Page 7 of Shadowed Hearts: Frost (Nightfall Syndicate #2)

five

Asher

T he little bell jingles when I step inside Temple Coffee Roasters. Only a few patrons remain, their faces lit by warm golden lights hanging from above. The rich smell of just-ground coffee fills my nose, mixing with the alternative music playing softly from speakers I can't see.

My eyes sweep the room automatically. No dark hair with pink streaks.

Something tightens in my chest. I ignore it.

An older man with salt-and-pepper hair and thick-rimmed glasses stands in her place, organizing beans on the back shelf. I walk to the counter, keeping my movements relaxed while noting every change in the surrounding space.

Different barista. Different music selection. Same half-empty pastry case.

"Ethiopian coffee, black." The words come out before I'd consciously decided what to order.

The barista nods, punching in the order. "Good choice."

I slide a five-dollar bill across the counter, keeping my movements relaxed. "The woman working a couple of days ago, morning shift, recommended it. Dark hair with pink streaks. She seemed to know her coffee."

The barista's expression remains neutral as he makes change. "Ah, probably Vanessa. She's got quite the palate for our specialty blends."

Vanessa. Her name courses through me again. I memorized it with every detail from her personnel file.

"She working today?" My question is too direct. Sloppy.

He shrugs, turning to prepare my drink. "Not sure about her schedule this week. She comes and goes."

My fingers drum against the counter as I wait, an uncharacteristic tell I force myself to stop. I scan the café again, noting the cameras' positioning, mapping blind spots, calculating sight lines to the street.

He hands me the coffee, the same complex aroma rising from the cup. I take it to a corner table with clear views of both the entrance and back exit. My position gives me 85% coverage of all approach vectors.

I check my watch. Nineteen minutes past my projected arrival time. Another nine minutes before my presence becomes suspicious.

Why am I here? This isn't standard protocol. Intelligence gathering on a civilian barista isn't mission-critical. Yet here I sit, watching the door each time the bell chimes, something unfamiliar stirring beneath my calculated exterior.

After a few minutes, my earpiece crackles to life.

"Any sign of 'Echo', or are you just enjoying the ambiance?" Cole's voice carries a hint of amusement I don't appreciate.

I resist the urge to adjust the earpiece. Twenty seconds of silence while I consider my response. This isn't professional. This isn't me.

"Negative. Moving to secondary position." I take a final sip of coffee and stand, leaving nothing behind.

I slide into the cramped surveillance van, immediately colliding with Xander's broad shoulder. The space, designed for two operators maximum, currently houses three full-grown men with combat training.

"Damn it, Chaos," I mutter, adjusting my position in the confined space. "Move your equipment."

Xander grins, shifting his massive frame a few inches to accommodate me. "You try fitting rugby player shoulders in a sardine can, Frost." He gestures to Cole, hunched over the keyboard. "At least Blade here's practically a yoga instructor with that posture."

Cole doesn't look up from the screens, his fingers moving with practiced precision across the keyboard. "If you two are done with the spatial negotiations, we have work to do."

The van's interior glows with the soft blue light of multiple monitors. The equipment hums—state-of-the-art tracking systems, signal amplifiers, and decryption modules.

The room's air is heavy in my lungs, too hot and recycled. It's nothing like the coffee shop, with its pleasant smells of espresso and pastries. Between our three bodies and all the humming equipment, the temperature keeps climbing, making me miss the café's comfortable atmosphere.

I settle into the cramped jump seat, my knees nearly touching the back of Cole's chair. "Status?"

"Our mystery hacker left traces in the coffee shop's security system. Subtle but definitely there." Cole's voice shifts to his analytical tone as he pulls up the relevant screens. "Check the timestamp markers. They're accessing feeds but leaving virtually no footprint."

I lean forward, studying the security camera footage from inside Temple Roasters over Cole's shoulder. The recording shows imperceptible stutters that most would miss. Someone hijacked the feed, but left it nearly perfect. Nearly.

"Like breadcrumbs, man." Xander moves to the side viewport, checking the street before shifting back to peer at the screens. "Too perfect to be accidental. No one's that clean unless they want someone to notice."

The observation prickles at my professional pride. I don't miss things. Not ever.

"There." I point to a segment of code on Cole's screen. "Digital signature buried in the protocol."

