his serious stare as he caught sight of her and Matteo, his eyes lingering for an extra beat on the adhesive bandage that Camila had tried (in vain, apparently) to cover with the long sweep of her bangs. "I didn't think you'd be coming in. How are you feeling?"

She should have known the news of her having been in the bank during the robbery would travel at the speed of online gossip. Isabella and her partner, Detective Liam Hollister, both looked up from their desks with surprise, too, and ugh. Time to rip this Band-Aid off in one swift yank.

"I'm fine," Camila said, adding on, "I've got a bit of a headache," so her brother didn't add on, "She's not fine." Her smile pinched. "But I'm ready to give a statement like everyone else."

"Of course," Hollister said after exchanging a lightning-fast glance with Matteo that had probably been code for about fifty different things. Isabella pulled out the empty chair that had been resting between her desk and Hollister's, letting her get comfortable. Surprise popped in her chest as Matteo turned to walk over the doorless threshold at the back of the office that looked like it led down a hallway. "Oh," Camila said, looking from Hollister to Isabella. "So, it's just us, then?"

"Not exactly," Hollister said, Camila's belly tightening despite his laid-back tone. Of course, her brother would never not stick around for something like this. "We were able to take most of the witness statements one on one. But since you were in the vault and you interacted with the robbers more than anyone else, we'd like the whole team to be present for yours."

"Sergeant Sinclair will be the only one who asks questions," Isabella tacked on quickly, "and we'll keep the whole thing as brief as possible. We know you've been through a lot today." Camila straightened. "It's okay. I can do it."

"If you change your mind at any point, we can switch things up. Being overwhelmed by events like this is entirely normal," Hollister said, and Camila couldn't keep her doubt in check. "Somehow, I doubt that you guys get overwhelmed when the crap hits the fan."

Hollister shocked the hell out of her by laughing. "Oh, we totally do. Your brother included. We're just trained to hide it better than other people."

Camila's mind flew to the image of Roman that she'd swept aside earlier, his body strong and steady beside hers on the cold marble tiles of the bank floor, his voice as unwavering as his expression as he told her to breathe, and yeah. Either Roman was an Oscar- worthy actor or he was the exception to the damned rule.

"If you say so," Camila murmured. Matteo reappeared in the back of the office with Shawn Maxwell and Addison Hale following close behind. Camila had always thought they'd made hilarious work partners on the surface, with Maxwell towering more than a foot taller than Hale, his dark, close-cropped hair and tattoos pretty much the polar opposite of her blond ponytail, bubblegum-pink lip gloss, and cheerful perma-smile. But Camila had heard enough stories of Hale's toughness chasing down criminals and Maxwell's tenderness with his four-year-old daughter to know that they complemented each other perfectly as partners, despite appearances. Sergeant Sinclair rounded out the group, his steel-gray stare never failing to make Camila just the tiniest bit intimidated even though on the few occasions she'd seen him, he'd never been anything but nice.

"Camila," Sinclair said, pulling a chair from Capelli's workstation to bring it closer to where she sat. "Matteo said you don't have a concussion. That's great news."

She nodded. "Dr. Riley said I'm fine to give a statement."

"We're glad you could come in. Why don't you start by telling me what you remember?"

"Okay, sure." She nodded. She could do this. She needed to do this. "I was in the bank, over on the side by the tellers' counter, when three men came into the lobby, carrying guns." Camila swallowed. "Rifles," she semi-corrected. "Not handguns. They were wearing all black, and they had on some kind of gear. Sort of like a SWAT team."

"Tactical gear," Matteo murmured, and Capelli spent a few seconds typing before an image flashed over one of the screens on the wall-mounted array over his desk.

"Like this?"

Camila's heart pressed faster at her throat. "Yes. They were wearing masks that covered their faces and heads, and they were all wearing gloves. The main guy-the leader, I guess?-he was pretty average height for a man. Six feet, I think, but it was hard to tell because I was on the ground for most of the time. One of the men was bigger than him. Taller and really muscular."

She shivered at the image burned into her mind's eye, the razor-wire voice that went with it, telling her he was going to shoot her and Rosalie, but no. No, no, she had to be strong. He couldn't hurt her here. "The other one was a lot smaller. Shorter than the other two and with a slighter build. I tried to look for more details, but their faces were totally covered, and it all happened so fast." "It's okay. These guys knew exactly what they were doing," Sinclair said. "So, they came into the bank through the front door?"

