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The quiet gave Roman time to process what he knew and formulate questions about what he didn’t—which, he supposed, was his own way of dealing with adrenaline letdown. By the time they’d reached the gravel road leading to the lake house, the sky had begun to turn pink, but there was still plenty of daylight left for him to see the dark gray SUV parked beside the bottom of the driveway.
Camila sat up straight, panic filling her eyes, but Roman shook his head. “It’s okay. This is protocol. There’s always going to be someone here keeping an eye on the house and doing perimeter sweeps. I’ve got your back inside the house, but I’m never going to be your only line of defense.”
He put his hand on his weapon anyway, just until he’d verified both agents’ badges and IDs. When everything checked out, they proceeded to the house. Roman had only been here once before, a few years ago, but nothing had changed. The house itself was a single-story cottage, similar to the small vacation homes dotting the perimeter of the lake. Although none of those were visible from here, not even when the trees were all bare in the winter, the safehouse was meant specifically to blend in with the others. Nothing extraordinary. Nothing different. So, like many other properties in a ten-mile radius, it was surrounded by neatly kept landscaping in the front and a short yard that gave way to marshy reeds and a dock leading to the water in the back. In the evening sunlight, it actually looked more like a postcard than an FBI safehouse.
“Okay, wow,” Camila said, taking in the cottage and the lake sparkling in the lowering sunlight beyond. “This isnotwhat I was expecting.”
“Let me guess,” Roman said, backing into the one-car garage bay and killing the engine. “You were thinking we’d end up in a dingy motel with bad bedspreads and musty carpets?”
Her sheepish smile said he’d had her dead to rights. “I know, I know. I shouldn’t watch so muchLaw and Order.”
“Eh.” He shrugged. “Sometimes we do use motels, and the FBI doesn’t exactly have the budget for someplace like The Plaza. But locations like this are easier to keep secure. Not to mention easier to control.”
“Like with the guards at the end of the driveway, you mean?”
Roman waited for the garage door to fully close before getting out of the car. “Not quite. Let’s go inside and I can show you what I mean.”
Keeping his weapon at his hip and his senses on high alert, he got out of the car. Camila followed suit, eyeing the heavy-duty storage lockers that lined the far wall. The garage had been built with extended storage space, which most people probably assumed was for outdoor equipment or maybe even a kayak or two. In reality, the metal lockers contained everything from meal rations and water to secure satellite phones and bulletproof vests.
“Supplies,” Roman said. “We like to stay self-sustaining up here, since heading into town for groceries isn’t really an option.”
Camila nodded. “That makes sense.”
She followed him through the garage and into the cottage. Unlike the other lake houses in the area, most of which were vacation homes, the interior here wasn’t massive or glamorous. There was a small but functional kitchen and a living room only big enough for a couch and one chair beside the fireplace. The walls were plain white and bare, and while the house was clean and the amenities fairly modern, there were no frills to be had. No throw pillows, no houseplants, no art to liven the place up. A dining area stood off the kitchen, with a small, round table and two chairs facing the large windows offering a view of the lake. Or, theywouldoffer a view of the lake, if they weren’t covered by wood-slatted interior shutters that had been snapped tight, just like all the other windows.
“Obviously, the place is built for function over form,” Roman said. “The windows are all made of bullet-resistant glass, but we’ll keep the shutters closed, just to be safe. The doors are always locked”—he gestured to the front door, in a vestibule by the living room, which had not one, but two deadbolts engaged—“and so are the windows. There are also sensors on each one, to include breach and glass break.”
“Oh.” Camila blinked, and while he thought she might be overwhelmed by how seriously they had to take security in a safehouse, she actually seemed comforted. “What else should I know? I don’t want to accidentally trip an alarm or something.”
Roman shook his head, moving into the kitchen and opening the fridge. Damn, someone had stocked this place fast. “The security system is pretty intense, and it includes video monitoring, but all the cameras and motion sensors are outside. Just don’t open any exterior doors or windows and you’ll be fine.”
She took the water bottle he handed over, cracking it open to take a long sip before saying, “No windows, no doors. No going outside. Got it.”
“I’ll be here with you the whole time, although you’ll have privacy for things like showering and sleeping, of course,” he said, drinking from his own bottle of water, then nodding toward the short hallway on the opposite side of the vestibule. “The bedroom and bathrooms are down here.”
He led her the dozen and a half paces through the space, his boots thumping on the hardwood floor until they passed a half bathroom, then arrived at the only other door at the end of the corridor. The bedroom was large enough for a neatly made double bed, nightstand, and dresser, and not much else.
Camila hitched to a stop, her eyes scanning the bedroom. “There’s only one bed.”
Roman, having known this well before they’d arrived, nodded slowly. “There’s only one bed. But it’s fine. I’m sleeping on the couch.”
“No,” she blurted, her cheeks flushing a shade of pink that set him on fucking fire. “I mean, that’s silly. We can switch off.”
Knowing how stubborn she was, and also that they had more ground to cover before calling it a night, he tabled the argument, although he was careful not to agree, because he had no intention of letting her sleep on the damn couch. “There’s a full bathroom in here, too. And that, on the nightstand, is a panic button.”
He had her full attention. “A panic button,” Camila repeated, looking at the nondescript device with wary eyes.
“Yes. Think of it like nine-one-one. If, on the very off chance, there’s an emergency of any kind, you just hit the red button and hold it down for three seconds. There’s another one just like it in the kitchen, and a third one in the garage.”
“Oh. That’s probably a good idea, since I’m guessing there’s no phone,” she said.
“Yes and no.” He moved back into the hallway, and she fell into step with him as they headed back to the kitchen, where he opened one of the deep drawers built into the cabinetry. “Neither one of us will be able to use our cell phones while we’re here. But we have a satellite phone to keep in touch with Agent Calloway and the Intelligence Unit, and there’s a secure laptop so we can do video calls with them for updates. In fact”—he looked at his watch—“we’re scheduled to check in with the team in a few minutes. It’s protocol once an asset is secured at a safe house. You don’t have to be here for that,” Roman added. “You’ve had a hell of a day, and adrenaline burnout is real. It’s understandable if you want to tap out for now. I can get you up to speed on anything urgent.”
Camila, not shockingly, shook her head. “No. I mean, I’m not going to sit here and pretend that I’m not basically one big batch of adrenaline soup over here, but knowing what’s going on helps me.” She gestured from him to the sat phone he’d placed on the kitchen counter. “This helps.Youhelp.”
Her voice had dropped to a whisper over the last two words, and they shot directly to his chest. He would protect her. At all costs, including his fucking life, he would keep her safe.
“Camila, this is going to be okay.”
