Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty-Nine

T he apartment in a city on the coast north of Valletta was a small one-bedroom, but unlike most of the places they'd seen so far, very modern with marble countertops, stainless steel appliances, and a not-enclosed balcony that overlooked the sea.

It was on the fifth floor and had a state-of-the-art security system that included ironwork on the exterior doors that wasn't just decorative. Freya knew how to find a vacation rental for the paranoid traveler. Or ones with Russian spies on their heels.

Kira was dizzy on her feet after the day she'd had. It had started with a visit with Cousin Andre in his hotel room and ended with his invasion of her room.

Now she was in an apartment in Sliema, having left the trussed-up spy in her lovely room with a view of the Grand Harbor. "I think I liked the view of the harbor and Fort St. Angelo better than the dark sea."

She felt Rand's stare as he said, "The view is beautiful from my perspective."

She smiled and carried her bag into the bedroom. Today had been a roller coaster, and it wasn't over yet. She shouldn't act on the impulse she was feeling, but honestly didn't know if she'd be able to restrain herself.

Still, she'd try.

"I'm going to take a shower, then we need to read the notes." It was wild to think she'd had two letters—actual communication with her father's secret "friend"—for hours , but hadn't read them yet. She might as well take a shower. What was another twenty minutes?

"I'll make sure everything is secure while you shower."

"Thank you."

She was practically in a daze as she stripped and stepped into the hot spray, but within a few minutes, she felt rejuvenated. It was nearing eleven p.m., and she had no clue what time it was in the US, which told her the long day had dispelled all traces of jetlag.

She wondered how Rand coped, being a day behind her, but knew SEAL training had probably given him some kind of magic control of his body clock and sleep schedule.

A few hours ago, she'd been prepared to never see him again. Now she couldn't imagine being here without him. In the immortal words of Ferris Bueller, Life moves pretty fast.

Had her father tried to run Rand off because he feared a background check would reveal his and her mother's secrets? It made sense. Her father had always wanted her to be happy, and she couldn't imagine him trying to sabotage a potential relationship for any other reason.

But he'd put his needs above Kira's, and she was fairly certain that day at the hospital and his interference in the weeks that followed were far from the first time he'd prioritized his secrets over Kira's happiness.

T he apartment was locked tight, and Kira was in the shower. Rand checked in with Freya. She had notified her CIA contact about fake Andre, and it was highly likely the man was being extracted from Kira's hotel room as she and Rand spoke.

Whether he lived or died was up to his own people. He'd come after Kira when she was unarmed and alone. Rand didn't feel one iota of remorse for what would happen to him now. He'd probably been the one to bury the real Andre in the backyard. He certainly had other people's blood on his hands.

He hung up with Freya and called his commanding officer to give him an update. The fact that Russian spies were involved meant this remained relevant to the DoD, but it was looking more and more like it was connected to Kira and not JEB Little Creek. As far as his commander was concerned, it had been the right call to send Rand to Malta, and they'd keep him there as long as they could. He was pleased with Freya's handling of the FSB agent through CIA channels. His final order was to keep him in the loop, then he hung up.

Rand booted up his computer—he was glad that with the security on the apartment, he could keep his computer close instead of storing it in the car—and started reading the full dossier on the Kulik family. They were their best lead at this point. On the drive here, Kira had given him the rundown on what Reuben said at the outdoor bar while she drank Sex on the Beach and Rand brooded over a Cisk.

They'd traveled quite a journey since then. Rand knew she and Freya had talked before fake Andre arrived, and he had a feeling that had smoothed over some of Kira's hurt feelings, but it didn't exonerate him. For now, they were on even terms. He was thankful and wouldn't push.

He read the dossier, then rose and went to the kitchen. They'd stopped at a store on their way out of Valletta and gotten a few basics, including a six-pack of Cisk in bottles. He grabbed one and popped off the top and returned to the couch. He scanned the dossier again as he sipped the Maltese lager.

Kira entered the living room, hair still dripping. She wore a pink satin camisole with matching pajama pants, and he wanted a fucking medal for not losing his mind with how sexy she looked.

"You want to shower?"

With you. Yeah.

He shook his head. He wouldn't say the thought aloud. They still had a lot of road to travel before they could return to the place they'd been when she kissed him on the Fort St. Angelo wall.

"You ready to look at the letters?"

She nodded. "It's about time."

As they'd promised Freya they'd do, they photographed everything before Kira split the seal on the letter she'd been given in Birgu. She studied the envelope and the angular script with her father's name and the Birgu address in black ink.

A fountain pen, were he to guess. Who still used fountain pens?

"The postmark is several days after his death."

Rand wrapped an arm around her and gave a gentle squeeze. It was easier to comfort her over Conrad Hanson's passing now that they had an inkling of why the man had rejected him for Kira practically on sight.

Rand wanted to believe he was worthy of Kira Hanson. He wondered if, given a chance, he could have won either or both of her parents over. Conrad was fiercely protective of his only child, but in this, the man had spectacularly failed.

Rand was the one protecting her now.

But then there was Kira herself, who'd proved herself no damsel. She'd brought a baseball bat to Malta and used it without hesitation.

She pulled a single sheaf of paper from the envelope. The writing was in German and, just like the letters she'd found in her dad's fire safe, unsigned.

Rand sat down in a large, plush chair and pulled Kira onto his lap.

"What are you doing?" She wiggled and leaned to stand.

