The Intelligence Unit Series

Roman sat back at his desk, looked at his cell phone, and swore. Under normal circumstances, having no incoming calls, no texts, and no voicemail messages would be something he'd celebrate, since nearly all interruptions of the cellular variety kept him from his number-one priority, which was putting his head down to get shit done. But as it stood, an entire seven days had now passed since he and Camila and the rest of the bank patrons had been inside Remington Financial when the place had been robbed at gunpoint, and in that time, Roman had gotten the same four-word update even though he'd called in every day. "We'll keep you posted," Detective Garza always said, then hung up before Roman could ask for more details.

Tossing the offending iPhone on his desk, Roman scanned the laptop screen in front of him, trying to distract himself from the thoughts churning through his mind. Calloway hadn't been pleased that the "few days" she'd told him to take off had amounted to essentially one (twenty-five hours counted in his book, and it wasn't his fault she hadn't been more specific). He hadn't been able to find much of anything online about the bank robbery, other than what he already knew, and Calloway had made it wildly clear that if he did any rogue investigating at all, she'd not only know about it, but she'd bench him indefinitely. Since her background had been in counter-intelligence before she'd been granted her own unit here in the fraud division...yeah, if Roman so much as Googled where to go for lunch, she'd know what was on the menu before he'd even closed the damn browser.

Which had left him chained to his desk, not working on a case where his own life had been in danger, not taking down criminals he deserved to bring to justice. But he knew Calloway would one hundred percent make good on her threat if he went poking around for answers, and the twenty-four hours he'd had to spend out of the office had been bad enough.

While the rest of his unit had spent today in the field, working a new identity theft case, Roman had been relegated to catching up on paperwork. This didn't necessarily bother him in the way it would anyone else. Yes, the work itself was dry as sand, and more yes, he'd rather be in the field than behind his desk. But he was used to being at arm's length from the rest of his unit. Not because they excluded him-in fact, they'd tried their damnedest to buddy up to him. But just because he trusted them as competent professionals didn't mean they had to hit the gym together or hang out on weekends for burgers and beers. It was cool that they all did it (and they so did). All that sharing and caring and social stuff just wasn't Roman's thing.

Emotions were dangerous. They put you at risk for totally illogical reactions, for fear and clouded thinking, and in his line of work, that could literally mean life or death. Better to keep his distance and feel nothing.

And how's that working out for you with Camila, buddy?

Heart pounding, Roman sat straight up in his chair. Stupid as f**k, since a) the office was empty with everyone out on this case, and b) no one could hear his thoughts, anyway.

Thank God, because as much as he hated it and as hard as he'd tried to fight it, his inner voice was right.

He couldn't stop thinking about her. Wondering whether she was okay. How her injury was healing. If she needed someone to talk to. If she was sleeping well, if she'd gone back to work, what she was wearing in any given moment, if she remembered every detail of their kiss the same way he did, and f**k, this was stupid. He could just call her and find out.

The phone on his desk rang, startling the ever-loving shit out of him. Measuring his breath to counter the slam of his heart, he scooped the phone to his ear. "Fraud Division, Agent Roman."

A pause, and then, "Hi. It's me. Camila."

So much for getting his heart to stop rattling around in his chest. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"Does something have to be wrong for me to call you?" she asked, and confusion replaced his shock in one fell swoop.

"Why else would you call me?"

"Solidarity," Camila said. "I'm sorry for interrupting your workday, but I didn't have your cell phone number. Delia had your business card from last year, and she passed it on. School just let out for the day, but if this is a bad time for you-" Roman looked around the empty office and let out a humorless laugh. "Not at all. I'm actually glad you called."

He heard the words only after they'd launched, and so much for growing an ounce of self-control since he'd last seen her.

"You are?" she asked, but f**k it. He'd already let loose with the truth. Might as well own it.

"I promised solidarity, didn't I? Anyway, I'm on desk duty, so the distraction is more than welcome."

"Oh, ouch," she said. "I guess that answers the question of whether or not you were able to get the Intelligence Unit to let you help with the bank robbery case."

Roman huffed out a sigh. "Yeah, no. I've called in every day and I can't even get an update."

"Me, either. But that's why I'm calling. Or part of why I'm calling, anyway."

Understanding dawned a beat later. "Right. Solidarity. You think if we both ask for an update, we'll get somewhere?"

"I do," she said. "And if we both ask for that update in person..."

A low whistle crossed Roman's lips, followed by a smile. "We'll be tougher to turn down."

"Exactly."

