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

two

Vanessa

I slip into our staff room and close the door, my heart hammering against my ribs like it's trying to break free.

Taking a deep breath, I peel off the navy blue apron that smells like coffee grounds and vanilla syrup. The tiny room hums with energy, mirroring the restless charge racing through my veins.

Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.

The mental replay of him won't stop. Tall, intense eyes, that perfect jawline, shoulders that filled out his shirt in ways that made my mouth dry.

I pull out the small trash bag I'd separated earlier, fishing through it with gloved hands until I find his cup. The Ethiopian Yirgacheffe that he'd savored like someone who actually appreciates the complexity.

"Got you," I whisper, carefully sliding the cup into an evidence bag.

Even through my gloves, warmth spreads through my fingers as I brush against the rim where his lips touched. Something unexpected coils in my belly.

But my body hasn't been listening to the logical part of my brain. The flutter in my chest when he'd locked eyes with me wasn't part of the plan. Neither was noticing how his voice, controlled, deep, and measured, gave me goosebumps.

I pull out my phone, swiping through the photos I'd taken while pretending to clean nearby tables. The watchful stillness, and the way he scanned the room.

Those hands—large, capable, with a barely noticeable callus pattern that spoke of weapons training. The way he wrapped them around the coffee cup with such controlled grace, like he could just as easily be holding something much more dangerous.

Stop imagining those hands. Keep on task.

I bounce on my toes, unable to contain my energy as I open my encrypted notes app. My thumbs fly across the screen.

Subject: Male, approx. 6'1", early 30s. Military training evident in posture and situational awareness. Assassin? Maintains line of sight to all exits. Right-handed but ambidextrous tendencies.

I absently twist the evidence bag between my fingers, the plastic smooth against my palms.

No visible tattoos. Scar near temple. Eyes track room in systematic sweeps. Voice controlled, deliberate speech patterns. Carries concealed, slight change when seated shows right chest holster.

I check the small device in my pocket that's still actively downloading data. Phone clone: 94% complete.

Physical response: disguised surveillance as casual observation. Recognized testing protocols. Accepted conversation but maintained control. Tactical assessment ongoing throughout interaction.

I pause, chewing my bottom lip while rolling a pen between my fingers.

He's dangerous. And definitely hiding something major. Connected to Steele? Timing suggests possible surveillance counter-measure.

The thought sends another chill through me that has nothing to do with fear.

I check my watch and curse under my breath. Maya's waiting. I stuff the evidence bag into my backpack alongside my laptop, grab my jacket, and head for the back door, already texting one-handed.

Got the perfect DNA sample. And his phone data. Something's happening—three days after I poke the hornet's nest, this guy shows up. Be there in 20.

The back door swings shut behind me as I dash toward my car, excitement and unexpected attraction creating anticipation that makes me feel more alive than I have in months.

I navigate through Sacramento's early evening traffic, drumming impatiently against the steering wheel. My mind keeps wandering back to him . Those eyes. Those shoulders. The way he moved.

My phone chimes with Maya's reply.

Just tell me you didn't hack into a federal database again. Last time, the FBI showed up.

I snort.

That was ONE time. And they never proved it was me.

Twenty minutes later, I pull into an unmarked lot behind what looks like an abandoned warehouse in the industrial district. The security cameras track my movement as I approach the side entrance and punch in the key code. The heavy steel door clicks open.

Inside, the space transitions from decrepit exterior to high-tech operation. The main area houses multiple computer workstations, medical equipment, and a makeshift living space.

Industrial concrete meets bright, colorful rugs and mismatched furniture. Plants occupy every available surface—Maya's touch.

"There you are!" Maya calls from her workstation. Her dark hair is in a ponytail, reading glasses perched on her nose. "My little coffee shop spy. You know normal people don't collect DNA from random customers, right?"

I drop my backpack on the steel table. "He wasn't random. Three days after I infiltrate Steele's network, this guy shows up? Military training, hyperaware, carrying. He was surveilling the place."

