Page 4 of Shadowed Hearts: Frost (Nightfall Syndicate #2)

None of these people should be able to bypass our security.

A profile appears: Casey Mendoza, barista, two years of employment. Clean record. Scrolling past.

Next: Michael Thornton, shift manager, minor possession charge three years ago. Not relevant.

Another appears: Vanessa Reyes, barista, eighteen months of employment.

My finger hovers over the screen as her image loads. Dark hair with pink streaks, pulled back, intelligent eyes that seem to look directly at me through the digital display. The same woman who served me yesterday, who read my posture and movements with unsettling accuracy.

I scan her details clinically. Education in computer science before dropping out to take care of her sick father.

MIT? Impressive.

No criminal record. No suspicious financial transactions. Nothing that flags in our system.

Just a barista. With unusually perceptive eyes.

And a smile that stayed with me all day.

I force the thought away, continuing my review of the remaining staff. This isn't about her. This is about identifying potential security vulnerabilities. About finding Echo.

The possibility that I'm searching employee records for reasons beyond security protocols flickers at the edge of my consciousness. I shut it down with practiced discipline.

"Analyze digital breach patterns from the last forty-eight hours," I command the system.

The displays shift, showing cascading lines of code fragments. The intrusion patterns take form, elegant in their complexity. Whoever breached our system knows what they're doing—the signature suggests military-grade training or exceptional natural talent.

I lean closer, studying the approach vectors. "Cross-reference with known hacker signatures."

No matches found.

Professional work. Someone covering their tracks effectively.

Cole's words repeat in my mind. Elegant. Almost artistic.

The security upgrades weren't just improvements. They were personalized, as if the intruder understood exactly how our systems functioned and what they needed.

My mind drifts momentarily to the café. The layout provides multiple surveillance angles, decent cover options. A return visit would be strategically sound to monitor potential digital signals in the area.

That Vanessa might be working is irrelevant to operational planning.

I pull up schematics of the surrounding city blocks, marking potential observation points. The café sits at an intersection with sightlines in three directions. Tactically helpful position.

"Run probability analysis on breach origin," I instruct the system, watching as heat maps overlay the city grid.

My fingers trace invisible patterns over the holographic display, muscle memory from years of calculating wind vectors and bullet trajectories. The familiar calculations center me, pulling me back from distractions.

This is what I do: find the target, eliminate variables, take the shot.

The café location lights up as a possible signal origin point.

Coincidence? Or justification to return?

I frown at my thought process. This isn't like me. I don't mix personal interest with operational parameters. Ever.

"Delete analysis bias," I mutter, resetting the calculation parameters. "Start again."

The results appear identical. The café remains highlighted.

I compile a preliminary security assessment, meticulously documenting signal patterns and physical vulnerabilities. Each data point, each analysis, brings me further from personal interest and deeper into the familiar comfort of tactical planning.

A subtle shift in air pressure at my back alerts me to another presence. I don't turn around. Only one person moves that quietly.

"Find anything interesting?" Kade's deep voice comes from the doorway.

I don't flinch. Don't turn. Just keep my eyes on the holographic display as if his question is routine. As if I haven't been caught doing something that feels uncomfortably like personal reconnaissance.

"Standard security protocol." My voice remains flat, emotionless. "The café's proximity to our secondary comm relay makes it a potential vulnerability."

Kade moves into the room with that silent grace that defies his size. For a man built like a tank, he navigates space like a ghost—hence the callsign. He stops beside me, his reflection appearing on the glossy black console surface.

"And the employee files?" He gestures toward Vanessa's profile, still open on the side display.

"Background checks on all personnel with access to the location." The lie tastes bitter. I never lie to Kade. Not since we served together in Task Force Green, not in the five years since forming this team.

He doesn't call me on it. Doesn't need to. He just leans against the console, arms folded across his chest. "You spent two hours doing background checks on coffee shop employees."

It's not a question. His blue eyes miss nothing—never have.

I shift tactics. "The intrusion originated from that sector. Probability analysis places the café as a potential access point."

Kade studies the heat map, his expression unreadable. "That's a ten-block radius, Frost."

Using my callsign in private sets off warning bells. He uses my real name when it's just us; a brotherhood established in blood and bullets.

"The signal strength shows—"

"You don't chase signals." He cuts me off. "You establish position and wait for targets to expose themselves."

My jaw tightens. He's right. It's my methodology, honed through hundreds of operations. I'm acting out of character, and we both know it.

"The barista noticed details she shouldn't have." I finally meet his gaze. "Military posture. Tactical assessment. She served exactly what I would have ordered without asking."

A hint of surprise crosses his features. "Coincidence?"

"You know better."

Kade straightens, taking the conversation from friendly interrogation to operational planning with a subtle shift in posture.

"Run another scan on her background. Deeper this time. I'll allow additional resources." His voice turns professional. "If she has connections to Echo or any known security threats, I want to know."

I dip my chin in a quick acknowledgment, grateful that we're back to discussing strategy rather than why I'm acting out of character.

"Set up remote surveillance on the café." He continues. "Standard protocol. Three-day rotation."

"I should maintain position." The words leave my mouth before I fully process the implications.

Kade's eyebrow rises slightly. "You? Volunteering for a stakeout instead of overwatch?"

I backpedal. "Tactical advantage. I've already established a presence. Change in personnel could trigger awareness."

He studies me for a long moment. I meet his gaze without flinching, maintaining the professional mask I've perfected over years of combat operations.

But this is Kade—the man who's seen me at my worst, who pulled me back from the edge more than once.

"Approved. Three days. Report any unusual activity." He pushes away from the console. "I'll have Cole run a deep background check while you maintain surveillance. This Echo seems to be one step ahead of us. Maybe you'll catch something the rest of us missed."

I turn back to the displays, recalibrating my focus. This is about security. About Echo. Nothing else.

"Just remember," Kade says at the doorway, his back to me, "we can't afford personal distractions right now. Not with the stakes this high."

The warning hangs in the air after he leaves, a clear sign that my interest in the café barista is more transparent than I'd care to admit, even to myself.

"Like how that worked for you with Alina?" I mutter to the empty room.