He had to admit, it was pretty f*****g brilliant. A little diabolical, but hey, whatever worked. "Did you have a plan in mind?"

"Well, that all depends," Camila said, taking his ensuing pause as the encouragement he'd intended it to be. "Are you doing anything super pressing right now?"

Roman cracked a grin for the first time in...shit, too long. "You mean, other than meeting you at the Thirty-Third?"

"That's the spirit." She laughed, the sound loosening the tension in his chest just enough to make him give the question in his head a voice.

"Hey, you said that's part of your reason for calling. What's the other part?"

Her pause lasted for only a second before she said, "Truth? I had a hell of a week, and I missed commiserating with you." Something odd moved through Roman's belly, low and deep, but God, it felt too good to fight. "Yeah, me too. And...me, too."

"See you in twenty minutes?" Camila asked, and somehow, he knew she was smiling even though he couldn't see her. Roman smiled back. "Twenty minutes."

Pushing back in his chair, Roman scooped up his cell phone and grabbed his keys from his desk, shifting his thoughts. The Intelligence Unit had been working this case for a full week. If they had leads-and knowing them, they probably did-they could share them as a professional courtesy. And if they didn't? Well, then they needed him after all. Going to the precinct with Camila to press for answers was a risky move, considering Calloway would probably blow a gasket if she caught wind of it. But, he wasn't doing any investigating on his own, and as much as Roman and the Intelligence Unit had no love lost for each other, Sergeant Sinclair was a reasonable guy. He liked solving cases nearly as much as Roman did.

And Roman could help. He needed to.

He hustled to the locker room to change into the street clothes he always kept with him. He never knew when he'd need to do recon or go undercover for a case, and his suit would only be a reminder, however subtle, that he was an outsider. Plus, the jeans, T-shirt, and heavy-soled boots he'd stashed away were more comfortable, anyway.

Roman made quick work of the trip out of the building where the FBI's local field office was housed, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sunshine. Rush hour was still an hour away, which put him at the Thirty-Third precinct just in time to meet Camila. His pulse picked up at the sight of her standing on the sidewalk, her hair swept off her shoulders in a loose twist and a pretty, cobalt-blue sweater hugging her curves just enough to give him Very Bad Ideas, despite the loose, flowy black pants she'd paired it with. As if his defenses needed another potshot, she smiled at the sight of him, her expression brightening her whole face, and how the hell he couldn't be The Iceman when it came to this one woman was f*****g beyond him. "Hi," Camila said as he approached, and miraculously, his brain complied with a response.

"Hi." Focus on why you're here, dumbass. "So, ah, did you have a strategy in mind for this, or did you want to just go in firing on all cylinders and demand some answers?"

Camila bit her lip, which helped the state of affairs in his pants not one bit. "Oh. Well, to be honest, I hadn't really thought much past showing up to ask for answers. You're the FBI agent. What do you think?"

"I'm sure this will shock you," Roman said, his tone indicating that it shouldn't, "but I'm in favor of the direct approach. I don't see any point in dicking around."

She grinned. "A man after my own heart. Shall we?"

Stuffing down the jolt he'd felt at her words-for Chrissake, it was just a turn of phrase-he stepped back so she could lead the way to the Thirty-Third's main entrance, following her into the spacious, two-story lobby and hoping like hell Sinclair would at least hear them out.

"Maybe you should take the lead on this part," Camila said as they approached the front desk. "Make this visit seem more...I don't know, official? At least until we get upstairs?"

He nodded. "Agent Roman, FBI," he said to the officer behind the front desk, offering his badge to back it up. "And this is Camila Garza. We're here to see Sergeant Sam Sinclair in Intelligence."

The officer-Bart Barton (seriously?) according to his nametag-straightened, his eyes narrowing. He looked like he'd graduated from the academy about five minutes ago, his flaming red hair sticking up as if in surrender and his expression wildly self-important, and Roman's gut clenched.

"Do you have an appointment?" he asked.

Roman blinked but didn't budge. "No."

A beat of silence passed awkwardly. "Well, Sergeant Sinclair is very busy. I'll have to see if he's available."

Roman waited, unmoving from the desk, while the kid walked to a phone just out of earshot.

"Ugh," Camila whispered, and yeah, that about summed it up. Barton's chest puffed up as he dialed, then spoke, carrying himself with a truckload of swagger when he returned a minute later.

"They're working on a big case. I'll escort you upstairs."

