Page 16 of Shadowed Hearts: Frost (Nightfall Syndicate #2)

eleven

Asher

" S o you decided to photograph me like some kind of stalker?"

Vanessa's fingers dance across her keyboard, manipulating the digital projection on her wall. Financial connections glow in red between Paradise Elite and offshore accounts while yellow pathways trace suspected victims across multiple states.

"I mean, you literally stood out like a neon sign in Temple Coffee."

I move closer, studying the interconnected web of data she's created. Hundreds of photos, documents, and transaction records create an intelligence operation that rivals military briefings.

"Impressive work."

"I photograph everyone interesting." She highlights a cluster of transactions, zooming in with a gesture. "But you? Military posture, hyper-awareness, completely unfazed by Ethiopian coffee. You were ridiculously suspicious."

My jaw tightens as she cycles through high-quality photos of me at various angles. She's been watching me more closely than I realized.

"So you decided stalking was the answer?"

"Says the man who kissed me ten minutes ago." She tucks a strand of pink hair behind her ear, eyes dancing with challenge while she overlays recruitment cycles onto the financial data. "That was very unprofessional, Frost."

"Professional boundaries," I mutter, but step closer to examine her analysis. These transaction patterns show sophisticated money laundering.

"Cross-border payments to obscure the trail," she explains, fingers flying across the interface. "Rotating accounts every sixteen days. Model recruitment cycles match perfectly."

"Standard operations use thirty-day rotations."

"Exactly why I noticed it." She bounces up from her chair, energy radiating from her small frame as she points to projected documents. "It's like watching twisted synchronicity in real-time."

Our fingers brush as we both reach toward the same data point. The contact sends heat racing through my veins that has nothing to do with electrical charge. Her skin is warm, soft. I step back, creating distance.

"What's wrong? Afraid of a little contact?" Her lips curve into that wicked grin, utterly immune to the lightning that just raced through my blood.

The communication device in my ear comes alive with static before I can answer. Cole's measured voice cuts through the tension.

"Frost, we have four men approaching the building. Black clothing, moving casual but maintaining formation."

I tap the earpiece twice while Vanessa's main monitor flashes red with a security alert. "Visual?"

"No visible weapons, but body language screams military," Kade's voice adds. "They're coordinating movements, covering exits."

Vanessa rapidly types commands, bringing up multiple camera angles of the building's entrance.

"Guess they got tired of waiting," she murmurs, enlarging the footage while we both watch tactical professionals enter her lobby.

"ETA on entry?" I ask while my muscles tense, body shifting instantly from conversational to combat-ready.

"Thirty seconds out," Kade responds. "Moving to intercept."

I assess our position. Corner unit, fourth floor, two exits: main door and fire escape. Limited defensive positions, excessive windows.

"Copy. Cole's securing the building, I'm heading up."

"Too many civilians below. Handle interior scope."

Vanessa's fingers fly across three keyboards, initiating what appears to be an emergency protocol. No panic, just rapid efficiency. The blue glow from her screens reflects off her face as she works.

"Those aren't police." She manipulates the camera feeds while moving toward her desk. "No badges, no announcements. They're not even pretending."

"Paradise Elite?" My Sig Sauer slides from its holster with practiced familiarity, the weight comforting in my palm.

"Has to be." Her voice tightens while she yanks a small external drive from her computer. "Too much coincidence for anything else."

I check the magazine and chamber a round, the mechanical click centering my thoughts while heavy footsteps echo up the concrete stairwell. The familiar rush floods my system, heightening awareness.

Every sound becomes distinct: Vanessa's rapid breathing, computer fans humming, distant boots growing louder.

"Grab only what's irreplaceable. Move while you work." I position myself between her and the door while shouldering my specialized sniper pack.

"Been preparing for this possibility." She slips a small tablet into her cross-body bag while hitting a sequence of keys that starts wiping her systems. Smart girl.

"Everything about Jenny uploads to encrypted cloud storage automatically.

But the victim profiles Maya and I built. .. those aren't backed up offsite."

The metallic scrape of weapons against gear echoes closer. My vision sharpens, peripheral awareness expanding. What blindsides me isn't the threat—it's my reaction. The thought of these men reaching Vanessa triggers something raw, protective, possessive.

