21. Hotel Room #2
Something was wrong.
He knew it.
He simply couldn’t identify what.
His secure phone was hidden in the emergency compartment beneath the rear cargo floor.
He desperately needed it.
Mateo was moving the warehouse inventory.
The Bureau’s raid window was collapsing.
But Camila was beside him.
He couldn’t make contact.
Not yet.
He checked the mirror.
Black SUV.
Three vehicles back.
Chris watched it.
Two miles later, still there.
His jaw tightened.
Camila noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
Chris glanced over.
The word sounded different today.
Sharper.
He looked back at the mirror.
The SUV turned off.
Fine.
Maybe.
He continued.
The hotel was expensive.
Private.
Mateo had reserved two adjoining suites under false names.
Chris stared at the room keys.
“Separate rooms?”
Camila took hers.
“Disappointed?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
Again.
That word.
Chris watched her walk toward the elevator.
Something was definitely wrong.
At eleven that night, Chris opened his hotel-room door.
Camila stood outside.
Black sleep dress.
Bare feet.
Dark hair loose.
Chris leaned against the doorway.
“Separate rooms.”
“I know.”
“Your brother’s instructions.”
“I heard him.”
She stepped closer.
“For tonight, you’re not my bodyguard.”
Chris’s expression changed.
“What am I?”
Camila looked into his eyes.
She knew the answer now.
FBI agent.
Undercover operative.
Christopher Walker.
Liar.
Man she loved.
Instead she whispered:
“Mine.”
Chris stared at her.
Then stepped aside.
Camila entered.
The door closed.
For a little while, they let the world disappear.
They kissed, teased each other, laughed quietly, and held onto the strange little version of normal they’d built together.
The intimacy between them became passionate, but what mattered most was the tenderness afterward—the way Camila curled against him and Chris held her as though he could somehow keep everything outside that hotel room from reaching them.
For one night—
they almost forgot Mateo Vargas existed.
Almost.
The vibration came at 1:38 a.m.
Chris’s eyes opened.
Camila slept against him.
He waited.
Another vibration.
Secure phone.
Fuck.
He carefully moved her arm.
Camila stirred.
Chris froze.
Nothing.
He slipped out of bed, pulled on sweatpants and walked toward the bathroom.
He retrieved the phone from inside his travel bag.
Sloan.
Chris answered quietly.
“What?”
“Problem.”
“That’s becoming your favorite word.”
“Diego is digging.”
Chris’s expression changed.
“What do you mean?”
“We intercepted chatter. He’s asking questions about recent leaks.”
“How close?”
“We don’t know.”
“Sloan.”
“He’s asking about the garage. The staged pursuit. Timing around warehouse surveillance.”
Chris’s blood went cold.”Shit.”
The staged pursuit.
That was bad.
Very fucking bad.
“Does he have Roman?”
“Not yet.”
“Not good enough.”
“Chris, listen to me. Mercer wants extraction considered immediately.”
“No.”
“Walker—”
“No.”
“The raid may be compromised.”
Chris looked toward the bedroom.
Camila.
“If Mateo empties that warehouse, we lose the window.”
“We know that.”
“Then move.”
“We can’t move without confirmation.”
Chris rubbed his forehead.
“I can’t talk.”
“What?”
“I said I can’t talk.”
“Is Camila there?”
Chris turned slightly.
And froze.
Camila stood in the doorway.
Watching him.
“Can’t talk to who?”
Chris’s heart stopped.
Two seconds.
That’s all he had.
Two seconds to save Chris Roman.
He ended the call.
“My supplier.”
Camila stared.
“At one forty in the morning?”
“Criminals keep terrible business hours.”
Her eyes dropped toward the phone.
“That’s the phone from your apartment.”
Chris went still.
“What?”
“The one that rang this morning.”
She’d been awake.
Fuck.
“You heard that?”
“Some.”
Chris forced himself not to react.
“Old security contact.”
“Named Sloan?”
His stomach dropped.
Camila watched his face.
He recovered.
“Sloan handles contracts.”
“A woman?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sleeping with her?”
Chris almost laughed from sheer relief.
Jealousy.
He could handle jealousy.
“No.”
“Did she sleep with you?”
“No.”
“Does she want to?”
“Jesus Christ, Camila.”
She crossed her arms.
“Answer.”
“No.”
Camila stared.
Chris stepped closer.
“There’s nothing between me and Sloan.”
That, at least, was completely true.
Camila looked into his eyes.
She knew exactly who Sloan was now.
FBI.
Handler.
Agent.
Something.
And Chris was lying directly to her face.
Again.
“Okay.”
Chris frowned.
“Okay?”
“Yes.”
That answer bothered him more than anger would have.
Camila walked back toward the bed.
Chris watched her.
“Camila.”
“What?”
“You believe me?”
She looked back.
Then smiled.
“Of course.”
Chris should’ve felt relieved.
Instead, something inside him screamed.
At 3:12 a.m., Chris woke again.
Not from a phone.
From instinct.
His eyes opened.
Dark room.
Camila asleep beside him.
Something was wrong.
