Page 6 of Mission Shift

He barked an order over his shoulder, and the soldiers relaxed their grips and lowered their rifles, though their eyes remained alert. Turning back to me, Taranov shifted his stance, clearly less tense but still wary. “How did you end up here, Lieutenant Colonel?” he asked, his tone more respectful now.

I crossed my arms. As far as anyone knew, I wasn’t here—officially. “I could ask you the same thing.” My words carried the weight of authority, and I didn’t bother answering his question.

“We’re only here for cleanup duty,” the sergeant major said in a more subdued tone, raising his hands slightly.

I tilted my head. “Cleanup for what?” I asked coolly.

He cleared his throat, glancing toward the trucks. “We’re following up on reports of a rogue unit that ambushed a humanitarian vehicle—a crew from the Global Food Outreach. It’s all over international news.” He hesitated, his gaze darting to his men and then back to me. “They say an American is missing. The Ukrainians are all over the news saying that President Putin ordered a hit because he knew there was an American volunteer who’d be working near the border. Putin ordered no such thing, but this is a good opportunity for us. So here I am, looking to find him. He’ll make for a nice little prize right before I retire.” He smirked.

The corners of my mouth twisted into a frown. Pretty Boy’s situation was coming into better focus. Too bad for him the press had put such a big target on his back. As for me, the timing couldn’t have been better. He would make for an easy excuse as to why I was on this side of the border without orders. “Hmm, interesting. I wasn’t aware that an entire unit had been sent tofind him. My directive was to stay undercover and ensure I got in, acquired the package, and got out with no fuss. Who exactly issued your orders?” This was a lie, but I guessed from his expression that there was more to his story too.

Taranov sucked in a harsh breath. “Oh, well, when one of our friendly farmers reported a lone man running in a panic to this location, I figured it was the American because this area is a deserted no-man’s-land. I’d taken it upon myself to find the missing man since I oversee the prison not all that far from here. I assumed finding a wayward American in this area wouldn’t be too difficult.”

I chuckled. “Well, you were just a little slow. I know exactly where he is.” I jabbed a thumb toward the house. “He’s inside. Babbling nonsense, as they all do.”

Taranov frowned, confusion flashing across his face. “You found him?”

I let my grin widen. “Yes, and he’s going to make for an interesting story.” I leaned closer, lowering my voice just enough to make him take a step closer to me. “I think President Putin will be pleased. An American out here near the border alone? A potential spy? Can’t you see how this will play on television? Yes, I will give our leader his prize. But I will let you assist me in taking him into custody. Maybe that will help when your superior office crawls up your ass about acting without orders. I’m guessing you’ll need all the help with that you can get.”

His brows shot up, and his pupils dilated. I’d guessed correctly. Good. I arched an eyebrow, daring him to question me, then took a step back, giving him just enough space to breathe.

“Take him,” I said, gesturing toward the house again.“There’s also a wounded soldier, but his injuries are too severe. Leave him.”

“Who is he?”

“That’s above your rank to know. You focus on getting us back to the prison. Krestovskaya, right?”

Taranov’s lips curled slightly into what might have been a smirk. “Yes, that’s the one.”

His amusement was short-lived. I narrowed my eyes at him. “With all the attention your loud-ass trucks have undoubtedly drawn, I’ll have to call in every favor I’ve got just to get us across the border safely. If you were under my command, you wouldn’t have to worry about retirement.” I scowled at him, and his face turned beet red before he scurried away.

Immediately, he started shouting commands at his men. The soldiers moved quickly as they headed for the house. I turned back toward the trucks, my expression carefully blank even as my mind raced. Every second they spent here put me at risk. They could discover who Zelenko was to me, discover what we’d been doing. I had to get them away before Taranov started asking more questions or thought to confirm my story with his superiors. Thankfully, he was currently acting without orders, which gave me the perfect cover to get out of the sticky situation I had gotten into.

I forced my shoulders to relax, keeping Taranov in my peripheral vision. The American might’ve ended up being a convenient distraction, but he was also a liability—and now my responsibility. And Zelenko? He was a reminder of how quickly things could go to hell. He wasn’t going anywhere—not alive anyway.

Chapter three

The soldiers stormed in, barking at me in Russian—commands or insults, I couldn’t tell. One of them, an asshole with a shaved head and a scar running down his cheek, grabbed me by the collar and yanked me forward. His breath reeked of cigarettes. The others fanned out, their eyes scanning the room, while the one holding me glared at me like he was deciding which part of me to break first. My stomach tightened, but I forced myself to stand tall.

“Hey,” I said, holding up my hands. “I’m just a medic.”

“American pig,” he snarled in English. Then he shoved me hard enough that I stumbled into the coffee table, knocking it over.

My instincts screamed at me to fight back, but I knew that would invite them to beat the hell out of me.

Before I could even blink, a fist slammed into my gut, driving the air from my lungs. I doubled over, but they didn’t give me time to recover. A second soldier, who was standing behind me, kicked the back of my knees, and they buckled. My palms hit the floor hard.

“Medic? You full of shit!” the first one shouted in broken English, yanking me back to my feet by the front of my shirt.

Another soldier laughed. A boot landed square on my thigh, deadening the muscle. My leg trembled but stayed under me. Their Russian taunts came rapid-fire, and although I couldn’t understand anything they said, it was clear they were enjoying this. I ground my teeth, forcing my face to remain impassive. No flinching. No reaction.

The woman marched through the door shouting and all the men’s heads snapped in her direction. Her presence commanded instant silence. She rattled off something in a harsh tone, and all I caught was the word “Putin,” which made my blood run cold.

The woman’s glare was cruel enough to flay skin. She continued shouting at the men, pointing at me. Her body language was confident, as if she was in charge here. Interesting.

A man, clearly some sort of leader, stepped into the doorway, his face twisted into a snarl. He waved the soldiers off, issuing a stern order to them. All the soldiers except the one with his fist in my shirt backed away.

As he dragged me toward the door, he made a point of slamming my face into the sharp edge of the frame. Pain burst across my brow, and warm blood trickled down into my eye. I clenched my jaw to keep from grunting in pain.

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