The Intelligence Unit Series

In hindsight, Camila's second margarita had probably been a bad idea. But really, she couldn't take all the blame. Yes, they'd been as big as fishbowls, and okay, fine, her body might still be figuring out what to do with the absolute excess of adrenaline she'd cooked up earlier that day. But the food had been even better than promised, the tart drink pairing perfectly with the carnitas, the mango avocado salsa, and-her personal favorite-the cumin-lime rice. She'd downed every last bite with enthusiasm. At first, she'd been tempted to feel babied at Roman's not-exactly-subtle nudges to eat. She'd even ordered a full meal just to appease him. But then she'd realized just how badly she'd needed the sustenance, how easily Roman had realized it, too, and in that moment, Camila hadn't felt babied at all. She'd felt cared for. On top of the delicious food, the tequila had loosened the tension she'd been carrying around like an anvil, making her feel normal for the first time since she'd walked into that bank this morning. The way Roman had called her brave, then apologized to her for how he'd run away from her last year?

Thathad made her feel something totally different. Something warm. Something needful. F*****g tequila.

Camila blinked her way back to the restaurant, pasting a smile over her face. She and Roman had shared a great meal and some equally great conversation, but reality beckoned. Now that the plates had been cleared and their checks settled, she really should be moving on-no matter how tempting it might be to stay here in her temporary cocoon of safety.

"Thanks for the solidarity," she said, "and for introducing me to the best tacos in Remington."

"I told you," Roman said, making her laugh.

"You did, and I stand fully corrected. But I should let you go."

His expression remained unreadable, his bronze eyes steady on hers. "Are you headed home?"

"In an Uber," she said. She was far from drunk, but also far from stupid. "But yeah. My head is starting to hurt, and if I don't go home and rest at some point, I think my brother's head will explode. Plus, I need to tell my family about the bank robbery and let them and Delia know I'm okay."

"It would be okay if you weren't. Being held at gunpoint is no small trauma for most people," he said, but here, she had to argue.

"Clearly, you've never met my family. If you think my brother is overprotective"-

Camila paused to roll her eyes-"multiply him by five, then add three siblings-in-law, and yeah... if the Garza familia smells even an ounce of fear, I'll be babied into next year."

Roman tilted his head. It was as much concession as she'd probably get. "You could still talk to someone else if you get overwhelmed. Someone you trust."

"Maybe," she said, and that was as much concession as he'd get.

"At the risk of you telling me not to baby you, can I give you a ride home?"

Her heart, and a few places due south, screeched at her to say yes. But she'd already put him out enough for one day. "No, thank you. I'll be fine."

"I know you'll be fine," Roman said, "but my mother kind of drilled my manners into me, so I'd still really like to see you home safely."

Camila shook her head. "That's kind, but not necessary. You can tell your mother I let you off the hook."

A flicker moved through Roman's stare, there and then gone. "She died nine years ago. She'd been unwell for a while," he added, although it didn't lessen the pang in Camila's chest. "I'm sorry," she said, and he nodded.

"Me, too."

For a second, she considered giving in and letting him drive her home. But she was perfectly capable of getting from Point A to Point B on her own, so she said, "Thanks again for the company, Roman."

Picking up her purse, Camila stood for the first time in hours....and promptly succumbed to a massive head rush.

"Whoa." She blinked to offset the dizziness that had temporarily taken over her senses, reaching out to place a steadying hand on the back of the chair she'd just vacated.

But Roman got there first. "Camila? Are you okay?" he asked, and wow, how had he wrapped his arm around her so fast?

"Yeah, I..." She blinked again. "Guess standing up so quickly after two margaritas and a bump on the head was a bit of a bad plan."

"Okay." He shook his head, turning toward the door. "Come on."

"You don't-"

"Need to baby you, I get it," he said, his torso deliciously warm against her body, and God, he even smelled good. "But I'm also not going to let you get into an Uber with some random driver who will just drop you off on the street. My car is a block from the precinct. Let me get you home safely. Please."

Camila opened her mouth to tell him she'd be fine. Her dizziness was already subsiding, her legs feeling stronger beneath her. But as much as she hated it (and oh, how she hated it), Roman was right.

She'd been held at gunpoint. Suffered an injury, albeit not a huge one. Had the crap scared out of her, and all of that was traumatic.

