Page 4 of Shadowed Hearts: Frost
The temperature in the room seems to shift, my tactical turtleneck suddenly too warm against my skin. A response forms in my throat, something uncharacteristically personal, before the vibration against my thigh interrupts whatever I might have said next.
Three rapid buzzes, then one sustained vibration—emergency. The calm I'd inexplicably been feeling evaporates instantly.
"I need to go." I'm already gathering my laptop, reverting to operational efficiency.
"Of course you do." Something knowing flickers across her face. "Maybe next time you'll try the Ethiopian blend without being forced."
The phone vibrates again, and I pull it out to answer.Kade.This isn't just a check-in.
"Frost. Get back to CPG HQ immediately." His voice is clipped, all business. "There's been a development. We need everyone in the same room for this."
"Copy that." My voice shifts automatically to operational tone. "I'm still in Sacramento."
"Just get here as soon as you can."
The line goes dead. Whatever he found must be significant. Cold efficiency replaces the warm coffee and intriguing conversation.
I close my laptop and slide it into my bag in one fluid motion. The half-finished Ethiopian blend sits abandoned, still warm.
My gaze flicks involuntarily toward the counter. She left and is back behind the espresso machine, but her eyes meet mineacross the room. The brief connection sends an unexpected current through my chest.
Her expression shifts subtly. Eyebrows lifting slightly, head tilting a fraction of an inch. It's like she can see the change in me, the abrupt transition from reluctant conversation to operational mode.
I don't acknowledge her. Can't. Whatever connection sparked between us dies under professional obligation. My shoulders straighten, jaw tightening as I gather my things.
Yet something tugs at me, a peculiar reluctance I haven't felt during extraction in years. The urge to finish our conversation, to discover what secrets lie behind those perceptive eyes, conflicts with years of operational discipline.
Pathetic. Unprofessional. Delete.
I stand, body language reverting to its default state—controlled, distant, alert. My shoulders square with practiced precision, though my heart still runs a beat faster than operational standard. The strange comfort I'd briefly experienced in her presence gets filed away as an operational anomaly.
She moves to a nearby table, gathering empty cups. As I pass, she doesn't look up, but her voice reaches me, barely audible above the café noise.
"Stay safe out there."
The words hit with unexpected impact. Not "goodbye" or "see you later" but a soldier's farewell.
As I leave the coffee shop, the barista's parting words, "Stay safe out there", resonate with an unexpectedly meaningful tone, sending a subtle tremor through my steady hands as I reach for my motorcycle helmet.
My body's uncharacteristic response bothers me as I reflect on our quick, puzzling meeting. I hardly ever lose my cool like this.
My phone vibrates again. Kade's impatience feels like a physical presence.
The Ducati rumbles to life beneath me, the engine's vibration grounding me back in reality. In my rearview mirror, I glimpse her through the café window, watching me go with that analytical gaze.
two
Vanessa
Islip into our staff room and close the door, my heart hammering against my ribs like it's trying to break free.
Taking a deep breath, I peel off the navy blue apron that smells like coffee grounds and vanilla syrup. The tiny room hums with energy, mirroring the restless charge racing through my veins.
Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.
The mental replay ofhimwon't stop. Tall, intense eyes, that perfect jawline, shoulders that filled out his shirt in ways that made my mouth dry.
I pull out the small trash bag I'd separated earlier, fishing through it with gloved hands until I find his cup. The Ethiopian Yirgacheffe that he'd savored like someone who actually appreciates the complexity.
