Chapter 12 Milosh
12 MILOSH
‘Miss Green?’ I say after a few unanswered knocks. It’s 5:30 a.m. and after just over two weeks of daily training, starting promptly at 5:15 a.m., I’m surprised she isn’t up yet. That girl is a stickler for punctuality if I’ve ever seen one.
‘No.’ The word sounds faintly through the door.
‘Miss Green?’ I say again, knocking a little louder this time.
‘Stop, please stop,’ she says, sounding distressed.
‘Daphne?’ I get the spare key to her room out of my pocket.
‘Get off!’ That’s all I need to hear for me to wrench the door open, my heart racing a mile a minute. I haven’t even been here a month and this girl has already caused me a near-heart attack one too many times.
So much for a simple, easy case.
I do a quick survey of the bedroom and its connecting rooms, but can’t see an intruder or any signs of forced entry. I stalk over to her and see that she’s having a bad nightmare. Her sheets are strewn about her bed and her eye mask and headscarf have been ripped off.
‘No, no, no, stop,’ Daphne begs, a tear rolling down her face, still completely fast asleep. Even though it’s just a dream and no one is actually hurting her, it doesn’t stop the pang in my heart or the ache in my lungs at the thought of her in pain, whether real or not.
What the hell is happening to me?
‘Daphne, wake up.’ Kneeling down, I gently shake her arm, trying to ease her out of the dream. I know it’s not a good idea to wake someone mid-nightmare, but I can’t bear the sound of this any longer, or the sight of her crying. Again. ‘Come on, Daphne, wake up,’ I whisper.
Her eyes jolt open and she grabs my forearm.
‘Milosh?’
‘Are you all right?’
She blinks a couple of times, adjusting to her surroundings. ‘Y-yeah, it was just a bad dream.’
I clear my throat, stand up, and settle my face into a look of relative indifference. ‘All right, well, get dressed and come downstairs. You’re late and we have a lot to cover.’ I walk out of her room without looking back and make my way downstairs, needing to assess the situation I’ve gotten myself into.
I don’t get it. I’ve been at this house for under a month and I’ve already broken so many of the unspoken boundaries I put in place when I’m working. Granted, this isn’t a protection detail for middle-aged congressmen, or a military tour. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m slipping. Last night I literally shoved George against a wall and threatened him, all because he was disrespecting Daphne. That has nothing to do with Daveeno, so why did I get involved? As much as I think no woman should ever be disrespected, I’ve never felt the need to be so direct in enforcing that belief. Somehow I’ve gotten a little too invested, but that stops today.
To Daphne, I’m just an employee.
To me, Daphne is a job. Just a job.
At least that’s all she should be.
Job. Her.
Employee. Me.
Walking into the backyard and pulling out the equipment I need for today, I refocus on the task at hand: teaching Daphne how to defend herself. I just need to focus on training her, maintaining professional boundaries and minding my business and we’ll be fine.
‘Good morning, Mr Petrov,’ I hear from behind me as I stomp on the base of the free-standing target, fixing it in place. ‘What delightful task do you have for me today?’ As I walk back towards the patio, I see Daphne chewing on some blueberries, her eyes roaming over the row of knives I’ve placed on the table. Any trace of her earlier distress is long gone.
Her slick, straight hair is pulled up into a neat ponytail, and her face is void of any tear marks or puffiness. She’s wearing pink leggings again, with the hoodie that I never got back after our first day of training. I’m not mad, though. She wears it better than me. It practically drowns her, coming down to her mid-thighs, but she has the sleeves rolled up so she still has range of motion. The black is a stark contrast to her usual pink or white variety of gym wear, giving her a just-rolled-out-of-my-boyfriend’s-bed-and-needed-something-to-put-on look.
Why do I kinda love that?
Boundaries, Petrov. Boundaries.
‘You wanted to learn knife throwing. Today I’m gonna teach you.’ She looks up at me with an unexpected smile on her face, which slowly morphs into a fully-fledged grin.
‘Finally, something fun.’ I resist the urge to chuckle at her endearing eagerness, remembering what I just told myself about keeping my distance.
Job. Her.