"Yes." Camila nodded. "The one guy-the leader-told us all they were robbing the bank. He said he had control of the cameras and our cell phones wouldn't work, then he told us to put our hands on our heads. He was really calm about it. We all did what he said, and then the other two went to the opposite side of the lobby to get everyone else and bring them to where Roman and I were."

Sinclair nodded but didn't speak. The rest of the team remained just as quiet, so she kept going. "The leader told us all to get down on the ground with our hands behind our heads, and the big guy took the security guard's gun. He wasn't as calm. He was"-breathe. Breathe "meaner. He shoved the guard to the floor even though the man wasn't fighting back. The leader said they didn't want to hurt anybody, but they would if they had to. He didn't yell or anything, but with how the bigger guy was acting..." Silence filled the room, pulsing in time with her quickening heartbeat until she finally said, "The leader's voice was dead serious. I knew he meant it. He told the bank manager, Rosalie, to go to the back with the other two men. He knew her name." Camila realized it as the words came out, and Sinclair's brows lifted.

"She could have been sitting at a desk with a nameplate," Hale said quietly, but Camila shook her head.

"No. I mean, maybe," she allowed, "but it wouldn't have mattered. The leader never went over there, so he wouldn't have seen a nameplate even if she had one."

A deafening silence filled the air, and oh. Oh. "Sorry," Camila whispered. "I guess you weren't really talking to me."

"No, it was a really good observation," Hale said, her smile taking a little bit of the heat out of Camila's cheeks. "You've got a great eye for details, and we want to hear anything you remember, no matter how small."

"Okay. Well, the leader told Rosalie to go with the other two men, but Roman tried to get the leader to let him go instead."

At that, Matteo shifted in his seat, only by a fraction, but it was enough for Camila to a) notice, and b) wonder why that was a big deal. Knowing her brother, he'd almost certainly have made the same offer.

"The leader said no. Then he said something about being behind and sent the two men and Rosalie to the vault, but he stayed with us by the tellers' counter. After a few minutes, the smaller man came out by himself. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but he didn't look happy."

At Sinclair's questioning look, Camila said, "He was gesturing a lot, like something was wrong. That was when the leader came over and told me to get up. I didn't want to, but he..." She paused. Tried to take a breath. Pretty much failed. "He pointed his rifle at me. He asked me my name-not just my first name, but my full name. I was scared not to listen to him."

"Wait." Matteo straightened in his chair, shoulders taut. "He asked your full name? And you gave it?"

"Yes." It occurred to her, only now, that she could have lied, but she'd been so freaking scared, the truth had flown right out. In hindsight, it had been kind of a weird question, and wait, why was her brother looking at her like...

Oh. Oh, God. "You don't think he'll try to find me, do you?"

"It would make him incredibly stupid," Hale said quickly. "And this robbery was pretty well-planned."

Sinclair nodded in agreement. "Going after you, especially now, doesn't make any sense. And Hale is right. It doesn't fit with his MO. It's far more likely that he asked to get you to comply."

"You were very brave to do what he told you to," Maxwell said, and Camila's laugh popped out before she could corral it.

"Roman would disagree with you. He told the leader that I wasn't strong enough to help and to let him go instead." "He did?" Isabella asked, her surprise obvious.

"Yeah," Camila said, her surprise probably just as clear on her face. "Didn't he tell you that when he made his statement?"

Sinclair cleared his throat and said, "Let's focus on your statement right now. After the leader asked your name, you went with the smaller assailant. Did he say anything to you on the way to the vault?"

"No. In fact"-Camila scanned her memory-"he never spoke at all. He took me back to the vault, and I could tell right away that Rosalie needed help. She was sitting on the floor, gasping for air. The big robber told me to start packing money into a duffel bag, but I knew Rosalie needed help. I said I thought she was having an asthma attack, and he said he didn't care. I told him he'd care if she died, because it would make getting away with the robbery harder. I know I shouldn't have talked back to him," she said, partly because it had been pretty impulsive and partly because her brother's jaw had just tightened hard enough to crack a molar. Maybe two. "But Rosalie couldn't breathe. I was scared she would die."

