Page 3 of Shadowed Vows: Ghost (Nightfall Syndicate #1)

I'll find you again. Count on it.

As her shadow disappears into the night, I press my earpiece once more.

"Run trace on recent security breach. Full profile, no alerts."

I don't smile until I'm certain she's gone. This reckless, fierce woman just made my mundane security detail infinitely more interesting.

Run, little hellcat, but wherever you go, I'll find you.

Asher and Cole follow close behind me, their footsteps echoing in the sterile hallway as we make our way to Level B4 in silence.

When we reach the equipment room, Asher meticulously unloads his weapon. His hands move with practiced ease, each motion precise. Cole busies himself with the communications equipment, carefully storing everything away.

But I can't shake the image of the woman from my mind. Her spunk, her fearlessness... it struck a chord.

Without a word to the others, I head for the control room. The security feeds from the warehouse are calling to me. I need to understand what she saw, what led her there.

The control room hums with energy as I settle into the chair. My fingers fly over the keyboard, pulling up the footage from earlier. There she is, moving through the warehouse with purpose. Every step careful, every glance sharp and observant.

I lean in closer, studying her movements. The way she examines each detail, the careful notes she takes... it's impressive. And familiar. Too familiar.

"She's good," I murmur, almost grudgingly. "Thorough. Observant."

"Sounds like someone I know."

I whip around to find Jax leaning against the doorframe, a smirk playing on his lips.

"What are you talking about?" I growl.

Jax's eyes flicking to the screen. "Oh, nothing. Just noticing how you can't seem to take your eyes off our mystery warehouse visitor."

I narrow my eyes at him, muscles tensing under my shirt. How the fuck long has he been watching me?

"Interesting that you didn't mention running into anyone during your inspection," he continues, pushing off the doorframe and moving closer. His usual cocky grin doesn't quite hide the curiosity in his eyes. "Not like you to leave details out of a report, Ghost."

A flash of irritation burns through me. The bastard knows me too well.

My jaw clenches. "I'm assessing the threat. Nothing more."

"Uh-huh." His tone is dripping with sarcasm. "And that's why you're watching the footage for the third time?"

Damn. I didn't realize I looped it back.

"She saw too much," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.

"We need to know exactly what she discovered.

How the hell do you even know about her?

" Jax just shrugs, chuckling. "Been watching the security feeds with Asher.

He thinks you keep replaying that footage because you're fascinated by your little friend. "

I glare at him as Asher walks in. "Driven. Stubborn. Doesn't know what's good for her. Remind you of anybody?"

I open my mouth to argue, but the words die in my throat. Fuck. He's not entirely wrong.

"Look," Asher says, his tone softening slightly. "I get it. She's got your attention. But don't let it cloud your judgment."

Rubbing my hands over my face, I lean back. Asher's words hang in the air between us, heavy with implication.

"So what do you suggest?" I ask, my voice low.

Asher's expression hardens. "We eliminate her. Clean and simple."

My gut clenches at his words. It's the smart move, the cautious play. But it doesn't sit right. I shake my head, fixing Asher with a hard stare.

"We don't hurt civilians unnecessarily, especially women. You know that's one of our rules."

Asher's ice-cold eyes narrow. "Rules can change when the stakes are high enough."

I grit my teeth, feeling the muscles in my face tense up. Asher's ruthless pragmatism is an asset on missions, but sometimes I wonder if he's forgotten our core beliefs.

"She's a distraction we can't afford right now," he continues.

I open my mouth to respond, but Cole's voice cuts through the tension.

"Maybe we're jumping the gun here. "

I turn to see him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest.

"She didn't actually get anything," Cole points out. "There might be nothing to worry about. We could just monitor her for now."

I nod slowly, considering his words. My gut tells me he's right – she knows nothing concrete. At least, not yet.

"Give me some time to think it over," I leave no room for argument. "I'll decide soon. For now, you're all dismissed."

Asher looks like he wants to argue, but a sharp glance from me silences him. He, Jax and Cole file out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I push away from the control panel, my chair rolling across the smooth floor. I need more information.

Leaving the control room, I head to the communications hub just down the hall, its banks of computers humming with activity. I settle in front of one terminal.

My fingers glide across the keyboard, scanning digital breadcrumbs. Her name is Alina Bennett. Her name has substance to it, carries a certain gravity—reminds me of the woman herself.

Her professional profile reveals sharp edges: an award-winning journalist known for investigations that cut deep. Precision defines her work. I recognize that laser focus immediately.

Something's driving her beyond professional curiosity.

Finding a news article related to her, my eyes lock onto another name—Jenny Martinez. A rookie reporter mentored by Bennett, but that's not why the name sends a jolt of energy through my bod y

I remember the case files, the brutal circumstances of Martinez's death while investigating high-end escort services. The reports were clinical, but the underlying brutality spoke volumes.

This isn't just journalism for Alina. This is personal. A vendetta.

A dangerous combination. Professional skills mixed with raw, personal motivation can make someone extremely unpredictable. Potentially powerful. Potentially lethal.

I lean back, muscles tense under my tactical black shirt. My mind starts mapping potential scenarios, threat vectors. Alina Bennett just became significantly more complicated than a simple research target.

And complicated means risky.

The communication terminal hums softly, its blue screen reflecting my calculating expression. One thing becomes crystal clear: I'll need to watch her closely.

Very closely.