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12
Camila was ninety percent sure she was having a fever dream. To be fair, her day had been pretty freaking surreal. The way that she and Roman had slid back into their snappy, sexy dynamic with ease after a week of radio silence was surprising enough. But the fact that they’d just tag-team convinced the Intelligence Unit to give them an update on the case when they’d both been stonewalled until now,andthat there had finally been a break just when these robbers could strike again at any time? Camila had thought being in the know would make her feel better, but now her brain was spinning harder than ever.
All thanks to the stone-cold serious FBI agent she was finding it harder and harder to resist.
“Are you okay?” Roman asked as they made their way down the stairs and toward the main lobby at the Thirty-Third.
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
Okay, so it was a bit of a deflection. But as soon as Roman had pointed out that another robbery was probably imminent (Camila shivered), Sergeant Sinclair had used it as the perfect segue to tell both her and Roman that his team should get back to work and shoo them from the building. Roman had to be frustrated as hell at having been dismissed again. His work ethic was ten feet tall and bulletproof, andhe’dbeen the one to spark the lead they’d all been struggling to find. Yeah, he was emotionally invested because he’d been in that bank, but come on. He was also damn good at his job.
Roman didn’t bite on the change in subject. “That doesn’t answer my question,” he said, stopping at the front desk to hand his visitor’s badge over to the redheaded officer who had walked them upstairs and sign out.
“Thank you, Agent Roman,” Officer Barton said, taking Camila’s badge as she passed it over. “Ms. Garza. I didn’t know you were Detective Garza’s sister, otherwise I—”
“That’s okay,” she said, shaking her head to gently cut him off. Her brother had been none too happy to see her, especially with Roman at her side. She was sure she’d hearallabout it later. “Thanks.”
Barton nodded, his chin high. “Have a nice afternoon.”
She and Roman headed out the door, ending up on the sidewalk. She knew better than to think he’d drop the subject, and honestly, maybe airing out her feelings would help ease her churning thoughts.
“Sort of,” Camila said, finally answering his question. “I mean, on the one hand, we got the update we wanted, and the unit has some solid leads, thanks in no small part to you. So, those are really good things.”
“But?”
Ugh, of course he saw right through her. “But, I thought getting an update would help me feel…I don’t know. More settled? Safer? Instead, my head is swimming more than ever. Which makes no sense at all and actually seems kind of stupid—”
“No, it doesn’t,” Roman said, shaking his head with enough emphasis that Camila knew he wasn’t just trying to humor her. “We got an update, not answers. And now we have to sit around and wait while someone else goes out to get them. It’s frustrating as hell.”
Camila laughed, because it was either that or scream. “Looks like you’re still taking our solidarity pact very seriously.”
To her surprise, one corner of his mouth kicked up. “According to you, I take everything seriously.”
“If the shoe fits,” she said, and Roman held his hands up in surrender.
“I’m an FBI agent, and I wouldn’t be a very good one if I didn’t take my cases seriously. Since I can’t even work this one despite the fact that I just gave the Intelligence Unit one hell of a lead thatIshould be investigating…let’s just say I feel you on those spinning thoughts.”
“Okay,” Camila said, taking a step toward him on the sidewalk. “I think it’s safe to say we both need a distraction or we’ll go crazy. What do you normally do when you need to get out of your own head?”
“Work,” Roman said, the answer arriving so automatically that Camila had no choice but to feel a tiny stab of jealousy. How ironic that she hadn’t loved her last five jobs combined as much as Roman seemed to love just this one.
She shook her head, and shook off the thought while she was at it. “Well, obviously that’s not an option right now, as stupid as it is that Sergeant Sinclair won’t let you keep helping. Anything else?”
“I hit the gym.” His shrug told her he wasn’t in the mood for a workout, which was fine by her. She didn’t have the patience for the gym, where she’d only hop on a treadmill or sit in a yoga class and go further down the rabbit hole of her thoughts.
“Eh. Can’t say I’m really in the mood for a workout. Plus, neither one of us is really dressed for that,” she pointed out.
“That’s true,” Roman said, his chin lifting a second later. “I might have an idea,” he said slowly. “But it’s kind of unconventional.”
Camila’s curiosity sparked, then sizzled. “You know that’s probably going to make me like it more, right?”
“Fair enough.” His stare traveled over her sweater and black swing pants, pausing for a beat on her favorite silver ballet flats before returning to her face. “How comfortable are those shoes?”
Now, her curiosity full-on combusted. “Comfortable enough to withstand middle school, but not anything I’d want to run a marathon in. Why?”
“They’ll do,” he said, but didn’t elaborate, and Camila lasted about four milliseconds before not being able to hold back.
“For what, exactly?”