Maybe she could use just a little more solidarity.

"Okay," she said. "But it was just a tiny head rush. Honestly. I'm not going to fall over or anything."

Roman's body stiffened against hers, as if he'd just realized how much they were touching. "Right." Moving with care, he eased back, and disappointment surged through her at the loss of his solid warmth. God, she needed to get a grip. Figuratively. "See? I just stood up too fast."

"Mmm. We can still take it slow."

They walked out of the restaurant and into the afternoon sunshine. Roman stayed close, but he also didn't walk as quickly as they had on their way here, and for that, Camila was glad. She let him lead the way back in the direction of the Thirty-Third, slowing to a stop beside him as he popped the locks on a dark blue BMW sedan.

"Here," he said, opening the passenger door for her, then waiting for her to slide into the seat. But just as she had when he'd encouraged her to eat, she felt more cared for than babied at the gesture, and the warmth lingered with her as he got in and started the car. "Okay. I'll admit it," Camila said. "Your mother was right."

A smile ghosted over Roman's lips, softening his serious expression. "She always was. Thanks for letting me bring you home."

"Thanks for taking me," Camila said. They got through the logistics of putting her address into his GPS, and a few seconds later, they were on their way.

Roman was quiet, but only for a minute before he surprised her with, "I'm going to do everything I can to catch the men who robbed that bank and hurt you. They're not going to get away with threatening people at gunpoint or stealing all that money."

Camila let her mind go back to the bank. Her pulse was tempted to quicken, the fear from this morning threatening to take over. But she was safe here with Roman, and the truth was, she did want to know more than the measly "we're working on it" that her brother had given up.

"I thought Intelligence was taking the case. Are you working with them?" Roman had worked several cases jointly with the Intelligence Unit, including one recently, according to Delia. If Roman's claim was anything to go by, they'd do the same for this one. Except rather than nod, he winced. "Not...exactly. Not yet, anyway."

"That's a story," she said, and oh look, there was the grumpy Roman she knew so well.

"It's not a story."

Camila's laughter flowed out of her loosely. He was so cute when he was trying to be all FBI-agent serious. "Look, I come from a huge family who treats gossip like a cross between an Olympic event and the Hunger Games. Believe me when I tell you, I can smell a story from a hundred yards out. If you don't want to share the story, that's cool. Just don't tell me it's not a story. Because then I'll be forced to call you out. Again."

For a long minute, he was quiet, and she was sure he'd drop the subject, much to her curiosity's dismay. But then he surprised her-or maybe both of them, if his expression was anything to go on-by saying, "It's not a big deal. But right now, both Sergeant Sinclair and my boss think I shouldn't work on the case because I'm too personally involved."

"Ah." Well that made more sense now. "I take it that was your boss you were arguing with at the precinct."

"Yeah."

"So, Sergeant Sinclair said no, then you went to your boss to see if she'd, what, override him? And she said no?"

A muscle tightened across Roman's clean-shaven jaw. "Yes."

"Oh, my God. I bet that just pisses you right off."

He let go of his breath in a huff. "What makes you say that?"

"Come on, Roman." She turned toward him, brows arched. "Have you met yourself?"

"I'm pretty sure that's not a valid question," he said.

But it only prompted her to laugh again. "Thank you for illustrating my point. You're so freaking serious."

"It's not a dirty word," Roman grumbled, and Camila shook her head.

"I know. But you were held at gunpoint just like the rest of us in that bank. I know you're trained to handle it differently than the rest of us, but like you said, it is still traumatic. Maybe they're right. Maybe that is too personal."

Although his focus was on the road ahead of them, his expression told her in no uncertain terms that he was working up an argument. "I'm not saying I'm immune to things like having a gun pointed at me in malice. But I've been shot at in the field plenty of times, and you're right. I do know how to handle it. Plus, your brother is close to this case, too, and no one's pulling him."

"That's true," Camila said slowly. If Matteo, or anyone else in Intelligence, had been in that bank, they wouldn't just want to bring these robbers to justice-they'd expect to be on the case.

Roman continued. "Given the lack of physical descriptions of the robbers and how well-orchestrated the crime was, this case is going to be tough to break, and I was literally there. Intelligence could use my help."

