Page 136 of Mission Shift

“I think you’d like it in Tacoma,” I said, breaking the silence.

Her eyes lifted.

“The food alone is worth the trip,” I added. “No more fish aspic, just real food—barbecue, tacos, sourdough bagels, burgers the size of a melon.”

She groaned. “Don’t even mention the aspic. If I think about that gelatin monstrosity again, I might throw myself overboard.”

I laughed. “Fair enough.”

Then her smile faded.

“I watched him kill her,” she said quietly.

My chest tightened, recalling Nik’s play-by-play.

“Svetlana. She was only trying to help me get out. Malinov made sure I understood his level of cruelty. That was his mistake—thinking anything other than death might keep me under his thumb.”

She took a long drink, draining her glass.

“She didn’t deserve that. It was my fault. I should have immediately refused her help.”

“You didn’t cause her death.”

“Yes, I did.” Her jaw tensed. “I swear, anyone who gets close to me ends up dead. You’d better watch yourself,” she huffed.

“No,” I said gently, placing my hand on her arm. “Svetlana’s blood is not on you. That’s on him. And someday, maybe you’ll be the one to take that bastard down.”

Her eyes flicked to mine. “If I ever get the chance, I’ll make it slow.”

I nodded. “I believe you.”

She stared out at the sea again, the edge of her sadness tucked just beneath her calm.

I leaned closer and slipped my fingers around her hand.

She didn’t pull away.

Almost like magic, the steward came up with fresh drinks. It made me wonder if there were cameras watching us or if the crew just had a good sense of timing. The attentiveness didn’t seem to faze Daria. She smiled at him, accepted the new glass, and took a sip.

I smiled at the guy, and then he was gone.

It was time to shift the conversation back to something lighter and pull us out of Malinov’s shadow.

“So, if you choose to come to Tacoma,” I said, “I’ll owe you a backyard cookout and a soak in the hot tub. And that dock on the lake? It’s got your name on it.”

She smiled into her wineglass. “You keep describing all this like I’d be crazy not to come.”

I arched a brow. “Wouldn’t you?”

She gave me a furtive look. “Maybe. You’ve piqued my curiosity. Or maybe it’s the wine. But I think you might be right. Learning more about the US firsthand wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

I didn’t say it out loud, but damn—that hit home. This wasn’t just her letting her guard down; this was progress.

She tapped the edge of her glass. “So, what do you eat in this magical land of lakes and hot tubs? Hamburgers and fries?”

I gave her a mock gasp. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Oh, I didn’t say that. I just assumed American cuisine was built entirely around bread, cheese, and ground meat.”

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