Well, that was new. But since they'd gotten the green light to at least talk to Sinclair, he wasn't about to push. Barton ushered them down the hallway, where they went through the motions of signing in and going through the metal detectors, with Camila having her purse checked, then led the way up the stairs to the second floor.

"Agent Roman and Camila Garza are here to see you, sir," Barton said as soon as they crossed the threshold into the Intelligence Unit's office, sending a few surprised glances in their direction.

"Camila?" Detective Garza asked, his dark brows drawing down. "What's the matter? Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," she said, a barely suppressed sigh hanging in her voice. "Just like yesterday. And the day before that."

Sinclair, who was no dumbass, nodded from his spot by Capelli's workstation, with-damn-all six screens of the array lit up like Christmas trees, all bearing what looked like details on the bank robbery. "Thanks, Barton." To Roman, he said, "I'm going to go out on a limb and guess the two of you showing up here unannounced isn't a social call."

"No." Roman sent a covert look around the office. Not one of the detectives was masking their curiosity, and shit. Guess he might as well come out with it. "We want to know if you've got any leads on the bank robbery."

"I told you-both-that we'd keep you updated," Garza said, frowning.

Irritation flashed through Roman's chest. "Since we haven't heard anything other than that in an entire week, should we assume there are no leads?"

Maxwell scowled right alongside Garza. "You do know we're not obligated to tell you anything, right? That you're still not working this case?"

Oh, that was a sore spot. Roman could feel it. But before he could jump on it, Camila said, "These robbers threatened my life with assault rifles and ripped off a bank for what I'm guessing isn't a few bucks"-she swung a chilly glance at her brother-"not to mention knowing my full name and knocking me unconscious for my trouble. I get that you don't technically have to tell us anything, but would a little courtesy really be that out of line, seeing as how we could've both had our heads blown off?" "Whoa," Barton breathed. The reminder of his presence broke the mounting tension, and Sinclair turned toward the officer.

"That will be all, Officer Barton. You can head back downstairs."

Indignation flashed over the guy's features, gone before Roman could be certain he'd even seen it. "Of course," he murmured, about-facing his way over the threshold. The interruption gave everyone a chance to take a breath, and Roman tried again. "Look, I do understand that I don't have any jurisdiction, here, and I'm not questioning this unit's ability to work this case." Ignoring Garza's snort, he continued. "But we were in that bank. We had eyes and ears on the crime, and that knowledge could be valuable. Please. If you won't let me help, at least give us an update on where you are."

Hollister sent a lightning-fast glance at Isabella, who then sent one at Sinclair in return. "Can't hurt, can it?" she asked. "I mean, they were there when the robbery went down. I know we took their statements, but we are kind of spinning our wheels." "Camila's a civilian," Garza argued, and Roman's counter was out before his brain even knew his mouth would go there.

"She deserves answers as much as I do. Plus, you briefed Delia on all the updates on her case while it was active, and it sounds like you could use our help. Both of us."

Sinclair split a serious stare between him and Camila. "You understand that all case details are confidential. Disclosing them to anyone, in any way, could jeopardize our ability to find these three."

"Of course," Camila said, and Roman nodded.

Sinclair, thank f**k, didn't need more than that, despite Garza's scowl. "We pulled all the security and street cam footage from the morning of the robbery. The three assailants arrived in a black Nissan Sentra at nine thirty-seven a.m."

He gestured to one of the screens on the array, and sure enough, a nondescript black sedan appeared in front of the bank.

At Roman's lifted brows, Capelli said, "The car had been reported stolen a few hours before the robbery. They swapped out the plates before they used it as the getaway car and it had remote ignition, so there was no need for them to leave a driver behind." Roman's gut sank, his suspicions confirmed. "Okay. So they're definitely smart."

"They are," Sinclair agreed. "The leader wasn't bluffing about everyone's cell phones being useless, or the silent alarm being disabled."

"How...how can a person even do that?" Camila asked, her dark eyes wide. "Don't you have to, like, cut lines or cables or something to disable an entire alarm system?"

Roman shook his head. "Not anymore. Nearly all alarm systems run on cellular networks now. But a military-grade cell jammer would take out both everyone's cell phones and the ability for any of the tellers to trip the silent alarm. Two birds, one stone." "Exactly," Capelli said. "That kind of cell jammer doesn't exactly grow on trees, but they're not too tough to find if you know your way around the dark web. Certainly not traceable."

"So, wait," Camila said, clearly trying to process everything. "Did they have control over the cameras, too?"

