Heavy bootsteps sounded off from behind him, and Roman measured the risk of turning his head for a split second before deciding the assailants would be distracted enough to make the move worth it. The two men who had taken Rosalie and Camila behind the counter and out of sight rushed back into the lobby, making Roman’s pulse escalate. Neither woman was with them, and Roman’s fingers tightened against the back of his head, every instinct he had screaming for him to make sure they were unharmed.
No gunshots, the rational part of his brain reminded sternly. It was a good sign.
Not that his instincts were going to give a shit until he saw Camila, alive and unharmed, with his own two eyes.
The point man shouldered the duffel bag that the larger accomplice had dropped at his feet. The other two men had bags of their own, and Roman’s breath jammed in his lungs as the point man turned toward their group.
“I have control of the video feed of this room. That means I’ll be able to see you after I walk out that door. You will all slowly count to one hundred before you move. Not doing so isn’t a risk you want to take.”
Pulling a nine millimeter handgun from his hip, he sent a pair of shots at the ceiling to punctuate the threat, the deafening pop-pop! making everyone other than Roman cry out. With all the patrons paralyzed into place, the group turned toward the door and fell out, gone as quickly as they’d appeared.
Roman was moving before the door had fully shut.
“Is anyone hurt?” he asked, jumping to his feet and scanning the patrons, his gaze lingering for an extra beat on the preteen and her mother, both of whom shook their heads. Thank fuck. “See if your cell phone works,” he barked at the bank manager who had been working alongside Rosalie. “If it doesn’t, use a landline to call nine-one-one and tell them there’s been a bank robbery and the three assailants are armed and on the run.”
“B-but he said—”
Roman shook his head, already at the door leading to the back of the bank. “He said it to scare you. He needs the lead time to get away. He’s too smart to risk coming back. Tell the nine-one-one operator that FBI Agent Kai Roman is on-scene. Go. And you”—he turned toward the middle-aged man who had been on the opposite side of the bank when the robbers had arrived—“come with me. Everyone else, stay here until the police arrive.”
Dropping his credentials seemed to do the trick, giving the manager and the other man the reassurance to take action. The man moved toward Roman as Roman moved toward the door to the back of the bank. He ran down the main hallway, sweeping every space he passed for Camila and Rosalie, coming up empty until he reached an open vault door. His heart launched against his sternum—she cannot be dead, she cannot be dead—but he didn’t hesitate to run past the threshold.
The first thing he saw was Camila crumpled in a heap on the floor.
“Camila.” Panic threatened to take control of Roman’s limbs, but no. No. Not now. Not for this. He forced himself to scan the room, catching sight of Rosalie, who was pale and shaky, but conscious and semi-alert a few feet away.
“Are you hurt?” he asked her, although he’d dropped to his knees beside Camila. Thank fuck, she had a pulse and was breathing.
“N-no,” Rosalie rasped, holding up an inhaler with zip-tied hands. “I…have asthma.”
Well, that explained needing a second set of hands. He looked at the man from the lobby, who now stood in the doorway to the vault, eyes wide. “What’s your name?”
“Victor,” he said.
“Victor, I need you to sit with Rosalie and make sure she stays stable until paramedics get here. Nice deep breaths, both of you,” he said, turning his full attention to Camila. Cradling her head in one hand and her shoulder in the other to keep her spine stable, Roman turned her carefully to her back. Anger ripped through him, hot and fast, at the sight of the two-inch gash at her temple and the already-swollen bruise blooming beneath it. He stuffed down the useless emotion to focus on the task at hand, searching for something he could use to place pressure on the wound before realizing that they were in the middle of a fucking bank vault, and of course there was nothing.
His tie wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do. “Camila,” Roman said quietly, removing the tie from around his neck with one hand. “Camila, can you hear me? I need you to wake up.”
Her chest rose and fell, but otherwise, nothing. Folding the tie up as best he could, he pressed the fabric to her temple.
That got her. “Unh,” she grunted, eyes fluttering. “Where—”
Roman cut her off before she could try to move—or, worse yet, panic. “You’re okay, but you need to be really still. Don’t try to move.”
Of course, she didn’t listen. “Don’t be…okay, ow.” Camila got halfway to seated before swaying dangerously, making Roman curse.
“I told you,” he said, guiding her back to the floor a little more firmly this time. Christ, she was so stubborn. “You need to be still.”
Camila blinked, realization hitting her on a delay. “Rosalie,” she gasped, struggling again to sit up.
Roman didn’t let her budge. She could have a concussion. Or worse. “Rosalie is fine.” He softened his tone by a degree, knowing she wouldn’t stop trying to get up unless he did. “One of the bank patrons is with her. Everyone is safe, and the police are on their way. But you have a really nasty bump on your head.” Damn it, she was bleeding all over the place. “So could you please sit still until the paramedics get here?”
Camila blinked up at him. “The bank was robbed,” she said, her eyes filling with fear, then tears. “They had guns. They said they’d kill us.”
Fuck. He didn’t do emotion. So why were hers making him want to lose his shit, right there in the middle of a bank vault? “They’re gone now,” Roman bit out. “And I’m going to make sure they don’t get away with this.”
Camila tried to nod, but let out a pained cry at the movement, and where were those paramedics?
“Just breathe,” he told her. To his surprise, she didn’t protest. Her inhale was wobbly at best, but at least she wasn’t trying to get up anymore. Her stillness allowed Roman to finally concentrate on keeping her stable. Speaking of which… “Does anything hurt besides your head?”
Her brow creased in obvious confusion, so he added, “People who lose consciousness can sustain secondary injuries when they fall to the floor. So, does anything else hurt?” He hadn’t seen anything obvious, like a broken bone, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t sprained anything.
“No,” Camila finally said. “Nothing else.”
“Are you sure?” Roman gave her a quick head-to-toe scan, just in case. Adrenaline could mask a lot of pain. Plus, she’d witnessed a bank robbery, then been assaulted at gunpoint. Shock wasn’t out of the question.
Wait, had she just rolled her eyes at him? “Seeing as how it’s my body you’re asking about? Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”
“I didn’t mean—you know what, forget it.” Clearly, she couldn’t be that badly hurt if she had the energy to give him crap. Although, knowing Camila, she could be missing a limb and probably still want to get snippy. She wasn’t too unlike her brother that way.