Maya's expression sharpens. "?En serio? You think he's one of Steele's?"

"Maybe." I pull out the evidence bag, running my thumb along its edge. "Can we run this through CODIS?"

"Oh sure, let me just use my totally legal access to the FBI's Combined DNA Index System." Maya rolls her eyes. "Sometimes I worry about you, chica."

I unpack my laptop. "Fine. I don't need CODIS. I've got other ways."

"Of course you do." Maya watches me set up, arms crossed. "This isn't just about the guy potentially connected to Steele. This is about Jenny, ?verdad?"

The name hits like a punch to the gut. I swallow hard, focusing on connecting cables to hide my expression.

"Jenny was working with me to trace some financials that she uncovered about the high end escort service." I keep my voice steady. "Then suddenly, nothing. No response to my emails. Two days later, I see her face on the news."

Maya's expression softens. "Nessa..."

"The police called it a carjacking," I continue, plugging in the phone cloning device to download the captured data. "But her laptop was missing. All her notes. Everything about Paradise Elite."

"So you're what? Continuing her investigation by hacking phones of suspicious customers?" Maya sighs.

I pull up my analysis program. "Not suspicious. Calculated. This guy was different. Too observant. Too controlled. And the timing…I can't ignore that."

"And handsome?" Maya smirks.

Heat rushes to my cheeks. "That's irrelevant data."

"Uh-huh." Maya watches the DNA extraction program initialize. "This will take at least an hour. I made tacos. Let's eat while your program stalks your mystery man."

I follow Maya into her kitchen area—a jumble of sleek metal fixtures and vibrant, unmatched pieces. The rich aromas of cumin, lime, and seared meat fill the air, making my stomach growl despite my anxiety.

"Sit, eat," Maya commands, sliding a loaded plate toward me. "You look like you haven't had an actual meal in days."

I drop into a chair with a faded yellow cushion, suddenly aware of my exhaustion. Photographs cover the wall behind us. Dozens of faces, mostly young women, some with Maya, others in groups.

All survivors.

"Jenny wasn't just sending me random questions." I scoop up salsa with a homemade tortilla chip. "She had a system. Every morning, 9 AM sharp, new financial records to decrypt. Every evening, follow-up questions based on what I found."

"She hired you because you're the best at what you do," Maya says gently. "Not because you could protect her."

"I should have known something was wrong when the messages stopped."

"?Y qué habrías hecho? You're not psychic, mija."

I take a bite of perfectly seasoned carne asada, absently straightening the silverware.

"We're seeing a new pattern." Maya nods toward the wall of photos. "Last three months, five girls disappeared. All interns or new hires, all with similar profiles. All vanished after company events."

My stomach twists. "High-end clients demanding specific 'types'?"

"Exactly what Jenny was tracking." Maya pushes her plate away, her expression hardening. "Paradise Elite markets themselves as companions for wealthy businessmen. But Jenny found evidence they're supplying something darker."

"Human merchandise." The words taste bitter. "She had transaction records. Payments that didn't match the advertised services. I couldn't trace where the money ended up."

"But you didn't stop trying."

"I can't." I meet her eyes. "All those girls disappeared. I'm going to map that fucking hole and tear it open."

Maya reaches across the table, squeezing my hand. "So what's next?"

"I've got access to Jenny's cloud storage. Not everything, but enough to follow her digital footprints. And now—"

A high-pitched chime from the lab area interrupts me.

"DNA results." Maya's already pushing back from the table. "That was quick."

I slide into my chair facing the main workstation, my headphones already in place. The DNA results flash across Leia while I simultaneously pull up the café photos on my main monitor, Obi-Wan. On Han, my portable monitor, the phone data populates, contacts, messages, GPS coordinates.

"Let's see who you really are," I mutter, rolling a stylus between my palms while facial recognition software works its magic.

My breath catches when the first match appears. "Got you."