Camila's temples throbbed dully, and she let herself relax against the plush passenger seat. "They're a great unit. I know that. But, yeah, with how those robbers were so well disguised, I don't get the feeling they have a lot to go on. The eyes thing was the best I could give them."

Roman's curiosity was instant. "What eyes thing?"

"Oh." Of course he didn't know. They'd all given their statements separately. "I don't think it means much, but when I realized Rosalie was having an asthma attack and told the robbers I wanted to help her, I went to take her inhaler out of her pocket, but...I guess the smaller robber didn't want to take a chance that we'd try to pull anything funny, so he leaned down to do it instead. When he did, I caught a glimpse of his eyes."

Roman slumped ever so slightly, looking a little defeated. "Well, that's something, I guess, but eye color alone probably isn't enough to get very far on."

Damn it, now Camila was defeated, too. "Even though they were two different colors?"

"Wait, what? Are you serious?" Roman whipped a wide-eyed stare at her, holding it for just a beat before turning back to the road.

"Yes. Both of his eyes were blue, but one was also half brown. Like an amber color, on the bottom half of his iris."

Camila's heart beat faster as Roman processed what she'd said. "That's got to be rare as hell."

"Capelli said less than one percent of people have it," Camila confirmed. "But I don't know if it'll help. I didn't see anything else and he never said a single word."

"Still. There can't be more than a few people in the system with two different-colored eyes," Roman said.

She laughed, but it was all doubt. "Okay, but it's not like I'd be able to ID his eyes in a lineup, right? I'd have to be able to positively identify the whole guy, and I highly doubt I can do that based on eyes and build alone."

Roman paused before conceding, "Okay, yes. A full ID would obviously be more definitive. But an ID on his eyes alone might lead us to a person of interest who we can then link to the robbery in other ways."

"We," Camila repeated. "I thought you weren't working the case."

The look on his face was pure determination, and it shot heat all the way up her spine. "I'm not giving up."

"You might not have a choice, you know." If both Sergeant Sinclair and Roman's boss were telling him to step back, that probably didn't bode well unless he wanted to go totally rogue.

Funny, he wasn't the least bit deterred. "I'm still not giving up. My boss is making me take a few days off, and that's fine. I'll do whatever it takes to show her my head is clear and that I'd be an asset, not a liability. And if the Intelligence Unit won't let the FBI take the case entirely, I'll work it with them. But I can take these guys down. I will take these guys down."

The heat she'd felt less than a moment ago became something even wilder. Thankfully, she was saved from having to respond-or, worse yet, letting that heat prompt her to do something insane, like act on it-by the fact that they'd arrived at her apartment building. Rather than dropping her off in front, as Camila had expected him to, Roman pulled into one of the guest parking spots, then killed the engine. She opened her mouth to tell him she really felt fine-something about rehashing events where your life was in danger tended to sober a girl right up-but the look he gave her had the words stopping short.

"You're about to remind me that you're perfectly capable of getting to your apartment all by yourself, and you know what? I'm not going to argue that fact."

She blinked. "You're not?"

"No," Roman said. "You are perfectly capable of doing that, and many, many other things."

"But?" she asked, and his expression told her she had him dead to rights.

"But your ability has nothing to do with why I want to walk you all the way to your apartment."

Roman broke off with a soft exhale. But rather than push like she would've even a handful of hours ago, she simply asked, "Why do you want to do it, then?"

"Well, it seems dumb to break our streak of solidarity now, and I, ah. Care about whether or not you get there alright."

Camila's breath caught, realization hitting her full-force. The way he'd left so abruptly that night at the Crooked Angel. His gruff response to her injury in the moment. The way he'd made sure she'd eaten, as Tess had prescribed.

Roman hadn't done any of those things because he didn't care about her.

He'd done them because he did.

***

Roman wantedto go back in time and staple his mouth shut. A bit extreme, maybe, but having emotions, especially where Camila was concerned, was a shit idea of epic proportions. Airing them out, and to her, no less? Christ, jumping into a lake full of lava would probably get him less burned.

Yet here he was. Telling her all sorts of things he should be keeping under wraps.

Even worse? The way she was looking at him right now, so unguarded and beautiful, made him want to finish what they'd started that night last year.

