Page 44 of The Agent
Jesus, it was like he wastryingto land them in prison. “The last job isn’t going to get us enough money,” Archer said. “I’m going to need some time to come up with a way for us to make up for today’s lossandend up with the final take. Plus, hitting another bank right now is way too risky. We have to lie low for a few weeks and let the heat from today die down.”
“Maybe we should just get the hell out of town,” Portia said, and Archer had to admit, on the surface, the idea had merit. Except…
“We chose Remington because it’s a big city. Big cities have big payouts, which we need now more than ever. I’m not saying we won’t skip town.” If it was the smartest play, he wouldn’t hesitate. “But there are three hundred branches of over fifty different banks in Remington. The cops couldn’t possibly put eyes on all of them. There might still be an opportunity here for us to do what we came to do.”
Thorn stared at Archer, his eyes dark and calculating. “Alright. So, you want to come up with a new plan. But I still say we kill that bitch from the vault to cover our asses, just in case.”
Anger flared, hot and heady in his veins, but it wouldn’t serve him. Not yet. “No.”
“Archer—”
“No.”He wasn’t going to let Thorn fuck this up. Not when he was so close to daylight. “Look”—Archer made eye contact with Portia first, holding it for a steady beat before turning toward Thorn—“I haven’t steered you wrong yet, and the endgame hasn’t changed. I’m not stopping just because we hit a snag. But I’m also not about to proceed with a plan that will get us caught or killed, and that means I need time to come up with something new. Okay?”
Portia was the first to nod. “Okay. Yeah.”
After what felt like an eternity, Thorn blew out a breath, his shoulders hitching in a shrug. “I’m not going back to jail, man. No fucking way.”
Archer nodded. “Then let’s come up with a way to end this and get what we all deserve, yeah?”
Now more than ever, Archer was determined to do whatever was necessary to make that happen.
14
Roman started and deleted six texts to Camila over the course of an hour before he realized he was, in fact, an idiot. While he’d been relatively busy today, finishing up all the paperwork Calloway had deposited in his lap as the rest of his team worked to tie up the case they’d been handed last week, now that it was closer to quitting time, he found himself in a lull. Normally, Roman would fill that lull with more work. But every time he tried, his thoughts slid back to the time he’d spent with Camila at the food pantry last night. The way she’d opened up to him about her family dynamic, even though it was clearly a sore spot, had stuck in his mind, her willingness to just put herself out there making his pulse speed up, even now.
The fact that her family, including her brother, seemed to believe she wasn’t capable just because they thought she was impulsive?Thatmade him feel things he couldn’t even explain.Camilamade him feel things he couldn’t explain. And the part that had Roman in the biggest twist was that despite knowing how dangerous those feelings could be, he didn’t want to snuff them out. In fact, he wanted the opposite.
He wanted her.
Hey,he thumb-typed,Now that I’m on a roll, I was going to keep embracing my impulsive side by cutting out of work a little early. Want to grab takeout and binge watch something on Netflix? I’m buying.
Before he could squash the urge to delete it, Roman hit send. His heart thudded against his sternum as the three dots that said she was replying danced over his screen, his phone vibrating in his hand a few seconds later.
Agent Roman. Are you asking me out on a date?
More heart thudding, and fuck it.Your deductive reasoning skills are exceptional. Have you ever considered a career in law enforcement?
A beat passed. Then another. Then…Just for that, I’m going to make you let me pick the show, too. Meet me at my place in an hour?
Roman smiled.I’ll be there.
Taking a few seconds to shut down his laptop, he pushed back from his desk and slid his cell phone into his pocket. His team, including Calloway, were all still in the field, so he shot off a quick text to let her know he was taking off early (to which she dryly replied, “Who is this and what have you done with my agent?”) and headed to the locker room to change. He packed his work clothes into his bag beside his laptop and his service weapon, which he wouldn’t normally have with him for a day in the office, but he’d spent an hour at the range this morning. His locker came equipped with a lockbox, but Roman wasn’t about to leave the SIG Sauer P226 in his locker overnight, even if it was safely secured. Holstering the thing at his hip, he made his way to his car, tossing the duffel into the trunk and securing the SIG in the lockbox he’d had custom-installed where his glovebox had once been. He tapped his GPS to life, scrolling to the address Camila had given him when he’d dropped her off on the night of the robbery. Late afternoon sunlight slipped between the city buildings, and he followed the directions to her place.
Roman knew he should heed the two dozen warnings sounding off from his brain, the ones that screamed that seeing her again—on a fuckingdate, no less, with takeout and Netflix and the opportunity to kiss her in a non-public place—was a dangerous idea. He had feelings for her, ones that involved parts of him that were definitely not his dick. Feelings like that meant risk, and he’d already lost everything once. He couldn’t do that again. He’d barely lived through it the first time.
But you’ve barely lived since then, whispered a voice from deep inside his head, and as badly as Roman wanted to deny it, he couldn’t.
He liked Camila enough to take the risk.
Pulling into a guest parking spot, he killed the engine and got out of his car. He scanned the surrounding area—some things were so ingrained, the habit would never die—then hit the lock button on his key fob and headed to the building’s main entrance. The large double doors led to a vestibule containing two potted palms, a wall half covered in locked mailboxes, a security camera (nice), and a directory of apartment numbers with corresponding extensions posted next to a corded phone attached to the wall.
Roman scanned the list, his eyes stopping on the fourth-floor apartment labeled “C. Garza”. He lifted the receiver and dialed the extension listed beside her name, and seconds later, she’d buzzed him past the second, sturdier set of doors. He noted another security camera set in the ceiling of the lobby, overlooking the bank of elevators to the left, although most people probably would’ve either missed it or dismissed it, maybe both. The trip to Camila’s apartment was as uneventful as Roman had expected it to be, and by the time he’d reached her threshold, his attention was focused on the anticipation brewing in his belly at seeing her again, even though it had been less than twenty-four hours since they’d parted ways at the food bank last night.
Camila opened the door, her dark, wavy hair brushing over the shoulders of a snug pink T-shirt and her curves encased in a pair of jeans that looked as if they’d been hand-crafted specifically for her body, and Christ, Roman was screwed before she’d even said a word.
“Hey,” Camila said, her smile so beautiful that Roman actually felt it in his chest.
He willed himself to get a grip. “Hey.”