"What did he say?" Sinclair asked.

The echo of the man's voice, loaded with menace, sent a shiver up Camila's spine, but she straightened against her chair and said, "He said I had twenty seconds to help her. Then he said, 'if you f**k around, I'll shoot you both"."

Matteo hissed out a curse, but she wasn't really interested in having him lecture her in front of his entire unit, so she kept talking. "Rosalie had her inhaler in her pocket. I gave it to her, then I helped the robbers pack a bunch of money into a duffel bag. As soon as the bag was full, the bigger guy hit me. That's the last thing I remember before I woke up in the vault with Roman telling me the police were on the way." Hollister broke the beat of silence that followed. "You probably saved Rosalie's life, Camila."

"Is she okay?" Tess hadn't been able to tell her anything about Rosalie's condition-patient privacy laws, and all that stuff. But surely that didn't apply to cops, too.

"She's still at Mem, but she's stable," Capelli said, gesturing to the phone on his desk. "I got the call just before you arrived. Tess wants to keep her overnight just to be sure her oxygen levels keep improving, but she said Rosalie should make a full recovery." Relief splashed through Camila's chest. "Oh, good."

"Is there anything else you can tell us, Camila?" Sinclair asked. "Anything about the men's voices? Accents, speech impediments? Even if it's small and seems inconsequential, anything you can remember might help us."

Hadn't there been something? A clip of a moment that had made her pause? Something about the smaller robber? Camila searched her memory, trying to put herself back in the vault. The bigger guy was there, so close that if he'd decided to shoot her, there would be no hope of him missing. Her pulse tripped in her veins, her mind zeroing in on the gun pointed directly at her chest, and fear blotted out the images she tried to conjure up.

"No," Camila whispered, shaking her head. "I don't remember anything else."

"Maybe a smell?" Matteo tried. "Or a mannerism? Anything?"

Irritation filled her rib cage even as tears filled her eyes. Did he really think she was holding back? She got ready to tell Matteo that she understood the question and the answer was still no. Formed the words and got them loaded on her tongue. But what came out was, "Wait."

Camila closed her eyes, picturing the vault like a drawing. The shiny inner workings of the lock. Rosalie's blazer, navy blue, the fabric pooled beneath her zip-tied hands. The smaller robber leaning down, jabbing his finger at Camila, her heart moving rapid-fire as the robber looked up and the picture grew crystal clear in her mind.

"His eyes!" she gasped, her brain coughing up the memory that her fear must have swallowed. "When I bent down to get Rosalie's inhaler out of her pocket, the smaller robber got close enough for me to see his eyes. He only looked at me for a split second, but..." Think. Think. Something had been strange. Caught her attention, struck her as out of the ordinary. His eyelashes? His irises? Yes, something about his eye color, that was it.

All at once, the details slotted into place, and oh-"Heterochromia!"

"Sorry?" Sergeant Sinclair asked, every other detective looking equally confused.

But Capelli saved her bacon. "The robber had two different-colored eyes?"

Of course, Capelli and his eidetic memory knew exactly what heterochromia was. "Sort of. His eyes were blue, but one was half amber around the bottom of his iris." She'd read about the condition in an art blog about sketching faces, but she'd never seen it before on an actual person. "It was his left eye." "This is really good," Maxwell said, swinging a look at Sinclair. "That has to be rare, right?"

"Less than one percent of the population has the condition," Capelli said, tapping rapidly away at his keyboard.

Sinclair nodded. "Good. Let's run with that and see if we get any hits in the database." To Camila, he said, "Thanks for coming in. I know it wasn't easy for you to make a statement. If you think of anything else, you can give any one of us a call, day or night." The group of detectives all shifted in their respective seats, and Camila looked around, confused. "So, wait? That's it? Have you seen these guys anywhere? Did they really have control of the video feed? What happens next?"

Isabella took a step toward her, apology in her eyes. "We can't really talk about the specifics of a case. You gave us some great information, but we're still piecing a lot of things together right now."

"We'll do everything to find them, mija," Matteo said. "I'm not going to rest until we do."

Okay, but how was that going to keep her safe from the fear clogging her brain and commandeering her breath every time she closed her eyes? "Isn't there anything you can tell me?"