Cole nods, isolating what appears to be a unique identifier. For a moment, triumph flares in my chest as Cole captures it. Then the code dissolves before our eyes, fragmenting and disappearing.

"Shit." The curse escapes before I can stop it.

"Wait—" Cole's fingers fly across the keyboard. "It's reappearing... payment processing system now."

I watch as Cole lunges for it digitally, only to have it evaporate again. My heart rate increases by exactly 10 beats per minute.

This isn't random. This is a pattern. This is a game.

Xander squeezes past me to look at the screen, his bulky frame making the already small space feel claustrophobic. He smells of gunpowder and that energy drink he's always consuming.

"Anyone else feel like we're being played with?"

"Quiet," Cole mutters, focused entirely on the monitors. "The signature's surfacing again—traffic control system two blocks away."

The code stays visible just long enough for Cole to tag it before vanishing. A fourth trail appears and disappears, leaving us staring at empty code.

"He's good," I admit reluctantly, the words tasting unfamiliar. "Too good to be making these kinds of mistakes unless..." My voice trails off as realization dawns. "He wants us to follow."

"Bingo." Xander taps the metal wall of the van. "I'm going to do another perimeter check. Getting claustrophobic in here." He squeezes past us both, his exit momentarily relieving the cramped conditions before the door closes again.

My eyes burn from staring at the screens too long. Two hours and seventeen minutes since we began this digital chase. The van's interior has darkened as night falls outside, and now the glow of monitors casts blue light across our faces. I can feel the tension pulling at my jaw.

My shoulders ache from hunching forward in the confined space, but I maintain my position, watching Cole work with methodical precision.

"This is unlike any breach pattern I've seen," Cole says, a rare note of excitement coloring his typically measured tone. "They're leading us through encrypted channels that shouldn't even exist."

I don't respond. My focus remains absolute as Cole tracks the digital signature through its latest disappearing act. Each time he gets close, it vanishes, only to reappear elsewhere in an increasingly complex network.

"It's like trying to catch smoke with bare hands." Cole's usual formal speech is momentarily replaced by frustration.

A fragment of code materializes on the center screen—what looks like banking information with transaction logs from an offshore account linked to Paradise Elite. My pulse quickens.

"There. Financial records." I point to the data packet as Cole rapidly isolates it. "Might be what Jenny was investigating before she was killed."

The information fragments before our eyes, dissolving into scattered code.

"Fuck."

The van door slides open, bringing in a blast of cool air as Xander returns, immediately making the space feel half its previous size. "Same thing happened with those travel documents from the Cayman server. Ten more seconds and we'd have had actual names."

Cole raises a hand for silence as an alert pings on the left monitor. The signature has reappeared, this time inside a government database with security clearance levels that should be impenetrable.

An impressed whistle comes from Xander as Cole navigates through another elegant bypass of a normally secure firewall.

"Holy shit, this hacker just walked through the DOD's secondary encryption like it was a dollar store padlock." Xander leans against the van wall and accidentally jostling my shoulder.

I shift in my seat, maintaining a precise distance from both men despite the confined quarters.

"They're studying our methods while showing us just enough to keep us interested." My voice comes out flat, but inside, something unfamiliar stirs—a combination of frustration and respect.

"You almost sound impressed, Frost." Cole glances over his shoulder at me, a hint of surprise in his eyes.

I don't deny it. Professional recognition isn't the same as weakness.

"Pull up the traffic cam feeds," I direct Cole, who complies with efficient keystrokes.

The signature appears again, now accessing a traffic camera feed across from Temple Coffee Roasters. The timestamp shows yesterday morning, precisely when I was there. An image freezes on the screen: me, walking into the café.

"That's not good," Xander mutters, suddenly serious. "They're tracking you specifically."

A new window opens on the center screen, code scrolling faster than even I can process. Cole's posture changes subtly—a slight tensing of his shoulders the only indication of his surprise.

The code stops abruptly, revealing a simple text message that appears for exactly 3.2 seconds:

Enjoying the chase, Asher?

I freeze, my body going completely still. My heart rate spikes, but my expression remains unchanged through years of training.

"He knows your name." Cole's voice holds a rare note of genuine concern.

The confined space of the van suddenly feels even smaller, the three of us frozen in the blue glow of the monitors.