Page 25 of Shadowed Vows: Ghost (Nightfall Syndicate #1)

twenty

Alina

" R emember, you're just a curious journalist," Kade murmurs, his breath warm against my ear as his hand settles possessively on my lower back. "Let Frost take the lead on the photography angle."

I shift away from his touch, raising an eyebrow. "I've been doing this for years. You don't think I know how to act like a journalist?"

The corner of his mouth twitches. "Just follow my lead."

"Your lead?" I scoff quietly as we approach the museum entrance. "Last I checked, I'm the one with press credentials."

Kade's eyes darken. "Last I checked, I'm the one keeping you alive."

The grand museum building towers over us, my pulse quickening with both nervous anticipation and irritation. I shift my laptop bag deliberately into the space between us.

Asher glances between us, his expression impassive except for the slight amusement in his eyes. "If you two are done with whatever this is, we have a mission."

I take a deep breath, centering myself. "Got it. Curious but not pushy. Though some of us know how to ask questions without sounding like an interrogation."

Kade's jaw tightens. "Alina—"

"Showtime," I whisper, cutting him off as we step into the museum's bustling entryway.

The change from chilly outdoors to cozy interior hits immediately. I navigate through the crowd toward the welcome counter, deliberately moving a step ahead of Kade. His frustrated exhale behind me is oddly satisfying.

"Excuse me," I flash my most professional smile at the elderly volunteer. "I'm Alina Bennett from The Bay Herald . We're doing a piece on maritime preservation techniques. Is there any chance we could speak with someone from the conservation department?"

The woman's eyes light up. "Oh, how wonderful! Let me see if Dr. Larsson is available. He loves talking about his work."

As she picks up the phone, Kade leans close, his lips barely moving. "Good. Now try not to antagonize our contact the way you do me."

"I only antagonize people who deserve it," I whisper back, maintaining my pleasant expression.

Asher positions himself nearby, scanning the room with calculated precision while appearing to take a few photos. His movements appear casual, but I've learned enough to recognize his tactical awareness .

"Eastern corner," he murmurs, adjusting his camera lens. "Security camera blind spot if we need it."

Dr. Larsson, a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair and thick-rimmed glasses, approaches and greets us warmly. "Always happy to discuss our preservation efforts," he turns and leads us through a staff-only door. "What specifically interests you?"

I launch into our cover story, my professional demeanor taking over. Kade stays close, too close, his presence both reassuring and infuriating. Every time I step away, he finds a reason to close the distance.

"You're hovering," I whisper during a moment when Dr. Larsson turns to open another door.

"I'm protecting," Kade counters, his voice low and firm.

"I don't need—"

"Both of you, focus," Asher interrupts quietly, his expression unchanged as he snaps photos.

Dr. Larsson guides us deeper into the museum, past roped-off sections where the public never ventures.

The stale air tickles my nose—a mix of old paper, preservation chemicals, and something earthier beneath it all.

I keep my recorder running in my pocket while maintaining eye contact with our host, my journalist instincts cataloging every detail.

Glass cases line the narrow hallway, housing artifacts deemed too fragile or perhaps too controversial for public display.

Kade's presence behind me feels like a human shield—solid, warm, and frustratingly protective.

Each time I slow to examine something, his body adjusts, maintaining that careful distance that's close enough to grab me if needed .

"Our climate-controlled storage houses over fifteen thousand artifacts not currently on display," Dr. Larsson explains, punching a code into a keypad. "Only senior staff have access to these areas."

The heavy door swings open with a soft hiss. My professional smile stays fixed, but my pulse quickens. We're getting closer to whatever Asher flagged in those shipping manifests.

"Fascinating," I murmur, stepping forward only to feel Kade's hand suddenly gripping my elbow, his slight nod directing my attention to a wooden box tucked away on a bottom shelf.

I shake off his hold but follow his gaze. "Dr. Larsson, what can you tell me about that compass?"

The curator follows my gaze, a smile spreading across his face. "Ah, that's a fascinating piece. Early 19th century, if I'm not mistaken. Would you like a closer look?"

My heart leaps. "That would be wonderful."

As he retrieves the box, Kade positions himself at my side, his shoulder brushing mine. The unexpected touch makes my skin prickle.

"Stop it," I breathe, too quietly for Dr. Larsson to hear.

"Stop what?" Kade's innocent tone doesn't match the knowing look in his eyes.

Dr. Larsson opens the box, revealing the antique compass nestled inside. It's beautiful, its brass face etched with intricate designs. But what catches my eye is a small slip of paper tucked beneath it.

"What's this?" I ask, reaching for the paper.

Kade smoothly intercepts my hand, lacing his fingers through mine in what looks like an affectionate gesture. "Careful, honey. Museum artifacts are delicate. "

I force a smile, squeezing his hand hard enough to hurt. "Of course, darling."

"Just some preservation notes," Dr. Larsson says, waving his hand dismissively. "Nothing of interest to your readers, I'm sure."

Asher steps forward, his face a mask of professional interest. "Mind if I get a few shots of the compass? The detail work is exquisite." His voice carries none of the tension evident in his tight shoulders—a sniper's control in every movement.