He didn’t know what.
Then—
a soft metallic sound in the hallway.
Chris sat up.
Camila stirred.
“What?”
“Shh.”
He reached for his gun.
Camila’s blood turned cold.
She knew that expression now.
FBI Agent Chris Walker.
Chris moved toward the door.
Didn’t open it.
Listened.
Footsteps.
Multiple.
Too controlled for drunk hotel guests.
Chris checked the peephole.
Nothing.
Then he looked down.
Shadow beneath the door.
Someone standing beside it.
Not in front.
Beside.
Avoiding the peephole.
“Fuck.”
Camila sat up.
“Chris?”
He turned.
“Get dressed.”
“What?”
“Now.”
Something struck the adjoining-room door.
Once.
Chris’s head snapped toward it.
Again.
The lock cracked.
Camila jumped from bed.
“What’s happening?”
Chris grabbed his shirt.
“We’re leaving.”
“Who is that?”
“I don’t know.”
Lie.
He had a very good idea.
Diego.
Mateo.
Mateo’s men trying to kill him.
Someone had decided suspicion wasn’t enough.
The adjoining door exploded inward.
Chris grabbed Camila.
“MOVE!”
A man entered.
Chris shoved Camila behind the wall and reacted instantly.
The struggle was fast and brutal.
Chris disarmed the attacker, drove him backward and got Camila toward the hallway exit.
Then another man appeared.
Chris recognized him.
One of Mateo’s security men.
His stomach dropped.
Camila saw him too.
“Carlos?”
The man raised his weapon.
Camila froze.
Chris didn’t.
He pulled her behind him.
Everything inside her shattered.
Mateo had sent them.
Not strangers.
Not rivals.
Mateo’s men.
For Chris.
“Run!”
They bolted toward the emergency stairwell.
More footsteps behind them.
Chris shoved open the door.
Down.
Sixth floor.
Fifth.
Fourth.
Camila struggled to keep up.
“Chris!”
“Keep moving!”
“Why are they doing this?”
He couldn’t answer.
Because he knew.
Mateo suspected him.
And if Mateo suspected Chris Roman was an FBI informant—
Roman’s usefulness was over.
Chris grabbed Camila’s hand.
Third floor.
A door opened below.
Men entered the stairwell.
Chris stopped.
“Back up.”
“What?”
“Up.”
They reversed.
Fourth floor.
Chris kicked open the door.Just like a FBI agent does. No effort.
Hallway.
Housekeeping cart.
Service elevator.
“Come on.”
They ran.
Behind them—
“ROMAN!”
Chris’s blood went cold.
Camila heard it.
This wasn’t a kidnapping.
They weren’t after her.
They were after him.
Chris shoved open a service door.
Kitchen.
Empty at this hour.
They crossed it.
Loading area.
Outside.
Cold night air.
Parking garage.
Chris spotted the SUV.
Too obvious.
They’d expect it.
He changed direction.
“Where are we going?”
“Car.”
“That’s the other way!”
“Not ours.”
Camila stared.
Of course.
Federal training.
Chris reached a dark sedan in the garage.
He scanned.
No.
Too exposed.
Then a hotel shuttle van sat idling near the loading entrance, driver unloading luggage.
Chris made a snap decision.
“Inside.”
Camila stared at him.
“You’re stealing a hotel shuttle?”
“Borrowing.”
“This is insane.”
“Get in!”
They did.
Chris took the wheel.
The driver shouted.
Chris slammed the door.
“Sorry!”
He accelerated.
Camila grabbed the dashboard.
“You apologized?”
“I’m polite.”
Even now.
Fucking jokes.
They shot out of the garage.
A black SUV followed seconds later.
Chris saw it.
His expression changed.
Camila watched him.
There he was.
The man she’d wondered about from the beginning.
Not street racer.
Not private security.
Federal agent.
Chris accelerated.
The city blurred around them.
“Seat belt.”
Camila clicked it.
“How many?”
“Two vehicles.”
“Mateo’s?”
Chris didn’t answer.
“Chris.”
Silence.
“Are they Mateo’s men?”
His jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
The truth surprised both of them.
Camila looked away.
Chris took a hard turn.
The pursuing SUV overshot slightly.
He gained distance.
Another vehicle appeared ahead.
Blocking the street.
“Fuck.”
Chris braked.
Turned.
The shuttle jumped the curb into an alley.
Camila screamed.
“Jesus!”
“I know.”
“You’re fucking crazy!”
“So I’ve been told.”
They tore through the alley.
Dumpster.
Delivery truck.
Narrow opening.
Chris calculated.
The shuttle barely fit.
He didn’t slow down.
Mirrors clipped both sides.
Camila ducked.
They shot through.
The larger SUV couldn’t follow.
“One down.”
Camila stared at him.
“You’ve done this before.”
Chris didn’t look at her.
“Chris.”
“Not now.”
She knew.
That was the difference.
This time when he refused to answer, she already had it.
Yes.
He had done this before.
Probably more times than she could imagine.
The second SUV appeared behind them.
Chris’s hidden phone vibrated.