Page 55 of Shadowed Hearts: Frost (Nightfall Syndicate #2)

thirty-eight

Vanessa

" T he Pashkov network appears to have layered their communication protocols through twelve anonymized servers."

My fingers tap against my tablet. "But the routing code matches what we got from Tatiana's device."

My attention splits between giving this briefing and tracking Asher. He sits at the far end of the table, back straight, eyes locked on the data. Never looking at me.

Don't think about the other night. Focus on the work.

"So messages were bounced through servers in six different countries?" Kade leans forward, his massive frame making the executive chair look undersized.

"Seven actually." I zoom into the map, my voice coming out faster than intended. "Including an unusual relay through Madagascar that wasn't necessary for the communication pathway. It's deliberately inefficient. A signature of someone showing off."

My leg bounces under the table. The fluorescent lights buzz at a frequency only I seem to notice. Words tumble through my brain: servers, encryption, distance, silence, love, rejection.

I force my eyes to stay on Kade, not to drift again to Asher's perfectly composed face, empty of any acknowledgment that I'd confessed my love to him yesterday, or that he'd responded with nothing but silence.

Cole points to a section of code on his screen. "The encryption method looks familiar."

"It should." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "It's based on Slate's core architecture, but heavily modified. She took his work and had her people customize it for the trafficking operation."

Jax stretches his arms overhead. "So she used him for his encryption methods."

"Exactly. Seduced him, stole his code, then threw him away when she got what she needed." Like I might be discarded.

Asher shifts his weight, and my mind grabs onto the movement like it's life-or-death intelligence. The way his shoulders adjust, how his fingers flex once before returning to perfect stillness. His gaze remains fixed on the middle distance, calculating something I can't access.

I told him I loved him, and he's looking at me like I'm malicious code that might corrupt his system.

Kade closes his folder with a decisive tap. "Right. Team, we're moving to observation room three. Tatiana's initial questioning starts in fifteen minutes."

Everyone stands, gathering tablets and notes. I force my attention onto Asher as he times his movements just right, standing when Cole blocks his straightest route to me, moving behind Jax instead of passing anywhere close to where I stand.

The calculated distance hurts worse than rejection. It's precision-guided avoidance.

I clutch my tablet tighter to my chest, the screen's warmth the only comfort as I fall into step behind the others, watching Asher's back as he maintains space between us. Close enough for appearances, far enough to cut deep.

The glass separating us from the interrogation room looks like an ordinary wall from the other side, but we have a clear view of everything. The harsh lighting, the steel chair bolted to the floor, and Tatiana Ivanov sitting perfectly straight despite the handcuffs securing her to the table.

"—entire operation mapped," Damian's voice comes through the speakers as we settle into our seats. He circles Tatiana like a predator. "Paradise Elite. Vertex Models. The shipping manifests disguised as modeling contracts."

He's not even raising his voice. That's what makes him terrifying—the quiet certainty, like he's already won and she just doesn't know it yet.

I deliberately choose a seat near the door. My tablet screen glows in the dimness, displaying Jenny's file photo. This woman across the glass ordered her death.

The door opens quietly behind us. Alina slips in, her face pale in the monitor's glow. She takes one look at Tatiana through the glass, then at Jenny's photo on my tablet screen, and her composure cracks.

Without thinking, I reach for her hand. She grips mine tightly, her fingers trembling.

We're the only ones who really knew Jenny. Who understand what was lost when she died.

Kade moves to her other side, placing a steady hand on her shoulder, but his attention remains fixed on the interrogation.

Asher positions himself in the farthest corner, keeping maximum distance between us. My chest tightens.

Damian places documents on the table—bank statements, property seizures, communication logs. Each paper lands with deliberate impact.

"Your accounts were emptied yesterday." His voice carries the inevitability of a system crash. "Before we even knew where you were."

Yesterday. While I was in his apartment, thinking we were building something real, her handlers were already three steps ahead. How long have they known we were coming?

Tatiana's platinum hair is slightly disheveled, but her posture remains regal until she sees those financial records. Her ice-blue eyes narrow as she studies them like they're written in code she can't break.

"That's not possible."

Oh, it's possible. I've seen asset seizures happen faster than a DDoS attack once the right people flip the switch.

"Someone warned them we were closing in." Damian circles her chair, predatory and patient. "Question is—did they warn you?"

And there it is. The kill shot. Because nothing breaks someone faster than realizing they're expendable.

Tatiana doesn't flinch at first, her trained composure holding. Then Damian slides a photograph across the table—Jenny's press badge.

"Jenny Martinez." His voice drops lower. "Twenty-four years old. Journalist. You ordered her killed."

Alina's grip on my hand tightens. I squeeze back, both of us watching the woman who destroyed our friend's life.

Jenny never got to see this. Never got to watch her killer's world collapse in real time. I'm witnessing justice for both of us, and it feels hollow anyway.

"The girl was persistent. She found connections she shouldn't have." Tatiana studies the photo with clinical detachment. "Markus handled the matter as instructed."

"Your lover." Damian's voice turns predatory.

A cold smile touches Tatiana's lips. "Markus was... useful in many capacities."

Rage burns through my veins. I want to pound on the glass, to scream that Jenny was a person, not a problem to be "handled." My free hand starts shaking against the tablet.

