Page 62 of Mile High Ruin

“I am considering murder.”

She exhales. “Please don’t.”

“I have not agreed.”

“Vadim.”

I look at her. “Fine.”

Her brows rise.

“For now.”

“That is not reassuring.”

“It’s the best offer available.”

Another faint smile touches her mouth.

I could stay here indefinitely just to keep seeing it return.

The realization unsettles me. I don’t know this woman outside the flights we’ve taken together; she’s essentially my employee. Yet the need to remain beside her feels physical, almost compulsive, as if leaving this room while she is still shaken would require me to tear something loose from inside myself.

That is not how I operate. I don’t become attached quickly.

I don’t become attached at all.

Attachment creates predictable weaknesses, and predictable weaknesses eventually become weapons in somebody else’s hand.

Sloane Mercer should be an amusing complication that ends when this aircraft lands. Instead, I find myself wondering when she will fly with me again.

She looks toward the door. “I should probably go back to my seat.”

“No.”

Her gaze returns to me. “No?”

“You can sleep here.”

She actually laughs once, as though I’ve said something absurd. “I’m the flight attendant.”

She says it as if that should solve the matter.

I look around the bedroom. “And?”

“And flight attendants don’t sleep in passengers’ beds.”

“You are not working for the remainder of this flight.”

“I’m absolutely working.”

“No.”

Her eyes narrow again. “There are two attendants aboard this aircraft, and one of them is me.”

“There are two attendants aboard this aircraft, and one of them was assaulted by the captain twenty minutes ago.”

“I don’t need special treatment.”