Page 39 of Shadowed Vows: Ghost (Nightfall Syndicate #1)

thirty-two

Kade

"Mr. Mercer? This is Ryan, security at Bay Herald."

I sit up immediately, every sense on alert. "What's happened?"

"Miss Bennett left at 0500 hours, sir. Said she'd be back by 0530." His voice carries professional concern. "It's time now, and she hasn't returned. I know she's usually punctual. I worked here three years now. Figured you'd want to know."

My blood runs cold. "She left? Alone?"

"Yes, sir. Said she was meeting a source at a café two blocks over."

"And you just let her walk out?" My voice drops dangerously low .

"Sir, I..." Ryan hesitates. "She's my boss's daughter. I didn't realize I should stop her."

Fuck . That's our training. We taught her how to evade surveillance.

"Not your fault." I'm already moving, grabbing my tactical gear. "Call if she returns."

I disconnect and immediately open the team channel. "Code red. Bennett's in the wind. Meeting a source without backup."

Cole's sleep-roughened voice comes first. "What the hell? Activating my systems now." The sound of rapid typing fills the background.

"She slipped her security detail at 0500," I explain, strapping on my shoulder holster. "Used our own training against us."

"Checking traffic cams near Bay Herald," Asher cuts in, fully alert despite the hour. For a team like ours, sleep is a luxury easily discarded in emergencies. We're all programmed to go from dead sleep to combat ready in under two minutes.

I grab my motorcycle keys. "I'm heading there now. Full team mobilization. Command center in fifteen."

My Bluetooth connects as I race down to the garage. Jax's voice fills my helmet. "Got eyes on cams. Coffee shop on Columbus—Caffe Trieste. She entered at 0507."

The BMW S1000RR roars to life beneath me. "Keep watching. I'm seven minutes out."

I weave through early morning traffic, pushing the bike harder than usual. My mind cycles through scenarios, none of them good. She's too smart for this rookie move. Something must have convinced her this was worth the risk .

"Movement at the café," Cole reports. "Four men just entered. Don't like how they're spreading out."

My heart pounds against my ribs. "Time to intercept?"

"Five minutes, minimum," Asher answers.

"Too long," I growl, cutting between two delivery trucks.

"Camera feed just glitched," Cole's voice sharpens. "Someone's tampering with surveillance."

I push the bike faster, running a red light and nearly clipping a taxi. "Status?"

Silence for three excruciating seconds.

"Feed's back," Jax finally says. "Fuck—they're carrying her toward the back door. She appears unconscious."

The world narrows to a single point of focus. "Description of vehicle?"

"Black panel van, no plates visible. Just pulled up in front of the café."

"I see it," I snarl, spotting the van two blocks ahead. "In pursuit."

I weave through traffic, losing some ground when I have to slow down for a car that pulls out in front of me. Close enough now to see two men loading Alina's limp body into the back of the vehicle. White-hot rage floods my system as I accelerate.

The van door slams shut. It peels away from the curb with surprising speed.

"Target moving north on Columbus, approaching Bay," Asher reports from headquarters.

"I'm on them," I confirm, pushing the motorcycle to its limits.

The van takes a sharp right, cutting off a delivery truck that skids sideways, blocking my path. I swerve onto the sidewalk, narrowly avoiding a newspaper stand before rejoining the road.

"They're heading north on Van Ness," Cole updates. "Looks like they're taking the route toward Golden Gate Bridge."

The van weaves through traffic with practiced precision, making seemingly random turns. Whoever's driving knows what they're doing.

"They just cut through Levi Plaza," Jax calls out. "Wait—lost visual. Someone's systematically killing the feeds."

I spot the van again, but it disappears into an underground parking structure. I follow, descending into the concrete space.

Empty. Completely fucking empty.

"They're not here," I growl, circling the structure. "Must be another exit."

"Checking building schematics," Cole responds immediately. "There's a service tunnel that connects to the next building over."

I race toward the exit he indicates, but find it blocked by a delivery truck—deliberately positioned.

"They planned this," I mutter, doubling back. "Cole, I need all available cameras in a six-block radius."

By the time I emerge onto the street, the van is gone.

"Lost them," I admit, the words burning in my throat. "Everyone converge on command center. Now."

Twenty minutes later, we're all gathered around the massive display wall at headquarters. Cole frantically works multiple screens, searching for any trace of the van .

