Page 35 of Shadowed Hearts: Frost (Nightfall Syndicate #2)

twenty-three

Asher

" W ind shift, eight miles northwest," I murmur, adjusting my rifle position on the rain-slicked rooftop. "Target building still visible despite fog."

From our position six stories up, I have a perfect sight line into the compound. Four hours in this position has melded the rifle to my body, an extension of will rather than metal and polymer. Rain beads on the scope shield, requiring constant maintenance.

The tactical tarp stretched above us provides minimal shelter as the storm intensifies. Fog swirls between buildings, occasionally concealing our target before revealing it again in ghostly waves.

If I need to take a shot, the wind drift would push about 1.2 inches at this distance. Not ideal, but I've made harder shots.

"Third black Suburban approaching," I report into my comm. "Same driver as previous two."

Vanessa's typing creates a rhythm behind me; a sound I've found oddly comforting rather than distracting. Her presence warms the space between us, a heat signature I track as automatically as wind patterns.

"Got it," Jax confirms through comms. "Ready to follow targets."

My breathing maintains the six-count pattern ingrained through thousands of operations. Finger resting beside, not on, the trigger guard.

The rain intensifies, pattering against the tactical tarp covering us. Water beads on my jacket sleeve, rolling down to collect at my elbow.

"Fuck this weather," Vanessa mutters. Her typing quickens. "The atmospheric interference is screwing with my signal strength."

I don't respond, keeping my eye pressed to the scope as the SUV parks. Two women exit, escorted by a man in an expensive suit. Something about their movements feels programmed, shoulders slumped, eyes down.

Vanessa scoots closer, her thigh brushing against my hip. My heart skips a beat for a fraction of a second before I force it back to baseline.

Unacceptable. Eighteen hours under the scorching desert sun, and my concentration hasn't faltered once. Not even a twitch. A woman's proximity shouldn't affect me.

But she does.

"Movement at the east entrance," I report clinically, redirecting my attention back to where it belongs. "One man, two women. One woman appears resistant."

"Visual confirmed," Jax responds. "Ready to intercept if directed."

Vanessa leans over my shoulder, her coconut-vanilla scent cutting through the wet concrete smell of the rooftop. "Let me get a facial capture."

The closeness of her body creates an unwanted warmth that threatens my concentration. I compensate by slowing my breathing further, recalculating wind variables.

"Shit." The frustration in Vanessa's voice pulls at my attention. "Signal dropped. The fog and rain are blocking transmission."

She pushes up from her kneeling position, moving toward the edge of the roof with her equipment. Her pink-streaked hair whips in the increasing wind as she holds the antenna higher.

"Stay back from the edge," I snap, harder than intended. "Two-foot perimeter, Vanessa. That's all you need." The thought of her exposed position sends an unexpected spike of adrenaline through my system.

"Two-foot perimeter," I repeat, forcing my voice to remain level. "That's not negotiable."

Vanessa rolls her eyes, backing up exactly one foot. "If I'm going to get a usable signal through this weather, I need height and clearance."

The rain hammers harder against the tarp, creating a percussion of white noise that would be soothing under different circumstances. Water pools around me, then seeping across the rooftop surface.

"Target's security detail is changing shifts," I report, tracking movement through my scope. "Two men at the main entrance, rotating clockwise."

"Copy that," Jax responds through comms. "I've got eyes on the parking structure exit."

Vanessa ignores both of us, extending her antenna higher while edging another six inches toward the unsecured section of roof. Wind gusts at approximately fifteen miles per hour now, strong enough to affect her balance. The wet concrete beneath her sneakers gleams dangerously.

My heart rate ticks up. Unacceptable physical response. I force my breathing to remain steady.

"Move back," I order without looking away from my scope. Six stories below, concrete and metal dumpsters wait. Fatal impact at minimum.

"Almost got it," she mutters, stretching further while balancing her laptop against her hip. "The interference pattern is shifting with the storm front."

Her sneaker slides an inch on the rain-slicked surface.