"?Qué encontraste?" Maya leans over my shoulder, peering at the screens.

"Asher Cross." The name feels intimate on my tongue.

My eyes scan his military record as it populates across the screen. Distinguished service. Expert marksman. Advanced tactical training. Commendations for valor under fire. Multiple tours.

"Damn," Maya whispers. "Your coffee shop guy is basically Captain America."

"Something's off." I chew my bottom lip, absently clicking my pen. "His background is too clean."

"Some people are just boring, Nessa."

"Nobody's this boring." I bounce my leg rapidly under the desk. "Military records are perfect but generic. No social media, parking tickets, or property records except this address that doesn't actually exist."

My skin prickles with excitement. This is my favorite kind of puzzle, the human kind. The dangerous kind.

"So he's what... witness protection?" Maya asks.

"Or connected to Steele." I pull up news articles featuring Asher Cross, scanning through images of him in uniform. "His call records show nothing in the last 48 hours except one incoming call that pulled him away today when I was grabbing the clone. Could be a burner phone. It's untraceable."

"His DNA profile is interesting too." I gesture to the test results while fidgeting with a USB cable. "Genetic markers common in Eastern European populations. Doesn't match his listed birthplace of Montana with his parents recorded as UK immigrants."

I'm working across all three screens now, brain connecting dots faster than my mouth can keep up. Luke, my laptop, displays financial records while Leia, my other portable monitor, runs identity checks against known databases.

"You're getting that look," Maya warns.

"What look?"

"The 'I'm about to do something illegal and dangerous' look. The same one you had before dropping out of MIT to join that hacktivist group."

I'm barely listening, already setting up crawlers to dig deeper into Asher's digital footprint. Whatever secrets he's hiding, I'm going to uncover them all.

"His background is fabricated," I announce. "Perfect cover, but paper-thin if you know where to look. And the timing? He's hunting me."

"So, what's your next move with Mr. Mysterious?" Maya sinks into her plush sofa, tucking her legs underneath her. The evening light casts a warm glow across the space that contrasts with the serious faces watching us from the photo wall.

I stand and pace back and forth, unable to sit still as ideas race through my mind. "I have to figure out if this guy's got a straight line to Steele or if he's mixed up with Paradise Elite somehow. The timing of him showing up at my café can't be coincidence."

"You think he's involved in the trafficking?"

"I don't know." I fidget with the edge of my sleeve. "But his faked background checks all the boxes for someone either investigating them or working for them."

The thought of him being involved with Paradise Elite makes my stomach turn, but the rational part of my brain knows it's a possibility I can't ignore. I rub my palms against each other, working to channel the wild energy surging through my body.

"I'm going to set up a tracking software on all his known aliases.

" I grab my laptop, balancing it on my knees as I perch on the arm of the sofa.

"Cross-reference with the financial data Jenny collected.

If he accesses any locations connected to Paradise clients or communicates with numbers in Steele's network. .."

Maya watches me with concern. "And what if he catches you watching him? What if he is actually hunting 'Echo'?"

My hands freeze over the keyboard as I remember those dark, penetrating eyes. How they seemed to see right through me. Heat floods my body that has nothing to do with the investigation.

"He won't." My voice comes out breathier than intended.

"?Estás segura? Because your face is telling a different story."

I shake my head, trying to clear the image of his handsome face, his impressive physique. "I can separate personal from professional."

"Can you?" Maya gestures toward my screen, where I've unconsciously enlarged his photo.

"I'm setting up multi-layered searches beyond public databases." I change the subject, pulling up command terminals while absently reassembling a small electronics component. "Track his movements through GPS, analyze communication patterns, map potential connections to Paradise Elite clients."

"Just be careful, V." Maya examines the too-perfect military record on screen. "Men with backgrounds this clean usually have the dirtiest secrets. Y si está conectado con Steele, it's dangerous."

My laugh masks my excitement. "That's exactly why I need to know what he's hiding," I say, looking at his photograph one more time.