Page 10 of The Agent
“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. Thankfuck, 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 fucking 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 sostubborn. “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.”
Fuck. He didn’tdoemotion. 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 wherewerethose 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’smybody 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.Fuck, 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—