Page 147 of Mission Shift

Nik shook his head. “Yesterday, she was ready to kill us both. Today she’s sucking face over mimosas.”

“There are no mimosas,” she said without looking up.

“Not the point,” Nik quipped, walking toward the bar.

He helped himself to a cup of coffee.

“I knew it,” he said, taking a sip. “Making her your wife was clearly the right move.”

I raised an eyebrow. “There’s still a fifty-fifty chance she divorces me the second we step foot on American soil.”

“True,” Daria said, scooping some fruit onto her plate. “I’m excellent at disappearing. But I need to stick around long enough to figure out what this PB&J sandwich is all about.”

Nik squinted. “PB and what?”

Daria and I laughed, and I kissed her cheek before grabbing a plate and piling it high with a bit of everything.

We moved to the sectional at the far end of the lounge, situated toward the stern. Daria curled up beside me with her plate, tucking her legs under her. I stretched out, resting my shoulders against the cushion and balancing my food on my lap.

Nik followed, holding a full plate of his own, and dropped onto the opposite side of the sectional, scowling like we’d ruined his morning.

“You two keep this up,” he said, stabbing a piece of melon, “and we’ll have to rename this yacht theFifty Shades on Open Waters.”

I chewed a bite of toast and shrugged. “You’ve mostly been holed up with the captain. I’ve hardly seen you since we hit the gulf. Why do you care?”

Nik leaned back. “Because while you two were playing honeymoon, I’ve been negotiating with half the Baltic and hacking the rest—trying to keep us invisible so we don’t get boarded or blown out of the water.”

Daria glanced at him. “You need to get laid.”

He grunted. “I need more coffee.”

I grinned and raised my mug. “Or vodka.”

Nik jabbed his fork in my direction. “Vodka puts hair on your chest. It also keeps a man sharp while he works.”

Daria nudged me with her foot. “Maybe he’s not all bad.”

I leaned over and kissed her again.

“Debatable,” I said, smirking. “But at least breakfast’s good.”

“All right,” Nik said after biting into another slice of melon, “now that you two are acting like horny newlyweds instead of enemies, we need to talk about the real shit that’s coming.”

I wiped my mouth with a napkin. “That’s a hell of a segue.”

He waved off my comment and leaned back with his coffee. “We’ve made solid time, but we’re not in the clear. The Kremlin still wants Daria dead. So does your new father-in-law—who, in case it slipped your mind—controls a major chunk of the Russian Bratva and has more money and influence than either of you may realize. The military might not be looking for us openly, but we’ve pissed off enough people that someone’s got to be watching.”

Daria paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. “What about the weather?”

Nik glanced toward the window and narrowed his eyes like he could already see the storm systems ahead. “We’re heading south after we fuel up in Norway. There, the water is warmer and the cover will be better. But it’s still September. There’s always a chance we could run into something nasty between here and the Azores. The Atlantic doesn’t care how stealthy we are. If we get caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, it could get bad.”

He tapped the side of his mug. “So we move fast. We don’t linger. If we give anyone enough time to pin our position or flag the ship, we’re screwed.”

Daria leaned in, her expression sharpening. “And when we finally reach Manhattan?”

Nik glanced from her to me. “We meet with Luca.”

Her brows pulled together. “Who’s Luca?”

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