"They knew exactly how to disappear," Remy observes, studying traffic patterns. "But they can't erase their digital footprint completely."

"The glitches in the cameras weren't random," Cole adds. "Someone hacked the entire network, creating selective blind spots."

"This was professional," Xander says, examining the pattern. "Military-grade tactics."

Jax enters, tossing his jacket aside. "X7's prepped and waiting. Full tactical loadout."

I nod sharply. "Good. Once we have a location—"

"Wait," Asher interrupts, leaning closer to his screen. "What about Simon?"

"The source?" I ask.

"No sign of him leaving the café," Asher confirms. "And look at this."

He pulls up footage showing Alina entering the café, then focuses on a man in the corner. The timestamp shows him arriving thirty minutes earlier, repeatedly checking his watch.

"That's not Simon," Cole says, running facial recognition. "Simon Cohen is 64, retired tech executive. This guy's maybe 35."

"They set her up," I realize, fury building in my chest. "Used her source's name to lure her."

"I might have something," Xander calls out suddenly. "The van disappeared, but look at traffic patterns outside the tunnel system."

He highlights several intersections where traffic inexplicably slows despite green lights.

"Someone's manipulating the signals," Cole realizes. "Creating a path. "

"Can you follow it?" I demand.

Cole's fingers fly across the keyboard. "The pattern points north—toward Sonoma Valley. They're taking Highway 101 and then likely cutting west."

"I've got more," Jax adds. "Three gas stations along that route reported network outages in the last hour. Just long enough to disable their cameras."

"They're taking back roads," I conclude. "Heading for wine country."

"Pulling up property records." Asher's fingers fly across the keys. "Looking for anything connected to Steele or his known associates."

The pieces click together. "Steele," I mutter. "This is his play."

Damian, who's been silent until now, speaks up. "Four properties match our parameters. All remote, all with good access routes."

I study the map, calculating distances and approach vectors. "We hit all four simultaneously."

"We don't have enough manpower," Remy cautions.

"Then we start with the most likely," I decide, pointing to a secluded vineyard property. "This one. Highest security, most recent purchase. Ten miles from the main road."

The team moves with practiced efficiency, gathering weapons and tactical gear. Jax heads for the X7, our heavily armored command vehicle.

"Comms check," I order, sliding my earpiece into place. "Everyone stays connected. If this is wrong, we pivot immediately to the next location."

As we prepare to move out, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the glass wall—my expression cold and focused. The Ghost is fully present now, calculations replacing emotions.

Part of me wonders if Alina would recognize me like this. Another part hopes she never has to.

"Wheels up in three," I announce, striding toward the garage where my motorcycle waits. "Whoever took her just made the biggest mistake of their lives."

Jax falls into step beside me. "We'll get her back, Boss."

I check my sidearm one final time, voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "Yes. We will."

The team moves out in perfect formation—three motorcycles and the X7 command vehicle—a lethal response force with one mission: bring Alina home.

And God help anyone who gets in our way.

We pull up a safe distance from the cabin, and I cut the engine on my bike. The team follows suit, their bikes going silent in the cool night air. Only Jax remains in his vehicle, ready for a quick getaway if needed.

I scan the area, taking in the dense forest surrounding us. The scent of pine and damp earth fills my nostrils. In the distance, I can make out the faint outline of the cabin, a dark silhouette against the starry sky.

"Alright, listen up," I say, keeping my voice low. "Frost, you're with me. We'll take out the sentries. Blade, cover the rear. Saint, be ready with medical support if needed. Nitro, stay with the vehicles and be prepared for a quick exit."

My team nods, their expressions hard with resolve. I can see the tension in their shoulders, the readiness in their eyes. We've trained for this, but the stakes have never been higher.

"Remember, we're here for Alina. Quick, quiet, and clean. Let's move."

I pause, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "And anyone who touched her is mine. No exceptions."

The team exchanges glances, but no one argues. Frost gives a curt nod, his expression cooling several degrees.

They've seen me angry before, but never like this. Even Jax, who typically has a smart-ass comment for everything, stays dead silent. They recognize this isn't just about the mission anymore.

"Copy that," Blade responds, his measured tone carrying understanding. This isn't just tactical—it's personal.

Frost and I advance through the trees, our footsteps barely making a sound on the forest floor. The crunch of pine needles under our boots is muffled by the gentle rustling of leaves in the night breeze.