Page 5 of Shadowed Hearts: Frost
"Got you," I whisper, carefully sliding the cup into an evidence bag.
Even through my gloves, warmth spreads through my fingers as I brush against the rim where his lips touched. Something unexpected coils in my belly.
But my body hasn't been listening to the logical part of my brain. The flutter in my chest when he'd locked eyes with me wasn't part of the plan. Neither was noticing how his voice, controlled, deep, and measured, gave me goosebumps.
I pull out my phone, swiping through the photos I'd taken while pretending to clean nearby tables. The watchful stillness, and the way he scanned the room.
Those hands—large, capable, with a barely noticeable callus pattern that spoke of weapons training. The way he wrapped them around the coffee cup with such controlled grace, like he could just as easily be holding something much more dangerous.
Stop imagining those hands. Keep on task.
I bounce on my toes, unable to contain my energy as I open my encrypted notes app. My thumbs fly across the screen.
Subject: Male, approx. 6'1", early 30s. Military training evident in posture and situational awareness. Assassin? Maintains line of sight to all exits. Right-handed but ambidextrous tendencies.
I absently twist the evidence bag between my fingers, the plastic smooth against my palms.
No visible tattoos. Scar near temple. Eyes track room in systematic sweeps. Voice controlled, deliberate speech patterns. Carries concealed, slight change when seated shows right chest holster.
I check the small device in my pocket that's still actively downloading data. Phone clone: 94% complete.
Physical response: disguised surveillance as casual observation. Recognized testing protocols. Accepted conversation but maintained control. Tactical assessment ongoing throughout interaction.
I pause, chewing my bottom lip while rolling a pen between my fingers.
He's dangerous. And definitely hiding something major. Connected to Steele? Timing suggests possible surveillance counter-measure.
The thought sends another chill through me that has nothing to do with fear.
I check my watch and curse under my breath. Maya's waiting. I stuff the evidence bag into my backpack alongside my laptop, grab my jacket, and head for the back door, already texting one-handed.
Got the perfect DNA sample. And his phone data. Something's happening—three days after I poke the hornet's nest, this guy shows up. Be there in 20.
The back door swings shut behind me as I dash toward my car, excitement and unexpected attraction creating anticipation that makes me feel more alive than I have in months.
I navigate through Sacramento's early evening traffic, drumming impatiently against the steering wheel. My mind keeps wandering back tohim. Those eyes. Those shoulders. The way he moved.
My phone chimes with Maya's reply.
Just tell me you didn't hack into a federal database again. Last time, the FBI showed up.
I snort.
That was ONE time. And they never proved it was me.
Twenty minutes later, I pull into an unmarked lot behind what looks like an abandoned warehouse in the industrial district. The security cameras track my movement as I approach the side entrance and punch in the key code. The heavy steel door clicks open.
Inside, the space transitions from decrepit exterior to high-tech operation. The main area houses multiple computer workstations, medical equipment, and a makeshift living space.
Industrial concrete meets bright, colorful rugs and mismatched furniture. Plants occupy every available surface—Maya's touch.
"There you are!" Maya calls from her workstation. Her dark hair is in a ponytail, reading glasses perched on her nose. "My little coffee shop spy. You know normal people don't collect DNA from random customers, right?"
I drop my backpack on the steel table. "He wasn't random. Three days after I infiltrate Steele's network, this guy shows up? Military training, hyperaware, carrying. He was surveilling the place."
Maya's expression sharpens. "¿En serio? You think he's one of Steele's?"
"Maybe." I pull out the evidence bag, running my thumb along its edge. "Can we run this through CODIS?"