"Not right now," Sinclair said, thanking her one more time for coming in. He excused himself, moving toward the group of detectives who were now clustered by Capelli's workstation, and Camila's mind spun as Matteo appeared at her side. "Why don't I call someone to come get you and take you home?" he asked, guiding her gently in the direction of the door.

Camila shook her head. "I don't need anyone to come get me. What I'd like are some answers."

Matteo exhaled. "I don't have any that I can give you," he said. "We're working the case, and it's our highest priority. But this isn't like TV. Investigations take time."

"So, what? I just have to wait?" The thought made Camila's stomach tilt.

"I know that it's hard. Believe me, I want nothing more than to find these guys right now and bring them in." A glint moved through his stare, his expression as serious as she'd ever seen it. "I just need you to sit tight while we make that happen. Okay?" Matteo might be overprotective, and, yeah, sometimes a pretty righteous pain in her a*s, but he was her brother. He loved her, and he'd never compromise her safety. "I guess," she said.

"If you won't let me call mami to come get you, can I at least call Delia? She'll want to help."

"You're just saying that so she won't be furious with you for not telling her what happened," Camila said, and he lifted his hands in surrender.

"That's partly true." Matteo opened the door and led her out into the hallway. "But you've been through a lot this morning. More than most people go through ever. I don't think you should be alone right now."

Camila arched a brow at him even though her temple throbbed its disapproval at the movement. "And I think I'm thirty, not thirteen."

Matteo scowled. "Will you at least text me when you get home to let me know you got there okay?"

"Only if you text me updates on this case," she said with a smile far sweeter than was believable.

"Very funny." He stopped at the top of the staircase leading back down to the precinct's main level, surprising her by pulling her into a quick, semi-awkward hug. "Please go rest. And call me if you need anything. Or call Delia," he added. "Just take care of yourself." Her emotions jumbled in her chest, but her stubbornness won out by a hair. "I'm fine, Matteo. Really."

She turned and made her way down the steps. She'd no sooner gotten to the lobby of the precinct when her phone began buzzing insistently in her purse.

"What the heck?" she murmured under her breath, fishing the thing out of the side pocket where she always kept it. Today was a teacher workday, so no one would miss her at school. Who else would be calling her on a weekday afternoon? Delia's face greeted her from the caller ID, along with three missed texts time stamped barely even a minute ago.

Matteo said you were hurt in a bank robbery?!?!?

OMG, are you okay?

Seriously, please pick up.

Camila glared up at the second-floor landing, but-of course-her brother had disappeared. She fired off a quick, "REALLY, MATTEO?" text, followed by a pair of eyeroll emojis, then clicked over to respond to Delia's texts.

I'm 100% fine. Got checked out at Mem and came to give a statement. I'm going home now for some rest. I'll call if I need anything. Promise. XO.

Camila knew Delia was worried about her well-being, just as she knew what that felt like from when Delia had been in danger last year. But Camila was out of danger now, and what she wanted more than anything was for everyone to stop treating her like she was made of spun glass. So before Delia could text back-or worse, call again-Camila put her phone on Do Not Disturb and clicked over to her favorite rideshare app to schedule a lift home. Her stomach let out an unsubtle rumble, followed by a squeeze that bordered on discomfort, and Tess's reminder to put food on top of her ibuprofen rang in her ears.

Camila made a mental note to order a sandwich on the way to her apartment, even though what she really wanted was a good, strong drink. She turned toward the precinct's main doors with every intention of sailing right through them-take that, protective older brother-but then she clattered to a halt, mid-step.

Roman stood about ten paces from the main doors, talking to a white woman in a light gray pantsuit. The woman had enough silvery threads peppering her dark hair for Camila to guess she was in her early fifties. Her expression brooked exactly no shit, even though Roman looked irritated enough to try and give her some regardless. They spoke in tones low enough to keep their conversation private, especially in the din of the busy lobby. Camila shouldn't be surprised to see Roman here-he'd needed to give a statement, same as her. But tell that to her gut, which was pumping out nine kinds of curiosity even though whoever the woman was and whatever she was arguing with Roman about was none of Camila's business.

She needed to move on. Walk right by and hit send on her ride request and not worry one bit about Frosty the Snow Agent and his beautiful, pissed off scowl.

Naturally, her feet stayed glued to the spot. Because of course they did.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't take her eyes off of Kai Roman.