"Female subject being escorted to a vehicle," Jax reports. "She appears disoriented. Possible sedation."

My attention divides through the scope, noting every detail while part of my mind stays locked on Vanessa's location. This split concentration grates against my training, like grit contaminating a finely tuned instrument.

"Vanessa. Now." My fingers tighten around my rifle.

She huffs but doesn't retreat. "I've almost isolated the... shit!"

Lightning cracks across the sky, temporarily whiting out my vision. In that same instant, her equipment slips from her rain-soaked fingers. She lunges forward, too far forward, reaching for the falling device.

My body moves before my mind processes the action. The rifle drops from my hands as I launch toward her, calculating distances and trajectories even as my chest tightens with something that feels dangerously close to fear.

I catch her waist, my fingers digging into her rain-soaked jacket. One swift yank and she crashes back against my chest, her back colliding with my sternum. The laptop tumbles from her hands, clattering across the concrete rooftop before skidding under the tarp.

Six inches. She was six fucking inches from the edge.

Rain pounds against us, cold water streaming down my face, into my collar. My heart hammers against her back, an unfamiliar rhythm that betrays everything I've trained myself to control.

"What the hell?" Vanessa gasps, struggling against my grip. Her body twists, but I lock my arms around her, completely stopping her movement.

"Position compromised? Status report!" Jax's voice snaps through the comms, tight with worry.

I don't answer. Can't answer. My jaw clenches so tight my molars might crack.

Vanessa's wet hair plasters against my cheek as she turns her head. "Let go! I was capturing the transmission pattern when they—"

"Risk assessment failed." Ice forms around each word as I speak, the sounds measured and exact despite the hurricane tearing through my chest. "Mission compromised."

"But the data—"

"Is worthless if you're dead." My hands clamp harder around her arms, her heartbeat racing under my fingertips.

The rain intensifies, sheeting down in silver curtains that distort the cityscape. Water soaks through my tactical gear, through her sweatshirt, creating a shared coldness between us that contradicts the heat of my fury.

"I wasn't going to fall." Her voice holds that stubborn edge I recognize. "I know what I'm doing."

Lightning flashes again, illuminating the six-story drop she nearly took. My stomach twists with an unfamiliar sensation.

"Pack up. Now." I release her and move toward my rifle. "We're done."

"Asher, we can't just—"

"Non-negotiable." I disassemble the rifle, each piece slotting into the waterproof case. "Three minutes to clear position."

Jax's voice cuts through again. "Frost, report status."

"We need exfil. Weather compromised surveillance." I keep my eyes on Vanessa as she retrieves her laptop, checking for damage. "Equipment at risk."

The truth sits in my throat, unspoken. Not equipment. Her. She's the risk I can't quantify, the variable I can't control. The fear that shot through me when she slipped. It wasn't tactical. It was something deeper. Uncontrolled.

I lurch toward the rooftop access door, shoving it open with more force than necessary. The sudden shelter from the rain does nothing to cool the rage burning beneath my skin.

"Comms check," I growl into my mic. "Nitro, maintain position. We're moving to extraction point alpha."

"Copy that," Jax responds. "What happened up—"

I cut the connection with a sharp click, focusing on the narrow concrete stairwell ahead. Emergency lights cast sickly yellow pools every ten feet, creating shadowed blind spots between.

Perfect ambush points. I pull Vanessa behind me with one hand, keeping her in my protection zone while my other hand hovers near my sidearm.

"Stay in my footsteps. Touch my back if you need to stop." My voice echoes flatly against concrete walls. Each word measured, each syllable controlled, opposite of the chaos inside my head.

Vanessa's breathing sounds too loud, her wet sneakers squeaking against the stairs. She clutches her damaged laptop against her chest, water dripping from both of them.

"If you'd just let me explain—"

I silence her with a hard gesture, pausing to check the landing below. Clear. I descend three more steps, positioning my body to shield her from potential sight lines through the narrow windows.

