Page 40 of Mission Shift

The road stretched before us as we trudged along on this seemingly never-ending march toward safety. It was a narrow dirt path, worn down by time and tires, cutting through the open countryside. The forest was behind us now, its dark canopy fading into memory, replaced by an expanse of tall grass. The chill of morning lingered. We had been walking for hours, moving southwest toward a town I hoped would be safe for both of us.

Braxton walked beside me, scanning the horizon the way a man does when he’s not used to being hunted. He was learning. Caution came quickly when survival was at stake.

The sky had already begun to shift from deep blue to the pale hues of late morning. If we kept moving at this pace, we’d reachthe town by late afternoon. There, we would hopefully be able to find some food and have a chance to think in relative safety.

I needed both in the worst sort of ways.

My thoughts drifted back to waking in Braxton’s arms.

The sun had just begun to rise, and the realization of where I was had come slowly to my weary mind, slipping into my awareness. My head had been resting against his chest as I slept, rising and falling with the steady rhythm of his breath, while his heartbeat had thrummed beneath my ear.

When I awoke, Braxton had been still asleep, his head tilted back against the wall of the trench, his mouth slightly open as he snored softly. His arms were wrapped around me, holding me close as if I were his to protect at all costs.

I’d berated myself then, thinking that I should have pulled away from him last night before drifting off. I should have reminded myself that this wasn’t real—that once he was safe, once he was back with his friends and his coworkers at the Global Food Outreach, I would never see him again.

And yet, I had lingered.

It was such an unusual sensation…to trust someone enough to fall asleep in their arms.

I had spent my entire life sleeping with one eye open, weapons within reach, body tensed to spring into action. Yet there I was, cocooned in the arms of a man I had known for only a few days, a man who had no reason to trust me and yet—somehow—did.

I’d swallowed the lump in my throat and slowly untangled myself from his hold. His grip was firm even in sleep, his fingers curled around my wrist as if to keep me from slipping away. I’d hated breaking the moment, knowing it was fleeting.

The second he was safely out of this war zone, I would be nothing more than a memory. And maybe that was for the best.

I’d traced my fingers along his jaw, taking a minute to appreciate just how ruggedly good-looking he was. God, how Iwanted those full lips and that scruffy beard trailing over my skin, leaving heat in their wake. I wanted them on me, marking me, making me forget everything else.

Then, leaning in for a stolen kiss, I’d whispered in Russian, “Thank you for being the kind of man I never thought existed or allowed myself to see before. Either way, you are what every woman deserves but few ever find—a truly good man. Even if only for a brief time, I was lucky enough to have you cross my path.”The words slipped past my lips quietly, more for me than him.

But the warmth in my chest had faded when Braxton stirred awake and reality set in. His fingers tightened on my arm as he sleepily murmured, “What’d you just say?”

I’d pressed my lips together, shaking my head. “Nothing. I was just thinking out loud about how we needed to get going.” I wasn’t about to embarrass myself by saying it in English—he’d think I was ridiculous.

His brow had furrowed, but he hadn’t pushed.

That was good. Because I wouldn’t have been sure what to say; my emotions were tangled in ways I’d never imagined. So, I’d turned away, chewing on my lip, forcing my mind back toward survival, toward the road ahead—toward anything but how much I had wanted to stay in his arms a little longer, clinging to the illusion that, for once, I was someone worth holding.

I was so lost in my head that I didn’t notice Braxton moving closer until he slung an arm around my shoulders. The sudden contact startled me, my muscles tensing on instinct before I forced myself to relax. He was holding me in that easy, natural way he had, like it was nothing. But it wasn’t nothing. Not to me.

“Whatever’s poisoning your mind,” he said, leaning in and kissing my temple, “you need to let it go. We’re almost safe. Soon, we’ll come up with a plan to get you somewhere far away from your past and the Russians.”

I exhaled slowly, giving him a weak smile.

A new life was starting to sound good, and—with him—I was ready to believe it was possible. And maybe if we survived this, it was.

We had been walking for hours, putting as much distance between ourselves and the border as possible. The deeper we pushed into Ukrainian territory, the better our chances of survival. But until we reached a town with regular Ukrainian citizens and had a way to contact either someone he knew here or the Ukrainian officials who were aware of my status, we wouldn’t be safe. Even then, it wasn’t a guarantee, but our chances were better.

Then a strange sensation hit me. I stepped out of Braxton’s hold, rolling my shoulders, the restless energy in me rising. There was an itch beneath my skin, a prickle of warning that wouldn’t go away.

Something feltoff.

I had learned a long time ago to trust my instincts. They only flared like this when something bad was about to happen.

I reached for my GPS and checked our progress. “It’s been six hours since we left the trench,” I murmured. “I’d guess we’ve covered about twenty-nine kilometers.”

Braxton let out a low whistle. “Hell of a way to start your morning.”

I huffed a small laugh, but my gut was unsettled. The road ahead stretched out, empty and quiet. “I’m surprised we haven’t seen a car—or anyone, for that matter.” I frowned, peering into the distance. “But then again, maybe we should be thankful for that.”

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