Page 40 of Shadowed Hearts: Frost
"Impressive work."
"I photograph everyone interesting." She highlights a cluster of transactions, zooming in with a gesture. "But you? Military posture, hyper-awareness, completely unfazed by Ethiopian coffee. You were ridiculously suspicious."
My jaw tightens as she cycles through high-quality photos of me at various angles. She's been watching me more closely than I realized.
"So you decided stalking was the answer?"
"Says the man who kissed me ten minutes ago." She tucks a strand of pink hair behind her ear, eyes dancing with challenge while she overlays recruitment cycles onto the financial data. "That was very unprofessional, Frost."
"Professional boundaries," I mutter, but step closer to examine her analysis. These transaction patterns show sophisticated money laundering.
"Cross-border payments to obscure the trail," she explains, fingers flying across the interface. "Rotating accounts every sixteen days. Model recruitment cycles match perfectly."
"Standard operations use thirty-day rotations."
"Exactly why I noticed it." She bounces up from her chair, energy radiating from her small frame as she points to projected documents. "It's like watching twisted synchronicity in real-time."
Our fingers brush as we both reach toward the same data point. The contact sends heat racing through my veins that has nothing to do with electrical charge. Her skin is warm, soft. I step back, creating distance.
"What's wrong? Afraid of a little contact?" Her lips curve into that wicked grin, utterly immune to the lightning that just raced through my blood.
The communication device in my ear comes alive with static before I can answer. Cole's measured voice cuts through the tension.
"Frost, we have four men approaching the building. Black clothing, moving casual but maintaining formation."
I tap the earpiece twice while Vanessa's main monitor flashes red with a security alert. "Visual?"
"No visible weapons, but body language screams military," Kade's voice adds. "They're coordinating movements, covering exits."
Vanessa rapidly types commands, bringing up multiple camera angles of the building's entrance.
"Guess they got tired of waiting," she murmurs, enlarging the footage while we both watch tactical professionals enter her lobby.
"ETA on entry?" I ask while my muscles tense, body shifting instantly from conversational to combat-ready.
"Thirty seconds out," Kade responds. "Moving to intercept."
I assess our position. Corner unit, fourth floor, two exits: main door and fire escape. Limited defensive positions, excessive windows.
"Copy. Cole's securing the building, I'm heading up."
"Too many civilians below. Handle interior scope."
Vanessa's fingers fly across three keyboards, initiating what appears to be an emergency protocol. No panic, just rapid efficiency. The blue glow from her screens reflects off her face as she works.
"Those aren't police." She manipulates the camera feeds while moving toward her desk. "No badges, no announcements. They're not even pretending."
"Paradise Elite?" My Sig Sauer slides from its holster with practiced familiarity, the weight comforting in my palm.
"Has to be." Her voice tightens while she yanks a small external drive from her computer. "Too much coincidence for anything else."
I check the magazine and chamber a round, the mechanical click centering my thoughts while heavy footsteps echo up the concrete stairwell. The familiar rush floods my system, heightening awareness.
Every sound becomes distinct: Vanessa's rapid breathing, computer fans humming, distant boots growing louder.
"Grab only what's irreplaceable. Move while you work." I position myself between her and the door while shouldering my specialized sniper pack.
"Been preparing for this possibility." She slips a small tablet into her cross-body bag while hitting a sequence of keys that starts wiping her systems. Smart girl. "Everything about Jenny uploads to encrypted cloud storage automatically. But the victim profiles Maya and I built... those aren't backed up offsite."