Detective Hale shook her head. "No. That, he was lying about," she said, and another screen on the array lit up, depicting the bank's lobby. Roman's throat tightened as he watched the figures explode into the frame, saw the image of himself turn to block Camila as she jumped, startled.

It made sense. Those state-of-the-art CCTV systems were damn near impossible to bypass nowadays unless you had some expert-level hacking skills or you physically disabled the cameras. Even then, both took time and left potential trails. Still... "Hell of a fear tactic, making everyone think they had that much control," Roman said.

"Well, it worked," Garza said, his stare chilly as he moved it to the third screen. "These assholes had everyone exactly where they wanted them in seconds. Tactical gear, clear strategy, no possibility to call for help, solid exit plan. They even knew the bank manager's name. The whole thing was orchestrated down to the second."

"So, they're pros." Roman's brain kicked into gear, sorting information and calculating ways to dig in to the facts. "Which means they've done this before. Any other robberies match the M.O.?"

"Not locally," Isabella said, shaking her head. "But we widened the net and uncovered twelve other bank robberies across four states with the same footprint, although the first two were a little sloppier." "Twelve?" Camila's eyes were saucer-wide.

Isabella nodded. "This robbery is their first in North Carolina, making us state number five."

The numbers lined up in Roman's head. "That's three robberies per state? Or is there a different distribution?"

"Three per state, plus the last one here to make thirteen," Capelli said. A hint of appreciation flickered behind the guy's black-framed glasses. Ah, tech guys. They always had a hard-on for the numbers. Roman just had a hard-on for work. "Any patterns in the locations?" Maybe these guys were moving across the country? Or the states had some sort of significance, were familiar to the robbers in some way?

Capelli shook his head, killing the notion. "No. Nothing discernable. At least, not yet. They started in Nashville, then hit Detroit. Then Kansas City, then Louisville, and now here. They're not staying central to one particular area, and they're also not covering ground from east to west or vice versa. So far, the locations seem random."

"Anything to the frequency of the robberies?" Roman tried, earning a nod from Hollister.

"Nothing exact, but there is a general pattern. Three robberies, each seven to ten days apart. Then a month to six weeks later, the robberies start again in a new city."

It would give the assailants enough time to lie low between jobs, then do on-the-ground recon before each next robbery. Roman put a pin in the thought, then said, "I take it the robberies all go to the same plan, too?"

"They do," Sinclair said. "Assailants go in dressed in tactical gear, faces covered, and get everyone on the floor. The leader stays in the lobby with everyone other than the bank manager, who they always call by name." "Another fear tactic," Roman murmured, a bitter taste flooding his mouth as he remembered the way the leader had asked Camila her full name.

Sinclair didn't disagree as he continued. "The other two take the bank manager to the back to get the vault open and help load the cash into bags. As soon as they're done, the leader pops a couple warning shots into the ceiling, then they bolt in a stolen car." "Which is then found, torched, a day or two later in some remote part of town," Maxwell added.

Well, shit. So much for physical evidence. "How about the money?"

"Most banks keep as little cash as they can in their vaults," Hale said. "But they have to keep a certain percentage on-hand to complete anticipated transactions. So, the bigger the bank..."

"The more money they'll have in the vault." Remington Financial was the biggest bank in the city, and that branch was their busiest. No wonder these guys weren't choosing small towns. "What's the average haul?"

Isabella frowned as Capelli flashed a string of figures across the array. "Between two and four hundred grand per robbery."

"Damn." Roman whistled softly.

"Holy crap," Camila said. "I thought money was really heavy. How can they take that much each time?"

Hale answered, no judgment in her voice. "It's actually a myth that cash, at least in amounts like that, is super heavy, especially when banks keep larger bills in their vaults. Crazy, right?"

"That's still a hell of a payday." Switching gears yet again, Roman said, "So, we've got a string of robberies that fit the same M.O. Any idea who these guys are?"

The thudding silence that followed was one hell of a negative. "We're still working on it," Isabella said. "But, obviously, they're pretty slick. We have no physical descriptions to go on other than build. We ran the heterochromia that Camila saw on the one robber through all the databases to which we have access, but nothing popped. Whoever the guy is, he doesn't have a record."

Nope. Not good enough. "These guys had to have done recon on these locations," Roman argued. "What about the video feeds at the banks? I assume you've started to go through the footage to look for people matching these builds that appear multiple times." "First of all, you're talking about thirteen different high-traffic banks. Each one of them sees hundreds of people a day," Garza said, brows sky high. "The best we'd be able to do is narrow the timeframes down to four to six weeks during which they might have done recon. And I'm not sure if you missed this part, but we have no idea who to even look for. As for build? If you put Maxwell in tactical gear, he matches the description of the bigger guy. For Chrissake, Hale could even be the smaller one. Doing a search like that is a waste of freaking time!"

