Page 43 of Shadowed Hearts: Frost (Nightfall Syndicate #2)

twenty-eight

Vanessa

I test the custom earpiece one more time, fingers barely grazing the nearly invisible device.

The sleek design sits flush against my ear, hidden completely beneath my dark hair. Much better than the bulky standard models the guys use. My modifications include better battery placement and signal strength that won't fail when I need it most.

"Stop fidgeting with your tech." Remy's voice carries amusement. "It's not going anywhere, and neither will the connection."

The limousine glides through Sacramento's rain-slicked streets, tinted windows reflecting glimmers of streetlights. My heart hammers against my ribs. First real mission—not just behind a computer screen but in the field.

Beside me, Remy adjusts his bow tie, unhurried with fluid movements. Everything I'm not at this moment.

A nervous laugh bubbles from my throat. Heat floods my cheeks as I picture Asher's reaction; jaw clenched, that muscle twitching, eyes cold with barely contained possessiveness when Kade assigned Remy as my escort.

My stomach still flips with a thrilling mixture of anxiety and the satisfaction at being the center of his attention. The same attention I'd been craving since I first started tracking him.

"Did he say anything to you after I left?" The midnight blue gown wrinkles under my palms as I smooth invisible creases.

"Didn't need to. His death glare said everything." Remy chuckles, adjusting gold cufflinks. "For what it's worth, he made me promise three different ways to keep you safe."

My fingers drum against my clutch. Inside sits a custom device that will help access the server room once we're in position. Variables flood my mind: security rotations, camera blind spots, timing needed to slip away unnoticed.

"You'll do fine, Little Hacker." Remy's voice gentles. "If anything feels wrong, use the code word. We extract immediately."

"Pineapple. I know the protocols."

"And Frost will watch every move through the security feeds. He's got eyes everywhere."

Something in my chest loosens at the reminder. Asher is out there, calculating every risk, ready to intervene if needed.

The limousine slows as we approach the gleaming entrance of the Winchester Charity Gala. Rain patters softly on the car's roof above, a soothing rhythm that somehow calms my racing thoughts while the building looms ahead, windows glowing golden against the storm-darkened sky.

The driver opens the door, and Remy turns to me with a charming smile.

"Ready to shine, partner?" He extends his arm.

Stepping into the ballroom feels like entering another world.

Crystal chandeliers scatter light in a thousand directions while women draped in jewels that could pay my rent for years glide between men in tailored tuxedos.

The scent of expensive perfume mingles with the aroma of truffle canapés and aged champagne, creating an intoxicating blend of wealth and power.

Wind rattles the tall windows as rain lashes the glass with increasing intensity.

The security checkpoint looms ahead. My heart pounds, but my hand remains steady retrieving the forged invitation.

"Ms. Veronica Cruz and guest," the security guard says, scanning the QR code.

A practiced smile crosses my lips. "That's correct."

He compares the invitation to my face, then back again. My breath catches. Veronica's background details swim through my mind; technology consultant, MIT graduate, recently moved from New York.

"Enjoy your evening." He waves us through.

We glide past velvet ropes. Remy's light touch at my lower back guides me forward as he nods to a silver-haired man in passing, the gesture so natural it seems like recognition.

"You seem weirdly comfortable in this crowd." His posture shifts subtly to match the old-money swagger around us, movements too perfect, too practiced. "Is it because you were—"

Remy's arm tightens almost imperceptibly. His smile never falters.

"Yes. But let's keep that between us, yeah?"

Interesting. The earpiece comes alive in my ear, each word sharp and clear without the feedback that ruined the old gear.

"Status check, Vanessa." Asher's voice slides through me like warm honey, controlled and possessive. The scattered thoughts in my mind instantly align, like iron filings to a magnet.

I brush my hair back casually, activating the response function. "All systems green. No threats detected."

"Keep it that way." He's clipped, professional, but concern runs underneath.

Remy guides me deeper into the ballroom. Conversations about yacht upgrades and vacation properties float around us. My attention sharpens, scanning faces, mapping exits, noting camera angles.

A server moves between groups, collecting empty glasses. On his belt: a ring of electronic key cards. My heartbeat quickens.

"Three o'clock. Server with the access badges."

"I see him." Remy's smile never wavers. "Ready to dance?"

Remy sweeps me onto the dance floor with practiced ease, weaving between couples. My gaze tracks the server while maintaining a dazzling smile, the taste of champagne still fizzing on my tongue.

"You're actually a pretty decent dancer." Surprise colors my whisper.

"One of us needs to be." Remy winks. "Here he comes. The server's path will take him behind the dessert table in approximately forty seconds."

The trajectory forms in my mind. "I need fifteen seconds alone with that keycard."

As the song ends, Remy releases me with a flourish. "Mingle. I'll create a diversion in three minutes near the west entrance. Security will look that way."

We part ways. Through the crowd, Asher's surveillance through security cameras tracks my every movement. The knowledge of his watchful presence wraps around me like a familiar embrace.

"Nessa." His voice sounds low and tense through my enhanced earpiece. "The primary target hasn't arrived yet. Keycard first."

"Copy that."

An older gentleman with a Winchester Foundation board member pin catches my attention. Sliding into conversation, I channel my most charming self.

"The architectural details in this building are fascinating. I'm particularly interested in how they've integrated modern security with the historical structure."

"Oh, you should see the east wing." He responds eagerly. "Original marble throughout, but completely retrofitted with state-of-the-art systems."

