Page 38 of Shadowed Hearts: Frost (Nightfall Syndicate #2)

twenty-five

Asher

"You're doing it again." Vanessa plays with the hem of her dress. Her fingers haven't stopped moving since we left San Francisco.

"Doing what?"

"That thing where you're checking for escape routes and bad guys." She tucks a strand of pink-streaked hair behind her ear. "This is Daly City, not a war zone."

I adjust my grip on the steering wheel. "I can't just turn off how I think."

"My family is going to love that," she mutters, bouncing her knee rapidly. "Just... try not to look like you're planning a hit when my mom offers you lumpia."

The GPS shows a right turn ahead. I signal three seconds before turning.

"You sure about passing last night's discoveries to Cole instead of heading back to headquarters?" I ask, noting how she keeps checking her phone.

"I know it was the right call. Mom would've been crushed if I canceled again. Cole can continue looking into Tatiana's modeling agency while we're here." She trails off, not needing to finish the thought about Sarah.

"But?"

"But I should do something." Her words spill out faster. "Not eating dinner while women are being trafficked. What if the pattern I spotted is time-sensitive?"

I place my hand on her knee, stopping its bouncing. "Cole's is capable. Your discovery was important. One night won't change the outcome."

She places her hand over mine, taking a deep breath. "You're right. It's just hard to switch gears. My brain doesn't have an off switch."

"Neither does mine," I admit. "Different reasons."

"They're going to ask about everything," Vanessa warns. "Your job, your family, when we're having babies. Filipino families don't believe in boundaries. It's like being interrogated, except they feed you between questions."

Something hot and possessive flares in my chest. "Let them ask. I have nothing to hide about wanting you."

Her eyes widen. The bouncing knee stops momentarily. "Fuck. You can't say things like that in front of my aunties."

We turn onto a residential street lined with modest homes pressed close together. Cars crowd both sides. Parking will require strategy.

"There," Vanessa points. "The blue house with the Filipino flag in the window."

I count three escape routes, note the position of streetlights. But it's different this time. This isn't about mission security. This is about Vanessa. About entering territory I've never claimed before.

"How many people will be inside?" I ask, parallel parking with perfect precision.

"At least fifteen." She chews her bottom lip. "Maybe twenty."

I breathe deeply. The closest thing to a family dinner I've had in years was eating rations with my unit while under fire in Kandahar.

Music and laughter pour from the open windows as I cut the engine. Vanessa's hands twist in her lap, waves of excitement and anxiety rolling off her.

"Ready?" she asks.

I place my hand on the small of her back as we get out of the car and approach the door. A gesture that's become automatic lately. She leans into it slightly, and the same possessive heat rises again.

"I've survived worse," though I'm not entirely convinced.

The door swings open before Vanessa can knock, releasing a wave of sensory input. Garlic, fried food, vinegar, laughter in different pitches, music from deeper inside.

"Anak!" A woman, Mrs. Reyes, Vanessa's mother, pulls my bunny into a fierce hug that squeezes her small frame. "Finally! We thought you'd never come!"

I stand slightly behind Vanessa's right shoulder, weight balanced to move if needed.

Mrs. Reyes releases her daughter and turns those sharp eyes on me.

Her assessment is thorough, starting at my shoes and working upward methodically.

I recognize the look. It's the same way I evaluate potential threats, except she's sizing me up as a potential son-in-law.

"So, this is Asher." Her tone carries the same precision as her gaze.

Vanessa shifts her weight. "Mom, yes, this is Asher Cross. Asher, my mother, Isabella Reyes."

I extend my hand. "Mrs. Reyes. Thank you for inviting me into your home."

She ignores my hand and pulls me into a hug that smells like garlic and flowers. "Psh, handshakes are for business. You're in a Filipino home now."

A tall man appears behind her. Mr. Reyes. His handshake is firm, purposeful. His eyes lock onto mine with clear meaning: Hurt her, and there will be consequences.

"Marco Reyes." His voice carries authority without aggression. "Welcome."

The entryway fills with family members, all talking over each other. Two children dart between legs, chasing each other with plastic dinosaurs.

"Everyone, this is Asher!" Vanessa announces, her voice higher with nervous energy.

I step forward. "Miguel, the ER doctor. Kaela, the corporate lawyer. Gabriel, computer science at Berkeley." I continue through key family members, using the exact relationships Vanessa described during our drive.

Vanessa's mouth opens slightly. The room goes quiet before erupting in impressed murmurs.

An elderly woman, Lola Esperanza, approaches quickly and pinches my bicep hard.

"Strong. Good for making babies." She nods approvingly.