Just like that, the anger that had been building in Roman's chest snapped free. "I was there, with my face on the tile and no choice but to let the whole thing play out. Believe me, I didn't miss a damn thing. And if you don't know how to spot someone who's casing a place with the intent to rob it, then how you made detective is beyond me."

Garza was out of his seat in a flash. Which was just fine by Roman, because he'd had just about enough of the guy's shit. For f**k's sake, he could help them solve this case. But before either one of them could get a step closer to the other, Maxwell had stepped into Garza's flight path and Hale had placed herself in front of Roman, one hand flat against his sternum.

"If you have any sense of self-preservation, you'll stop right there," she murmured sweetly, and Jesus God, she was stronger than she looked.

Sinclair split an ice-cold glance between him and Garza before letting his steely gaze re-settle on Roman. "I'm going to chalk that up to frustration, but it's not going to happen again. Are we clear?" Damnit. "Yes."

Sinclair looked at Garza, who nodded, but still looked pissed. "In this case, you're both right. This robbery was too well-planned for the assailants not to have done recon. But going through video footage from all the banks for possible frequent flyers will take more time than we have, even with facial recognition software. It's a process we can start"-Sinclair gestured at the video array, where images of the bank flashed over several screens-"but it's not illegal to visit your bank as often as you like, and we can't investigate every customer who appears more than once. We're going to need something a hell of a lot more concrete to break this case open."

Roman exhaled. He hated it, but Sinclair wasn't wrong on either count. Facial rec was a shitload faster on TV and in the movies, and while it could give them a direction to move in, it would take time they didn't necessarily have. Plus, going to a bank a few times to have a look-see wasn't a crime in and of itself. It would be a start, but ultimately, they'd need more.

"So, that's it? There's nothing else you can do?" Camila asked, and Sinclair shook his head.

"I know it's frustrating. This part is just going to take time."

Roman watched the video of the robbery play out on screen, his pulse ratcheting. He forced himself to take a breath, then another, analyzing every move. The leader was clearly calling every shot-not just with the bank patrons, but with the other two robbers, as well. He had to have been the one to come up with the strategy of using fear to immobilize the people in the bank.

Stepping closer, Roman's stare sharpened on the replay. The big guy was clearly muscle, serving his role as the intimidator well, although with the menace that had radiated off the man, Roman doubted he'd been acting much. The smaller man was a little harder to figure out, though. He served his purpose, clearly watchful of both the other two as they fanned out in the lobby, movements quick and lithe, and wait. Wait...

For Chrissake, Hale could be the smaller one.

Oh. Shit.

"Play that again."

Okay, so the words came out a lot pushier than Roman had intended, but his heart was slamming too hard for shit like decorum. Thankfully, Capelli didn't protest, sliding the video back to the beginning, and Roman examined the smaller figure's movements closer, then closer still, and holy shit.

"I think that's a woman."

All of the air left the room for a split second. Then, everything exploded.

"No-"

"What?"

"Wait a second-"

"Stop."

The last word cracked through the Intelligence office, leaving everyone else silent. "Capelli," Sinclair said, his voice deadly calm. "Can you replay the video one more time, from the beginning?"

Three keystrokes had the request in motion, and the more Roman watched, the more certain he became.

He wasn't the only one. "I think you're right," Camila said, fumbling through her purse until she unearthed a well-worn sketchbook. "I drew these pictures of the robber's eyes. They're not great, or anything"-she flipped the book open, and whoa, Roman disagreed. The sketches were incredible, the blues and browns shaded and perfectly nuanced-"but look at the eyelashes and the curve of the eyebrows. It's not a definitive indicator, of course, but..." "They're pretty well-groomed," Roman agreed.

"This assailant is smaller than the other two, and he-she?-never spoke at all, according to the witnesses in the bank," Isabella said slowly.

Camila straightened, then nodded. "She specifically used hand motions with me. The other guy spoke, but not her. It's like she went out of her way to avoid saying anything."

"I bet that's why," Roman said. Better to let everyone assume they were three men committing these robberies. More subterfuge made it easier for them to stay off the radar. "You said you ran the heterochromia through the database. Did you include women in the search?"

"Not specifically." Capelli frowned. "I could narrow the search parameters. Try arrest records or known associates to include women with heterochromia. It might be a needle in a haystack, but it's a pretty specific needle. If it exists, I'll find it."