As Dr. Larsson positions the compass for the photo, Asher's nimble fingers discreetly pocket the slip of paper. My breath catches in my throat, but I maintain my composure.

Kade's thumb traces small circles against my palm—a warning or reassurance, I'm not sure which.

After Dr. Larsson shows us a few more artifacts, we wrap up the interview, thanking him profusely for his time. As we exit the museum, Kade's arm snakes around my waist, pulling me close.

"Next time," he murmurs against my ear, "when I give instructions, follow them."

I pull away from his grip, matching his stride. "Next time, try asking instead of ordering."

"Nice work in there," he concedes, his eyes scanning our surroundings. "Let's see what Roman left for us."

Asher falls into step beside us, his expression unreadable. "If you two are finished with your foreplay, we have intel to analyze."

Back at CPG headquarters, we gather in the command center. Kade unfolds the slip of paper we retrieved from the museum, his expression intense.

"What does it say?" I lean in close, deliberately pressing my shoulder against his.

"Series of numbers and letters." His jaw tightens. "Some kind of code."

I scan the cryptic sequence, the characters swimming before my eyes. The team starts debating—coordinates, cipher, encryption key—their voices blending into background noise as I focus on the pattern.

"It's a book cipher," I announce, cutting through their discussion.

The room falls silent. Kade's eyes meet mine, surprise and something else flickering across his face.

"Roman was always a history buff," he says slowly. "You might be onto something."

"Always good to have a journalist around," Asher remarks from where he leans against the wall, arms crossed. "They're surprisingly useful when they're not trying to expose your secrets."

I glare at him while keeping my attention fixed on what I'm doing right now. "We need nautical references, historical texts, anything Roman would consider significant."

For the next hour, we compile maritime texts. I drift closer to Kade as we work, our arms occasionally brushing. Each contact sends heat coursing through me. His scent makes concentration nearly impossible.

"Hey, lovebirds!" Jax's voice cuts through my thoughts. "I think I've got something. "

We move behind him and Kade reaches over and smacks Jax on the back of the head. Jax just grins, completely unfazed.

We huddle around his computer screen as he points to an old nautical almanac. "Look at these sequences. They match the first part perfectly."

"That's it," Kade mutters, taking over the keyboard. "It's Roman's personal code. Give me a minute."

Kade's fingers fly across the keys, mesmerized by their strength and precision. A strand of hair falls across his forehead. Without thinking, I reach out and brush it back.

His gaze snaps to mine, shock evident in those piercing blue eyes. He catches my hand, giving it a brief squeeze before returning to the code.

"Got it," he says finally. "Coordinates and a date—three days from now. Plus a warning: 'Trust no one outside the team.'"

"What's at those coordinates?" I lean closer, studying the decryption.

"Not sure." Kade frowns. "But whatever it is, Roman thinks it's crucial—and dangerous."

"Then we need to move on this immediately." My reporter instincts kick into overdrive. "Every second we wait—"

"We can't just rush in blindly," Kade cuts me off, voice low and controlled.

I straighten, squaring my shoulders. "People could be suffering right now! How can you just—"

"Because I've seen what happens when you don't plan properly," he snaps, stepping into my space. "I've lost people. Good people. "

"And how many more will we lose if we wait?" I challenge, refusing to back down despite the dangerous flash in his eyes.

"Ooh, Mom and Dad are fighting," Jax quips, spinning in his chair.

"Shut it, Jax," Kade and I snap in perfect unison.

"My money's on the little journalist," Asher drawls, his amusement audible. "She's scrappy."

I turn back to Kade, holding his gaze despite the heat building in my cheeks. "I understand caution. But what if Roman's in trouble?"

Frustration radiates from him as he runs a hand through his hair. "He's my friend, Alina. You think I don't know what's at stake?"

"Holy shit." Cole's quiet voice cuts through our argument. Unlike his teammates' teasing, his tone is all business. "You both need to see this."

We crowd around his screen, our conflict temporarily forgotten. Cole has cross-referenced the coordinates with data from the tech company's servers.

"These transaction patterns match the locations Roman was investigating," he explains, fingers flying across the keyboard. "It's all connected."

"That name keeps appearing." Kade taps the screen. "Steele."

"Steele?" I frown. "Like the metal?"

"Probably thinks it makes him sound tough," Jax snorts, spinning his chair.

Cole shakes his head. "Whoever's behind it knows how to cover their tracks. The alias leads to shell companies, offshore accounts—layers of protection. "

I turn to Kade, determination burning in my chest. "This is our breakthrough. We can't let this slip away."

The struggle plays out across his face before he finally nods. "You're right. But we do this smart. No unnecessary risks."

Relief floods through me. "Agreed."

"Aww, the lovebirds made up," Jax coos, mimicking a kissing sound.

Kade's eyes narrow dangerously. "One more word, and you'll be running laps until your grandchildren feel it."

Jax holds up his hands in surrender, but his grin remains firmly in place.

My heart races as the team huddles, mapping our next move.

We're finally gaining traction.