Vanessa's face turns deep red. "Lola! We just started dating!"

"Technically, you've been working together for three weeks," a polished voice cuts in. Mikaela, Ate Kaela to Vanessa, steps forward with a practiced smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "That's what you told Mom, right?"

I note the immediate tension in Vanessa's shoulders.

"Just three weeks?" Mrs. Reyes asks, eyebrows rising. "You brought him to family dinner after three weeks?"

"When you know, you know," I state simply, placing my hand at the small of Vanessa's back again, feeling her lean into me.

As we move toward the dining area, Miguel, "Kuya Miguel" as Vanessa calls him, leans in with professional curiosity.

"Military background, right?"

"Security consulting now," I answer, holding his stare for one brief second before my eyes track back to Vanessa. Her mother tugs her toward the dining room, hand firmly clasping her daughter's wrist.

The table groans with platters I recognize from Vanessa's descriptions: crispy lumpia rolls stacked like ammunition, a massive bowl of pancit noodles, brown dinuguan that she warned me contains pig blood, and at least four different rice dishes.

"You sit here, Asher." Mrs. Reyes guides me to a chair beside Vanessa, who shoots me a look that's equal parts apology and warning.

Miguel sits across from us, flanked by two aunties I've already memorized.

"So, Asher," one aunty begins, passing a bowl of something called sinigang, "what exactly are your intentions with our Nessa?"

Vanessa chokes on her water. "Tita! We just—"

"I intend to keep her," I say simply, accepting the bowl and serving myself.

"Keep her?" Mr. Reyes raises an eyebrow from the head of the table.

"Yes, sir. Permanently."

The table erupts with excited chatter. Vanessa's hand finds mine under the table, squeezing with what I read as panic. I place my palm on her thigh instead, applying gentle pressure. I can handle this.

"Do you want children?" Lola Esperanza asks, skipping all politeness.

"Lola!" Vanessa protests, her face flushing.

"I do," I answer, maintaining eye contact with the elderly woman while accepting a plate of crispy pata passed from the right. "We will when the time is right."

"When will you marry?" another auntie chimes in.

"When she's ready." I take a deliberate bite of the crispy pork knuckle, analyzing its flavor with the same way I used to take apart my gun in the dark.

"Mom, please tell them to stop interrogating him," Vanessa pleads, switching partly to Tagalog.

Mrs. Reyes passes me a plate of purple yam dessert. "He doesn't mind, anak. Look, he's trying everything we made."

"At least he eats," Kaela gives Vanessa a pointed look. "Remember your last boyfriend? The vegan programmer who picked at his food?"

Vanessa stiffens beside me. "Jason wasn't that bad."

"He made Mom feel terrible about her cooking," Kaela counters, her voice sweet but her eyes sharp. "At least Asher appreciates the effort."

"Speaking of appreciation," Miguel cuts in smoothly, "how did you two meet? Nessa's been vague on the details."

Before Vanessa can answer, I respond, "Coffee shop. She was giving the barista detailed instructions about the perfect espresso pull, then decided that my order was boring and gave me Ethiopian."

This draws laughter from around the table, easing the tension Kaela created. Vanessa shoots me a grateful glance.

"And what do you do for work, Asher?" Mrs. Reyes asks, carefully rearranging food on Vanessa's plate despite her protests.

"Security consulting," I reply, watching Kaela's perfectly manicured eyebrow rise slightly.

"What kind of security?" she asks. "Corporate? Personal?"

"Both. My team specializes in high-risk situations."

"Dangerous work?" Mr. Reyes asks from the head of the table, his eyes sharp.

"Can be," I admit. "But we're well-trained."

"Like right now," Vanessa jumps in with a nervous laugh. "He's calculating escape routes while eating lumpia."

Rather than the awkward silence I expect, this draws appreciative chuckles from the table.

"Smart man," Mr. Reyes nods. "Always know your exits."

Mrs. Reyes says something to her sister in rapid Tagalog, her eyes darting between Vanessa and me.

Vanessa sinks lower in her chair. "Mom, he'll hear you."

"What did she say?" I ask, already halfway through the purple dessert.

Vanessa sighs. "She says you watch me like a sniper watches a target."

The table grows quiet, waiting for my response. I place my fork down with deliberate care.

"More like a bodyguard watches his principle. The target is whoever threatens her."

A beat of silence, then the table erupts with approval. Mr. Reyes nods once, the smallest acknowledgment of respect.

As the meal progresses, Miguel mentions a case from his emergency room. I recognize my opening.

"I'd actually love to hear more about your medical work."