"You think I'm the monster?" Tatiana leans forward slightly. "I give these girls what the world promised them—a chance to be seen. The real monsters are the ones who pretend the system isn't built on using people."

Nausea churns in my stomach.

How can she justify trafficking women as some twisted form of opportunity?

"You sold women like commodities." Damian growls.

"I elevated them from obscurity to purpose." Tatiana counters. "Their families received more money than they would ever see otherwise. Everyone profits."

My whole body trembles now. Jenny died trying to expose this woman's twisted logic.

The moment she breaks, I see it in the pixels shifting across my tablet screen as much as the crack in her voice. Her cultured Russian accent thickens with rage.

"You think you've won? The Velocity Charity Race." She laughs bitterly.

Not cooperation—revenge. She's burning it all down because they left her to burn first.

Jax suddenly leans forward, his casual posture vanishing. Recognition flashes across his features before he masks it.

"What race?"

"High-end vehicles, wealthy donors." Tatiana waves dismissively. "Perfect cover for our final transfers before we relocate operations. You'll never reach them in time."

The temperature in the room seems to drop. Kade and Jax exchange a meaningful look—a new lead, but something more passes between them. Something that makes Jax's jaw clench tight.

But all I can think about is the woman who ordered Jenny's death sitting there, speaking about human lives like they're assets on a spreadsheet.

We move to view Slate's interrogation through another glass panel. He sits hunched over a laptop, his fingers shaking on the keyboard. The empty look under his eyes catches my attention—like he hasn't slept in days.

My stomach twists into knots. This man helped me build my career. Taught me encryption techniques I still use. And now he's here, surrounded by printed evidence of his code in Tatiana's operation.

"Tell us again how you got involved." Cole prompts, setting up another recording device.

Slate's eyes flick up to mine through the glass, then away. Shame radiates from every line of his body.

"I met her at a cybersecurity conference three years ago." His voice cracks like old code. "She approached me—said she admired my work." He laughs bitterly. "No one had ever looked at me the way she did."

I cross my arms over my chest, trying to hold myself together. The pain of betrayal, his and mine, pulses between my temples. But watching him crumble, seeing genuine remorse in every tremor of his hands, something shifts inside me.

He was used too. Manipulated. Maybe not so different from how I feel right now.

"You gave her your proprietary security protocols."

He nods miserably. "I thought... I thought she loved me. We were building something together." His fingers fidget with his watch band. "She'd ask technical questions when we were in bed together. God, I was so stupid."

Jax leans against the wall. "Love makes people stupid."

The words hit like a physical blow. I don't dare look at Asher, don't want to see if that statement registers on his face.

"I can give you access to the shadow servers," Slate offers desperately. "Complete backdoor entry. I built in safeguards she doesn't know about."

Cole slides a keyboard toward him through the security slot. "Show us."

Through the glass, we watch Slate's hands dance across the keyboard. I pull up my own tablet, tracking his movements, copying his login credentials. The familiar rhythm of collaborative coding feels like the only solid ground beneath me.

"Everything." My fingers work across my tablet screen, following digital breadcrumbs. "Transaction logs, communication intercepts, personnel files. They've created a complete mirror of Tatiana's operation."

I pause, staring at the data. "But look at this. They're not just watching, they're collecting weaknesses, gathering tactical information. Like they're assembling intelligence files."

Cole whistles softly. "That's either quality control or someone building leverage."

"Or reconnaissance," I whisper, pieces clicking together. "Someone with this level of technical sophistication, these resources—they're not working for Tatiana. They're studying the whole network."

Kade studies my tablet over my shoulder. "Can we trace them?"

"Not directly. But these access patterns give us a timeline to work with." I pull up the data logs. "They've been watching for months, maybe longer."

The truth hangs heavy in the surrounding air. We're not just dealing with Tatiana's trafficking network—there's someone else in the shadows, watching, collecting intelligence on everyone involved.

"Jax, investigate the racing angle." Kade's command voice fills the room. "Your background makes you the logical choice."

"Already on it," Jax agrees, but tension still radiates from his frame. "I've got contacts who can get me in."

Kade turns away from the interrogation windows, his attention shifting to our team. The clinical atmosphere of watching prisoners makes everything feel colder, more detached.

The air in the room shifts. I catch Cole's slight frown, the way Jax stops moving entirely.

"The recent attack highlighted operational vulnerabilities," Kade continues, his massive frame somehow making the observation room feel smaller. "Personal attachments create tactical weaknesses. Targeting risks."

"We need to transition Ms. Reyes back to remote consultation effective immediately."

I look desperately at Asher, waiting for him to object, to clarify, to show some crack in that perfectly neutral facade.

He stares through the one-way glass like the empty interrogation chair contains state secrets.

"Your technical expertise has been valuable," Kade adds, almost kindly. "But field operations require different considerations now."

The noise in my head goes silent.

They're cutting me loose. And Asher agrees.

"I understand." The words come out steadier than I feel, though my chest feels like it's caving in.

I stand on legs that feel like they might buckle, tablet pressed against my chest like armor. The observation room's fluorescent lights buzz overhead, that frequency only I seem to notice, now amplified into a dental-drill whine that makes my teeth ache.

"I'll pack my things."

Each step toward the door echoes off the concrete walls. Part of me waits for Asher's voice, for him to defend what we have, to explain that this is just tactics, just protection.

The silence follows me out like a funeral dirge.

I make it to the elevator before the tears start.