Employee. Me.
Blurring the lines would be a really stupid decision.
I pick up a knife and throw it at the target, hitting the centre with ease. ‘The goal is for you to be able to do this after a couple of lessons. But, before you even touch a blade –’ I pluck the knife that she’s just picked up out of her hands and place it back on the table – ‘you need to learn the basics, so you don’t hurt yourself. Let’s warm up first.’ I hand her the jump rope that she’s actually come to like and walk to the shed to retrieve the mats.
‘I didn’t know they teach knife throwing in the military,’ she says, opening up the rope and starting to jump.
‘They don’t.’
‘Oh… so where did you learn it?’
‘I was in a children’s home when I was a kid. The older boys taught me.’ I cringe at my words. She doesn’t need to know that. No one does, but most of all her.
‘You were in care?’ she asks, abruptly pausing her skipping, a look of concern on her delicate features.
‘Yes. Keep skipping.’
‘That must’ve been hard for you. I’m so sorry,’ she says, beginning to skip once again. I know I shouldn’t look at her but my gaze catches hers anyway. The peaceful sincerity in her voice makes me want to hit a wall. Not many people know I was in the system, and those who do have never sounded as genuinely caring as she just did. Something about this girl makes me want to sit down and tell her my life story. Every single rough detail. But I will never subject someone as pure as she is to something as dark and dirty as my past.
‘It was fine.’ I walk past her and drop the mats on the floor, lining them up, nodding towards them once they’re in the right place. ‘Push-ups now.’
Daphne stops skipping and comes to the mats to start her push-ups, still breathless from the skipping. ‘You must’ve been living in a rough area, if the older children were teaching you how to throw knives.’
‘Keep your lower back down,’ I say, ignoring her implied question. I crouch down beside her and push gently down on the base of her spine, correcting her form. I really shouldn’t be this close to her.
From here I can feel the heat radiating from her body. I can smell her marshmallow and orange blossom scent and hear her quick, shallow breaths, taking my mind to places it really shouldn’t be going.
‘Do you not like talking about your time in care?’ she digs, breathless.
‘No.’
‘Oh, okay… well, if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m always here to listen.’ She sits up and places her hand on my forearm with a soft smile. After a beat, she removes it, standing up. Creating some much-needed space.
This girl is too kind for her own good.
‘Thank you, Miss Green, but that won’t be necessary.’
‘Everybody needs somebody, Milosh,’ she says softly. ‘I’m not saying I have to be your somebody, but I can listen, if you’ll let me. I want to be the same kind of help to you that you were to me last night.’ She holds her slender brown hand out towards me. ‘You help me and I help you. Deal?’
I shouldn’t do it. Boundaries, Petrov. Boun—
‘Deal.’
Well, that was stupid.
I encase her hand in mine and they mould together like a sculptor’s dream. Heat pools in my stomach at the sensation of her touch and I see her mouth gently part, as she takes a small breath. I look from her pillowy lips to her warm, chocolate eyes, trying to read her expression.
Job. Daphne.
Employee. Me.
I snap out of my trance and let go of her hand, taking a step back for good measure.
‘Let’s get started with your stance.’
Walking back into the kitchen to grab some water after training, I run into George.
‘Mr Petrov, could you join me in my study for a moment?’ he says, disappearing out of the kitchen door. I haven’t seen him since last night, and judging by his tone I’m guessing he wants to talk about what happened.
I quickly finish my drink and walk into his office, taking a seat opposite where he is now sitting behind his desk.
He doesn’t pay me any mind as I sit down, continuing to type away on his computer for a few more minutes before turning to look at me.
‘Mr Petrov, your behaviour last night was unacceptable and unprofessional.’
I mean, he’s not wrong. I say nothing, waiting to see where exactly he’s going with this. ‘I have never been spoken to like that by anyone in my own home.’ He makes a dramatic pause as if we’ve got all the time in the world.
‘That being said, I understand your actions. I was confused and angry, and I’d had too much to drink, leading me to take my frustrations out on the wrong people. Normally if anything like this had happened, you would’ve been fired without a second thought. However, you don’t work for me. You’re in my house to help me and you’ve already shown that you are vital to my daughter’s safety, and I was out of line last night, so I’m not going to ask you to leave.’