"Fire escape. Now." I wrap my fingers around her upper arm, steering her toward the far window while scanning for threats. Every muscle shifts into combat mode, brain calculating angles, distances, cover points.

"They'll have someone watching the alley," she whispers, keeping pace with my rapid steps. Her breathing remains controlled despite the obvious danger.

"Counting on it." My hand slides to the small of her back, guiding her forward. The warmth of her body registers through her thin shirt.

"You've done this before." Not a question. Her voice holds something between fear and fascination as we move.

"Once or twice."

"Probably the understatement of the century," she mutters.

"You have a gun?" I need to assess our options while we're still mobile.

Her eyes widen. "No. I don't... I've never even held one. Maya always said violence should be a last resort."

"Stay behind me. Do exactly what I say." The first boot hits the door before we reach the window.

"When I move, you follow exactly three steps behind me."

"Why three?" she asks while gripping her bag strap tighter.

"Standard tactical distance. Harder to hit both targets with one burst."

"That's... oddly comforting," she whispers, but her lips quirk up despite the situation. "Bossy when you're playing hero." She grips her bag strap tighter, knuckles turning white.

"Not playing." Wood splinters explode inward as a steel-toed boot connects with the lock. "And it's not bossy if it keeps you alive."

Training takes over. I shove Vanessa behind a concrete column, pivoting with my weapon raised, breathing steady.

"Stay low," I order while scanning for targets. "When I say move, run for the fire escape. Don't stop, don't look back."

"What about you?" Her dark eyes search mine, genuine concern flashing despite her own danger.

"Right behind you." Something warm spreads through my chest at her worry.

"Don't do anything stupidly heroic." Her hands shake, but resolve takes over her face. "I hate clichés, and dying for someone is the worst one."

"Nothing about me is a cliché, bunny."

The first man barrels through the doorway, gear black, semi-automatic raised. I put a single round through his forehead before he completes his entry. The gunshot thunders in the enclosed space, echo bouncing off concrete walls. He drops without another step.

Vanessa flinches at the sound, back pressed against concrete. Shock flashes across her face before she forces it away, squaring her shoulders. But the slight shake in her hands tells me something else. She's scared, yes, but she's also watching me with dark fascination. Her pupils dilate slightly.

"You okay?" My voice comes out rougher than intended.

"Peachy," she breathes, but her eyes stay locked on my face with an intensity that heats my blood. There's something hungry in that look.

Glass shatters behind us, shards exploding across the hardwood floor. A second man rappels through the window, cutting off our escape route.

"Move!" I bark, firing twice while steering Vanessa toward the kitchen island. The shots echo like thunder. The first catches the rappelling man in the shoulder, spinning him mid-air. The second punches through his throat, blood spraying across the wall where her projection displays.

"Two down." I eject the spent magazine, scanning for the next threat.

"How can you be so calm?" Vanessa whispers, pressing close to my back while we crouch behind the island. The scent of her shampoo cuts through the acrid smell from the gunshots.

"Practice." I slide in a fresh magazine with mechanical precision.

"Performance reviews during firefights?" Her hand grips my forearm, fingernails digging into skin. But there's something else in her voice, something that makes my chest tighten.

"Always room for improvement," I signal for her to stay behind me while bullets chip concrete above our heads. "Even in dying."

A shadow moves across the doorway. The third attacker advances with more caution than his partners, firing controlled bursts that force us deeper into cover. Concrete dust rains down as bullets strike the column.

"Amateur," I mutter while reloading. "Wasting ammunition on suppression."

The gunfire stops. Movement in my peripheral vision. The bastard flanked us while I was focused on his position.

"Frost!" Vanessa's scream pierces the air.

I spin to see the third man's arm locked around her throat, dragging her backward toward the shattered window. Her feet scramble for purchase on the glass-covered floor. Terror floods her dark eyes.

Something snaps inside me. The cold calculation that defines every mission, every shot, every breath—gone. Raw fury floods my veins like molten metal.

I move without thinking. No tactical approach. No clean shot assessment. Just pure violence.

The attacker sees me coming, tries to raise his weapon with his free hand. Too slow. I grab his wrist, twist until bone cracks. The gun clatters across the floor. He maintains his chokehold on Vanessa, using her as a shield.