"Thank you," Camila whispered, wrecking him thoroughly with the two tiny syllables. In that moment, Roman became acutely aware of how little space separated them, and also how little he minded. Led by pure impulse, he closed it further, giving her just enough space to decide whether to meet him in the middle or turn away.

She didn't even hesitate.

Camila's mouth was on his in an instant. For a fraction of a second, neither of them moved, simply letting their lips touch in one warm, perfect spot. But then a sigh drifted up from her chest, and the sound sent a bolt of heat through him, so hot and so f*****g greedy that he couldn't go slow. Reaching across the center console, he pulled her closer, sliding his tongue over the seam of her lips. Camila wrapped one arm around his shoulder, the other moving between them to grip his shirt collar as she answered the kiss with a hungry stroke of her tongue. The move stoked something inside Roman's gut that he couldn't explain and didn't want to. There wasn't room for thinking, here. No worry over the consequences, no fear of the risk.

The only thing here was the two of them, and Roman just wanted to feel.

Pressing his chest to hers, he crushed his mouth over Camila's, searching, taking, then taking some more. She moaned, spurring him on, and he moved his hand to cup her face, to hold her steady and kiss her until he ran out of air-

Her cry of pain froze every cell in his body.

"Sorry," Camila murmured, her fingers brushing the bandage at her temple that he'd inadvertently bumped. Christ, how could he have been so careless? So reckless?

"No. I'm sorry," he said, pulling back and scraping for a breath to slow his hammering pulse. "I shouldn't have..."

Camila's shoulders tensed around her spine, her smile vanishing into thin air. "What? Kissed me? Because I hate to break it to you, but that was pretty mutual." "That's not what I meant." F**k. F**k, he was so bad at this.

"What did you mean, then?"

The question hit Roman right in the chest, and his answer came shoveling out. "I shouldn't have been so impulsive."

Camila's brows shot upward. "That's what you're worked up about? Not..."

She clamped down on her bottom lip, but nope. No way was he letting that go. "Not what?"

A beat passed. Another joined it, both of them conspiring to kill him. Finally, she said, "I thought maybe you had regrets because of your wife."

Ah, hell. Of course her mind had gone there. How had he not seen that coming?

"No," Roman said. "That's...no. Gabrielle has been gone for six years, and I've"-he paused, searching for the right way to phrase it-"been with a handful of women since then."

He'd grieved Gabi terribly. They'd only been married for eighteen months when she'd died, but she'd been his college sweetheart, the love of his life. Still, he understood now that she was gone, just as he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that he was here, and he was healthy, relatively young, and definitely human. So, yeah, he'd had s*x with a handful of carefully selected women, with the specific intent of getting off, then getting out. He'd taken care of the physical need the same way he would any other, nothing personal and definitely nothing intimate.

But the kiss he'd just shared with Camila had been miles from that. She'd lit him up from the inside, sparking an intensity he couldn't explain, and worse yet, that he wanted.

His defenses warned him to end this conversation, to get her safely inside and let that be the end of it. He had no business letting his emotions rear their dangerous little heads.

But he'd already run from Camila once rather than just being honest. He owed it to her not to repeat past mistakes.

He owed her as much of the truth as he could tell.

"I'm sure it doesn't come as a huge surprise that I'm not so big on emotions," he said quietly, the tension in his shoulders easing at her soft laugh.

"What? You? I never would have guessed."

"Funny." Roman glowered, but-of course-he couldn't make it stick. "Anyway, the bank robbery, seeing you after what happened last year, that kiss...it's all just been a lot to process. That's not exactly easy for me."

Camila pressed her smile between her lips. "Today has been a lot. But impulse isn't always a bad thing, you know."

"I'll take your word for it," he said, and, to his surprise, she didn't push.

"Thank you for making sure I got home okay. And for...well, everything. While I'd never wish a bank robbery on anyone, I'm grateful you were there. The truth is, I'm not sure I'd have made it through those first few minutes without you next to me." Roman shook his head. "I don't know about all that, but I'm glad I could help. Solidarity?"

"Solidarity."

And as he walked her all the way to her apartment and waited until she was safely inside with her door locked tight, Roman realized two things. One was that, despite his defenses, he couldn't seem to do anything other than go all in when it came to this woman. The other was that it didn't scare the shit out of him as badly as it should.