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But the sight of the man who had stepped around the corner made her jerk to a halt. She didn’t recognize him—although a black baseball hat obscured most of his face from direct view, with his shoulder-length brown hair, barbed-wire expression, and hulking, tattooed frame, she’d remember if she’d met him before. But something about the way he carried himself niggled at her subconscious, calling up a primal warning she couldn’t explain, and her heart began to race. He looked up, his eyes meeting hers from beneath the brim of his hat, his heavy bootsteps faltering as he saw her and Roman standing there. For a split second, all three of them stood perfectly still, locked in the world’s weirdest standoff while Camila’s brain screamed that something wasn’t right.
Then the man took a menacing step forward just as Roman’s hand closed around hers to pull her in the opposite direction, and everything became a giant blur of motion, adrenaline, and sound.
“Run,” Roman half-yelled, whirling both of them around and pulling her in front of him, using his body to shield her from the man. She didn’t hesitate, bolting toward the door to the stairwell with her heart in her windpipe. A loud sound ripped through the air, sending her heart directly into her throat, but she didn’t slow. Her survival instinct kicked her feet as fast as they would go, both hands shooting out in front of her to push the door to the stairwell open. It hit the wall behind it with a loud, metallic crash, and only after she’d cleared the threshold did she turn toward Roman.
“Down,” he commanded, and again, she didn’t hesitate. Whirling toward the staircase leading to the third floor, Camila grabbed the railing for balance, her feet thundering over the stairs so fast, they stung with each rapid step. She didn’t have time to do anything other than get one foot in front of the other, but when she and Roman cleared the landing to the third floor, the sound of the door above them smashing open tempted her to freeze.
“Keep going. I’ve got you,” Roman said, right beside her, stride for stride. Another deafening sound ricocheted through the stairwell, sending Camila’s already slamming pulse into the stratosphere, and the menacing voice that followed turned her skin to ice.
“You can run, but you can’t hide. I’m going to find you, you little bitch. And once I do, I’m going to hurt you so bad, you’ll fucking beg me to kill you.”
That voice. Oh, God, she knew that voice.
And it wasn’t the first time the man that it belonged to had threatened to kill her.
Fear compressed her lungs, turning her footsteps sloppy and making her lightheaded. But then Roman’s hand was on hers, grabbing tight and not letting go, and the contact grounded her, making her focus. They ran down the last flight of stairs, bursting out of the stairwell and into the lobby. Roman did a lightning-fast scan of the space, which was thankfully empty, and he turned to the door leading out to the visitor’s parking lot.
“We need to get to my car,” he said, already in motion. Camila’s heart crashed against her rib cage so hard that she could barely hear him past the beat of it against her eardrums. But she followed him without hesitation, through the main door of her building and outside, not stopping until they’d both reached his car. Camila chanced a look back over her shoulder, dread claiming her belly at the sight of the man emerging from the building, gun drawn.
“Roman!” she yelled. The man was already headed toward them, but now they had the advantage. Provided they could get into the car and get gone before the man could get inhiscar and follow them, anyway.
“Let’s go,” Roman bit out. The car must have had remote ignition, because it was not only unlocked, but running, and Camila didn’t have to be told twice. She jerked the passenger door open and flung herself inside. Roman was already in the driver’s seat, putting the car into reverse and peeling out of the parking area as if the building were engulfed in flames.
“Get down,” he told her, and although she did, she couldn’t just sit there, crouched down low against the passenger seat.
“How can I help?” she asked, trying to catch her breath, but failing.
Roman stared at the rearview mirror for a beat before looking at her, then the windshield. “See that lockbox in the dash? I need you to open it and hand me the weapon inside.”
Oh, God, this was entirely fucking surreal. “O-okay.”
She punched in the code he gave her. The red light on the front of the box turned green, a soft beep indicating that the box was unlocked, and Camila opened it with hands she had to will to stop shaking. She’d never held a gun before, and she handed it over to Roman as if it were made of spun glass.
“It’s okay. The safety’s on,” he told her, placing the gun in his lap and swiveling another stare over their surroundings. “I don’t see anyone following us.”
Camila straightened, chancing a look behind them. “Does that mean we lost him?”
“Not yet.” Roman tapped an icon on his dashboard, and a second later, the sound of a phone ringing filled the car speakers. “Keep watching out the back,” he told her, driving with one hand and grabbing the gun with the other. “If you see anything that looks suspicious—anything—tell me.”
“Okay,” she managed, trying to take a deep breath. Having a job to do kept her focused on something other than the fact that they’d just been shot at by a freaking bank robber, and she stared out the back window, scanning for anything that looked out of the ordinary.
A voice filtered over the speakers after the third ring. “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
“This is FBI Agent Kai Roman,” he said, following with a badge number to confirm his identity. “I’ve got shots fired at an agent and a civilian, twenty-four sixteen Wellington Street, white male shooter, six-four, brown hair, black T-shirt and jeans. No injuries. Requesting all available units to that location.”
“Copy that, requesting available units to twenty-four sixteen Wellington Street,” the dispatcher said. “Are you on scene?”
“Negative. I’m securing the witness who was the target of the attack. I need to talk to FBI Special Agent Olivia Calloway and Sergeant Sam Sinclair in RPD’s Intelligence Unit.Now.”
If the dispatcher took offense to his demand, she hid it well. “Copy that. Hold the line.”
Gripping the wheel, Roman looked at her, brows lifted in question, and she shook her head. “Nothing. I don’t see anyone following us.”
“Good. Keep watching, okay? I’m going to get us somewhere safe.”
Roman maneuvered the city streets with as much ease as could be managed at rush hour. They didn’t seem to be headed to the Thirty-Third, although he was definitely taking a circuitous path through the city, so she couldn’t be entirely sure. After a minute, he turned toward her again, waiting for her to confirm that they still weren’t being followed before pulling into a parking garage and backing into a spot on the second level.
“I need you to turn your cell phone off. Chances are low that they’re tracking it,” he added, likely at the way she’d looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “This attack didn’t seem well-coordinated, like the robberies. But we know this crew has some heavy-duty tech with those cell jammers. I’m not taking the risk.”