"You were reckless," I finally say, the words scraping across my throat. "Inexcusable."

"I was following the data trail." Her voice trembles slightly, from cold or adrenaline, I can't tell. "We need that transmission pattern to track where they're moving the girls."

My comm crackles. "Frost, two more vehicles arrived. Looks like a transfer operation. Black SUV and what appears to be an ambulance, unmarked."

Fuck.

Exactly what we need to document. My jaw clenches so tight I taste copper where my teeth cut into my cheek.

Vanessa tries to open her laptop. "I can still salvage the—"

I snatch it from her hands without discussion, tucking it under my arm. "Not here."

"That's my equipment!" Her voice rises, bouncing off concrete walls.

"Lower your voice," I hiss, scanning the next landing before continuing down. Water drips from my hair into my eyes, but I don't wipe it away. Both hands stay ready.

"I was getting crucial data—"

"You were getting yourself killed." The words come out razor-sharp, slicing through the air between us. "Six inches. You were six fucking inches from a fatal fall."

My blood surges through my veins at the memory. Her body sliding toward the edge, the lightning illuminating her face. The flash of certainty that I was about to watch her die.

"But I didn't fall. You caught me." Her hand touches my shoulder, light as a breath.

I shrug it off, continuing down the stairs with mechanical precision. Each footfall calculated, each turn anticipated. The training kicks in, pushing the emotion down where it belongs, locked away, irrelevant.

We reach the ground floor when my phone buzzes with Jax's text.

Possible hostile surveillance north side. Black sedan, two occupants.

I freeze, immediately reassessing. Original extraction plan compromised.

"Change of plans," I murmur, pulling Vanessa closer to my side. "We've got company."

I pull Vanessa into the narrow alley behind the building, rain hammering against us. Lightning flashes, briefly illuminating the brick walls and dumpsters. Two seconds later, thunder crashes overhead, masking our footsteps.

"East exit compromised," I mutter into my comm. "Moving to extraction point Delta."

The wind whips rain against my face as I scan both ends of the alley. Movement at the north entrance, a shadow shifting.

Shit.

I press Vanessa against the rough brick wall, shielding her with my body. Water streams down my face as I position myself between her and any potential threat, one hand on my holstered sidearm.

"Stay still," I order, my voice barely audible above the storm.

Vanessa's chest rises and falls rapidly against mine, her breath warm against my neck. "I can help if you—"

"Shut up." I press harder, feeling her heartbeat race beneath my palm. Another flash of lightning reveals only empty rain-soaked pavement past the dumpster. False alarm.

The immediate danger passes, but something inside me ruptures. "What the fuck were you thinking?" I demand, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "One gust of wind, one slip..."

"I was gathering critical intelligence," she fires back, eyes flashing like the lightning above us. "That transmission pattern could lead us right to the trafficking victims."

"Your intelligence is worthless if you're dead." My fingers dig into her arms hard enough to bruise as I yank her closer. "I can't protect you if you don't follow the plan."

Her wet hair clings to her face, pink streaks darkened by rain. "I don't need your protection. I need your cooperation. The mission..."

"Fuck the mission." The words escape before I can stop them, raw and unfamiliar. "I can't focus on the mission if I'm watching you risk your life."

Something changes in her expression. Her fingers reach up, touching my face with surprising gentleness.

"Asher..."

Rain pours between us, soaking through my tactical gear, plastering her shirt against her skin. Her body feels impossibly warm against mine despite the cold downpour. My hands grip her shoulders, holding her in place, keeping her safe, keeping her alive.

"You're actually scared," she whispers, wonder in her voice. "Not for the mission. For me."

I don't answer. Can't answer. The admission burns in my throat, foreign and terrifying. Her gaze holds mine, seeing too much.

"I've never…" I start, voice rough with an emotion I've never allowed myself to express. "I've calculated every risk, every variable in my life. But you, you make me forget the entire equation."

Thunder cracks overhead, swallowing my confession. But she understands anyway, her eyes widening at whatever she sees in my face.