Sinclair turned toward Camila and said, "These sketches are very detailed. Can we scan them to use for reference?"

She blinked in obvious surprise. "But I'm not a professional artist, or anything. It's totally just a hobby."

"That's okay," Hollister said. "They're really good. We can still use them for reference in case anything pops up."

"Oh. Well, in that case, sure. If you think it'll help."

"I do," Sinclair told her. Focusing on the larger group, he continued, "In the meantime, we'll keep going through footage from the three weeks leading up to the robbery and see if anything out of the ordinary pops up that we can cross-walk back to the other banks using facial recognition. These three are ramping things up. We don't have any time to lose."

Okay, that caught Roman's attention. "Ramping things up how?"

More furtive glances, these aimed mostly at Garza, who finally said, "They're getting more aggressive. At least, the big guy is. Camila is the first person to be injured in any of the robberies."

Roman's blood ran hot for just a fraction of a second before turning sub-arctic in his veins. Logically, he knew there was very little chance Camila was in any danger even though the robbers knew her name.

The feeling flooding through him right now was anything but logical. "We need to find these guys. Like, now."

Garza lifted a brow. "There's no we, here. Intelligence doesn't need any help working this case."

Before Roman could let loose with the "you've got to be kidding me" he'd prepped just for the occasion, Camila surprised him with an eye roll she aimed not at him, but at her brother.

"Come on. Roman's just trying to help. And, oh, by the way, he's not wrong. These guys are dangerous."

Shock barreled into Roman, followed by a hard shot of something a hell of a lot more complex, but he kept both emotions under wraps. He couldn't afford to lose any of the ground he'd gained with the Intelligence Unit. Especially not to something as ridiculous as this inexplicable reaction to a woman he had no claim to.

He forced his mind back to the case. The facts. The criminals he needed to take down. "So, you think they're escalating."

"They could be," Hollister said with a shrug, and damn, the guy was never not totally chill. "But it could have been circumstance, too. This was the first robbery with a significant hitch. With the bank teller having that asthma attack and the robbers needing Camila to go back to the vault to help, it could just be that tensions were running high. Plus, according to you and everyone else in that bank, the bigger guy had a pretty short fuse to begin with."

That was true. The enforcer hadn't had any qualms about shoving the security guard to the ground with far more force than was necessary, given that the guard had complied with all demands, and Rosalie's asthma attack really had seemed to throw the smaller robber off, at least temporarily. She'd been pretty agitated when she'd come back to the lobby to let the leader know what was happening. Her body language had spoken volumes, as if she'd had a nonverbal way of communicating with him that had been honed over time.

The thought lodged in Roman's brain, refusing to move. "You said you'll check into known associates if you get a lead on anyone from the DB, right?" he asked Capelli, who shot a look at Sinclair before nodding.

"Yes. That's a matter of protocol. Not to mention smart police work."

Roman lifted his chin in agreement. "Can we add spouses to the list? Or significant others?"

"Sure."

Capelli drew the word out until it became a question, so Roman replied, "Call it a hunch." Turning toward Sinclair, he said, "I can help with the footage. There's a ton of it, and even if you can narrow things down-" "That won't be necessary," Sinclair said, but oh no. Hell no.

"You just said these guys could be escalating," Roman bit out. "You need the extra eyes, and I know what to look for. If you just-"

"My answer is no," Sinclair said. "We gave you case details as a courtesy, but Agent Calloway and I are in agreement that you're too close to this one. I appreciate your insight"-he ignored Roman's glare-"both of you. But Intelligence has it from here." Roman's chest tightened, his heart locked in his throat. He couldn't sit on the sidelines. He needed to work-really work, and not just on a bunch of bullshit paperwork Calloway had shoveled his way to keep him moving through the motions. He needed to find justice. He needed to control this.

"Will you at least keep me in the loop if something comes up on the database search?" he asked. There couldn't be many women with two different-colored eyes out there, especially ones matching build description of their robber. It had to lead to something, even if they had to take the time to expand the search to DMV records.

"We'll be in touch when we make an arrest," Sinclair said, which did exactly jack shit for Roman's composure. But emotions were dangerous, and he'd earned his nickname well. Pushing an ice-cold expression over his face, Roman gave the case board one last look before sending his stare directly at Sergeant Sinclair.

"You'd better hope that's soon. These three are due for another robbery any day now, and next time, whoever's in the bank they choose might not be so lucky."