Page 8 of Shadowed Hearts: Frost (Nightfall Syndicate #2)

"What the actual fuck?" Xander breaks the silence, his bulk shifting uncomfortably.

A notification appears from Kade on a side screen:

Secure all systems. Immediate protocol breach. Report status.

Cole types a response when another message flashes across the screen, disappearing almost instantly.

You missed something at the café.

"Initiating full trace protocol." Cole's voice is controlled but tense as his fingers move across the keyboard with renewed urgency. "They've bypassed our standard security parameters."

"How the hell did they get your name?" Xander's usual boisterous energy has transformed into focused alertness. "That information is buried under layers that even Cole would struggle with."

The air in the van feels thick, the cramped space intensifying the tension between us. I watch as Cole deploys a series of advanced tracing algorithms, following the digital ghost back through its labyrinth.

"Doesn't matter how they got it." My voice betrays none of the unease prickling under my skin. "We need to know who they are and what they want."

Cole pulls up three auxiliary screens, running parallel tracking protocols. My shoulder presses against Xander's arm as we both lean forward to see. The message sender has covered their tracks expertly, but everyone leaves some trace.

"This isn't amateur hour." Cole's tone sharpens as his fingers fly across the keyboard. "Whoever Echo is, they've got resources and skills that rival our best security."

"Government? Private contractor? Foreign intelligence?" Xander's questions hang in the hot air of the van.

"Could be any of those." Cole maneuvers through network nodes, following fragments of the digital signature. "Or someone we haven't categorized yet."

I watch Cole work, my focus narrowing to the code racing across the screens. The outside world fades away, the way it does when I'm lining up a shot through my rifle scope. This is a different kind of hunting, but the precision required is the same.

"Deploy the secondary counter-measures, Cole. We need better visibility." My words come out clipped, professional.

"Already on it." Cole activates a series of defensive protocols, creating safe corridors through which we can pursue our mysterious opponent without exposing our systems further.

Xander shifts his weight, accidentally bumping the equipment rack. "Sorry," he mutters, finding a new position in the tight quarters that allows him to see without disrupting Cole's work.

"Got something." Cole highlights a data packet that doesn't immediately dissolve. "It's holding stable."

The van falls silent as we examine the information unfolding before us. Financial records, shell companies, property holdings—all connected to Paradise Elite. Names of board members, transaction histories, offshore accounts.

"Wasn't that connected to Steele's operation?" Xander breaks the silence, his usual bravado subdued.

My muscles tense as connections form. "Paradise Elite was what Jenny was investigating before she was killed. And Roman was looking into one of their clients—suspected ties to human trafficking."

This unknown player is now connecting dots between Steele, Jenny's death, and Roman's disappearance.

"They're not just showing off." I scan through the data as Cole scrolls through it, cataloging each piece. "They're sharing intelligence."

"But why?" Cole's question mirrors my own thoughts.

A notification pings. Another message appears:

For someone who sees everything, you're missing what's right in front of you.

I bite back a curse, frustration cracking through my calculated exterior.

"They just left something else." Cole's voice cuts through the tension. "Looks like... is that an invitation?"

A red glow floods the van's interior as an alert notification takes over the primary screen. I straighten in my seat, eyes narrowing at the intrusion.

"What the hell?" Xander leans forward, his bulk making the cramped space seem even smaller.

"It's not coming through our surveillance system." Cole's voice carries rare alarm. "It's on your personal device, Frost—the one that shouldn't be accessible to anyone outside our team."

My jaw tightens as Cole pulls up the alert.

"They've breached my secure channel." My voice remains steady despite the violation this represents.

The screen displays a professionally designed digital invitation against a sleek black background:

NORTHERN CALIFORNIA CYBERSEC CONFERENCE

Sacramento Convention Center

Tomorrow, 9:00 AM - 6:00 PM

Special Panel: Advanced Encryption Methodologies, Room 307B, 2:00 PM

Attendance Confirmed: Asher Cross

My heartbeat accelerates slightly, though nothing in my expression changes. This isn't just a breach. It's a direct challenge.

"That should be impossible with our protocols." Cole studies the invitation, his analytical mind already calculating possibilities and risks.

I lean forward as Cole zooms in on the invitation details. The encryption panel is being led by specialists from major tech companies. The timing, the location, the subject matter—all of it precisely calibrated to appeal to someone with my specific skill set.

Xander whistles low, shifting his weight to get a better view of the screen. "That's basically saying 'meet me there.' Subtle as a brick through a window."

"It's clearly a trap," Cole counters, his fingers already pulling up the conference details.

I study the conference layout visible on the invitation. Multiple exit points. Crowded venue. Public setting that limits hostile action. Calculated risk.

"Trap or not, it's intelligence we can't ignore." I reach past Cole to access a satellite view of the convention center. "If they wanted to attack, they wouldn't need this elaborate setup. They want a meeting."

"Or they want to assess you in person." Cole's voice carries unusual caution.

"Either way, Echo's making it personal." Xander stretches in the confined space, his elbow nearly connecting with my shoulder. "Sorry, man. Not built for stakeout vans."

I rotate the 3D model of the convention center on Cole's screen, marking potential surveillance positions and extraction routes. The methodical process usually centers me, but tonight something else simmers beneath my professional assessment—an unusual current of anticipation.

"We should contact Kade." Cole is already reaching for the secure line.

Within minutes, Kade's voice fills the cramped van. After a brief assessment, his decision comes through clearly.

"We'll approach this as full reconnaissance. Frost takes point inside the conference. Blade, prepare digital countermeasures. Chaos, coordinate with the rest of the team on perimeter. Full comms. Multiple exit strategies."

"Understood." My response is automatic while my mind races ahead.

I examine the specialized encryption panel scheduled for tomorrow as Cole pulls up additional details. An ideal setting for someone who wants to make contact while surrounded by similar professionals.

Smart. Strategic. Almost elegant in its simplicity.

The thought catches me off guard. I don't typically appreciate an opponent's methodology. I analyze, counter, and neutralize. Nothing more.

Yet here I sit, a slight curl forming at the corner of my mouth—half frustration, half something dangerously close to anticipation. The feeling is foreign, a disruption to my carefully maintained equilibrium.

"Whoever Echo is," I say, eyes fixed on the invitation glowing on Cole's screen, my voice holding a note of something I haven't heard from myself in years, "they're not just playing chess. They're inviting us to the board."