Half my attention engages with architectural chitchat while tracking the server's movements. The board member sketches the building layout on a cocktail napkin, unwittingly providing exactly what's needed.

"The server accesses are remarkably discrete. You'd never know they're there unless—"

Lightning illuminates the ballroom through floor-to-ceiling windows, followed by thunder that vibrates the crystal chandeliers. Rain pounds the glass with growing fury.

"Quite the storm brewing." A glance at my watch. Two minutes until Remy's diversion.

Excusing myself gracefully, I time my path to intersect with the server near a blind spot identified earlier. As we cross paths, I pretend to stumble slightly, my hand brushing against his belt.

"So sorry." My hidden device captures the keycard data in seconds while steadying myself against him.

"No problem at all, miss." He continues on his route.

Slipping away, success buzzes through my veins. "Package secured."

"Don't take unnecessary risks." Asher responds immediately, voice tight. "Follow the plan exactly."

"Always do."

Moving toward our next checkpoint, conversations slow around one section of the crowd. Heads turn, voices drop to reverential whispers. Through the reflection in a gilded mirror, a tall, platinum blonde woman enters.

Tatiana Ivanov.

She moves with glacial elegance, ice-blue eyes scanning the room with a calculated gaze. The crowd parts before her like water, drawn to yet intimidated by her commanding presence. Her designer gown catches the light with each deliberate step, fabric rustling softly against silk stockings.

I drift from the main crowd, champagne flute in hand, appearing to admire artwork lining the reception area walls. The bubbles tickle my nose as I take a small sip, fingers instinctively tapping patterns against the crystal stem while tracking Tatiana through the gilded mirror's reflection.

"She's exactly like the reports described." I activate the recording function with a subtle touch to my hair. "Ice queen doesn't begin to cover it."

Through peripheral vision, patterns emerge in her interactions; dismissive nods to senators' wives, lingering touches on tech CEOs' arms, smiles that never reach her eyes for foreign diplomats. Each gesture weaves together, forming a larger picture.

"Interesting. She's avoiding anyone connected to medical foundations but engaging with transportation and tech sectors."

The scent of expensive cologne and catered delicacies fills the air while my body remains still, mind racing to connect invisible threads between the people Tatiana acknowledges.

Something clicks, the same financial web Jenny uncovered before she died.

Identical transfers preceding six models disappearing from Vertex.

A tall figure in a face mask approaches Tatiana from behind. Silver and midnight blue conceal his face, but nothing hides the military bearing in his movements. My breath catches.

The way he surveys the room before approaching, weight balanced on the balls of his feet. This isn't some wealthy donor playing dress-up.

"Hold up." Moving to examine a different painting provides a better angle. "Something's happening."

Tatiana's posture shifts almost imperceptibly when the masked man appears at her side. She doesn't turn to face him, but her fingers brush against his in what appears casual. Something passes between them. A tiny object, perhaps a drive or card.

The exchange takes less than three seconds.

They move toward the east wing corridor. The restricted area where the server room sits, according to the board member's napkin sketch.

"Frost, she's moving to the east wing with an unknown male asset.

Military bearing, masked, a little over six feet tall.

Something's happening right now." My voice remains calm despite the adrenaline surging through my system.

"This matches the pattern from Jenny's investigation—right before she died. "

Asher's response comes through my superior signal connection, voice tight with tension: "Maintain position. Do not follow. Repeat: maintain position."

Every instinct screams to follow them. Standing frozen at the ballroom's edge, watching Tatiana and the masked man disappear down the restricted corridor, my fingers tighten around the champagne flute while weighing variables, risks, potential outcomes.

Thunder crashes outside, making crystal chandeliers tremble. Rain lashes the tall windows with increasing fury, as if the storm understands the war raging inside my head.

Follow orders or follow my gut?

"I think this connects to what happened to Jenny. She was tracking these exact transfers before she stopped communicating."

Lightning flashes, illuminating the ballroom in stark white. Static threatens the connection as Asher begins to respond.

"—repeat, do not—" His voice wavers slightly, my enhanced signal holding better than expected, but still affected by the storm's electrical interference.

Another crack of thunder, and the decision crystallizes.

"Communications partially compromised." My heart pounds as I commit to disobedience, knowing Asher can probably still hear every word. "Following targets to gather time-sensitive intel. If this is what got Jenny killed, I need to know why."

Slipping past the velvet rope without hesitation, the cloned keycard unlocks the door to the restricted area. The electronic panel's light turns green, the lock disengaging with a soft click.

I step through the doorway with fluid, purposeful steps, despite the hurricane of thoughts swirling inside.

The door clicks shut behind me. Lightning blazes through a distant window, momentarily lighting the shadowy corridor. Polished marble reflects each burst of white light. In the distance, voices murmur, my only guide forward.

Asher's voice cuts through the interference with crystal clarity, my custom earpiece performing exactly as designed. His tone is arctic with fury.

"Vanessa. Return. Now."

The instinctive urge to obey that voice wars against something stronger. The pull to follow his command is almost physical—a tether I'm deliberately straining against.

But Jenny's ghost tugs me forward with even greater force. Each step takes me deeper into unknown territory, closer to answers that might explain why my friend stopped communicating forever.

"I have to do this." More to myself than to Asher. "This is bigger than protocols."

The voices grow louder. Moving silently in my heels, keeping to shadows along the wall, anticipation builds for what waits around the next corner.

The storm outside mirrors the tempest building between duty and discovery, between protection and truth. And for the first time since this mission began, I'm choosing truth over safety.

Even if it means facing Asher's wrath when this is over.