Oh yippie.
‘All I’m going to say is this: don’t ever physically threaten me again. And…’ Cue another dramatic pause. ‘I’m sorry. I truly am sorry.’ He looks down at the papers on his desk, awkwardly shuffling them around.
‘I’m not the one you should be apologizing to, sir,’ I state simply.
‘Yes, I know.’ He looks back up at me with sincerity in his eyes. ‘I apologized to Amelia and Henry this morning, and now you. Daphne’s last on my list.’
‘She should’ve been first.’
He looks back at me, a blaze of fire briefly clouding his eyes. ‘I know, Mr Petrov.’
‘Good.’ I stand to leave.
‘Anything you’d like to add, Mr Petrov?’ he probes.
‘If you’re expecting an apology, sir, you’re not gonna get one. I’m here to keep an eye out for any Daveeno movement and protect your daughter. It just so happened that last night the person she needed to be protected from was you.’
Guilt.
Guilt and shame are all I see on George Green’s face.
Good.
I turn to leave, but stop short at the door. ‘Sir, your daughter loves you. It’s obvious she loves you very much, but if you continue down this path you will lose her. My advice? Stop lying to her and blaming her for everything. None of this is her fault. Just take the time and explain things to her. You’ll be surprised to see how empathetic she can be.’
He hangs his head. ‘You’re right.’
I watch him for a moment. ‘Sir, I know you told us that you don’t know anything about what Daveeno wants from you, but have you had any more ideas of what it could be?’ He’s not telling me something. I don’t know why but every time I’ve brought up Daveeno he’s shut the conversation down, as if that’s not the sole reason I’m here.
He glances back up at me, an odd, unreadable emotion crossing his face. ‘I’ve been thinking about it and perhaps I know what they’re after.’
I walk back over and take a seat before he continues.
‘Around nine years ago, I was working with MI6 on an antidote formula for a toxin called serum 627. Me and my lab assistant were working tirelessly trying to create it, but we failed. We made the situation even worse. Somehow we managed to concentrate the effects of the serum so that it would not just kill spies painfully and slowly but also leave no sign of foul play. The new serum we created made it look like the agent died of natural causes rather than poison. Not only that, but once they took the serum they would be more susceptible to interrogation as it removed inhibitions, which means that no one had to torture their victim, they could just feed them the serum, get all the information they needed and leave them to die and no one would suspect a thing.’
I take my time and fully process everything George just said before asking, ‘What happened to the formula?’
‘I destroyed it. I was there to make antidotes, not weapons. And with MI6 having a big double agent problem I couldn’t trust anyone, so I got rid of it and all the evidence that went along with it. I don’t know how but I think Daveeno have found out what I created and want the serum for themselves, but I don’t have it.’
‘All these years later? When you haven’t worked with MI6 for nearly nine years? Why would they want it now? How would they even know?’ I’m asking these questions out loud to myself, but George answers.
‘I’m wondering the same things. It doesn’t make sense but that’s the only plausible explanation as to why they’re after me.’
I sigh, my brain mulling through all the possibilities. ‘All right, I’ll inform Major Davis and we’ll see what he says. With this intel he may be able to get something out of Stefan Mikelson. He’s still in their custody after the home attack.’
‘Okay, that’s a good plan. Thank you, Milosh.’
I nod, rising out of my chair and pulling my phone out of my pocket. ‘Sir?’ I turn back at the door.
‘Yeah?’
‘I know this is a very stressful situation but don’t take it out on Daphne. Maybe you should tell her the truth about all of this?’
‘Thank you for your opinion but I’ll deal with my daughter the way I see fit.’
I walk out of George’s office to find Daphne waltzing down the stairs in a pretty floral dress, bag in hand.
‘Miss Green.’ She turns at my voice, her previously relaxed expression now becoming tight and constricted.
‘I’m going shopping, Mr Petrov,’ she says, though I really didn’t ask. ‘You’re welcome to come with me, but I’m going whether you like it or not.’
Oh joy.