"Please? Let me hold you?"

She stopped squirming and settled into him. "Okay. I think I might need to be held."

He kissed her temple. "And I really need to do the holding." He closed his eyes and saw the bloody, unconscious man on the floor. His arms tightened around her. "Read the letter to me? I don't speak German."

"The writing is stilted, but uses the informal du , not Sie . I think this man was a friend of my father, but German wasn't his first language. I suspect he's Russian, which my father wasn't fluent in. My mother always translated his Russian research materials for him."

"But your mother didn't see these letters."

"I suspect that's why they were written in German. My father grew up in the US and spoke English without an accent, but his German was pitch-perfect too. He lived in West Germany for a few years before I was born."

She settled back against his chest and read it silently before reading aloud for Rand. He followed along, recognizing some of the words on the page.

My dear friend, there is movement in the art world you must know about. I have news of interest to our friends.

In addition, the Stoltz treasures have been located. Come to Malta. Once all is returned, our friendship must end. But we will not grieve, for all will be as it should, with treasures once stolen, now returned.

Come as soon as you are able after the summer solstice. You must be here on July 3rd.

When she finished, he asked, "Is he talking about two different things? The movement in the art world and the Stoltz treasures?"

"If this is a coded letter between spies from opposing sides, and the Stoltz treasure was the password, then I think so."

"You believe Kulik?"

"I sort of do. I mean, I probably shouldn't, but I think we can take his words at face value first, then look for the truth or lies within them."

"And you think Reuben Kulik's father is your father's correspondent." This was what Rand believed, but he wanted to hear Kira's take.

"Yes. One of the previous letters mentioned a dead wife and daughter, and Luka Kulik's deceased family is in his bio. I looked it up last night before I went to sleep. It's cited as the reason he decided to live in Malta half the year even before he was able to buy citizenship."

Rand nodded toward the open laptop. "Yeah, and there's more on that in Freya's dossier. Kulik was tight with Yeltsin in the '90s, and it might be why the Russian president tolerated his oligarch's lengthy stays in Malta, even though his financial empire was in Russia and Belarus. Kulik claimed it was because he wanted to be near the place where he'd lost his beloved wife and daughter, and it seemed Yeltsin accepted that excuse. That puts Luka Kulik in a prime position—both politically and physically—to inform on Soviet and post-Soviet Russia's activities to your father."

"And to pass on whatever intel my father fed him about the US to Russia."

"Yes. There would have to be a quid pro quo. What did Reuben say about his father?"

"Nothing. He claimed he was warning me because he knew my presence at the gallery had caused a stir. He'd never met Cousin Andre before and wanted to warn me about him last night. But you cut him off."

"I know it made you angry, but I'm not sorry you weren't alone with him yesterday."

She stiffened on his lap. "You think I'd have been foolish enough to accept his invitation right then? I'd have said no."

He tightened his arms around her. "Let me rephrase. I'm glad I was there to give you a reason and a buffer. You expected to be alone in Malta last night. But you weren't. Same with today. Kulik knew I was watching you."

"He thought you were stalking me and warned me you might not be the author you claim to be."

He laughed at that, and her body relaxed slightly. Then she surprised him by shifting and kissing his jaw, just under his ear. Her soft whisper sent heat to his belly. "I'm very glad you're here with me. I had no idea what I was walking into."

Rand tapped the letter. "Between this and the other letters you described, I feel like you were being lured here. This was written after your father was dead. It was supposed to be sent to him, but the woman in Birgu knew of his death, so she didn't play her part. She knew, but the author didn't? Seems unlikely. Didn't you say Cousin Andre contacted you with condolences? He knew your dad was dead within a week of his passing, and he began luring you here. You were the person who was supposed to receive this. I think it was meant for you all along. It even gave you the code word to invoke an exchange, like the previous letter."

She nodded. "And the previous letter…my father moved it when he was home from the hospital. I—I haven't told you, but I think the only reason these letters survived for me to find was because I saw you with Staci that night at Morgan's. I came home early, a mere forty minutes after I'd left, just the time it took to drive there and back. I found my father on the floor by the fireproof safe, and there was a fire in his study fireplace. I think he was burning papers, or about to burn them, but then he heard me come home, and he scrambled to hide what was left in the safe before I walked in on him."

Her fingers fiddled with a button on his shirt. "If I'd stayed at the party for even thirty minutes, I bet he'd have burned everything. As it is, I don't know what he managed to burn."

Rand placed a finger under her chin and lifted her head up to face him. He pressed his lips to hers, then slid his tongue inside. A gentle but far from chaste kiss.

She kissed him back with the same sweetness, and heat unfurled in his belly.

He ended the kiss. Her eyes fluttered open. Those wide hazel eyes framed in thick, dark lashes. Free of makeup now and always beautiful.

"I've regretted what you saw that night with every fiber of my being. But now I have to wonder if fate was on our side, because no matter how messed up and dangerous this is, my gut says you need to be here. Even if you were lured here. You need the truth, but also, there's something big going on."

"I feel it too. This isn't just about my parents' secrets. These are spy games, and Russia is currently at war with an increasingly unstable president at the helm. A week ago, there was a coup attempt. It might have only lasted a few hours, but whoever makes the next attempt will have learned from those mistakes."

She leaned toward the table and grabbed the second envelope. "So. Let's see what Luka Kulik has to say to me, assuming this note is from him."

The letter was also written in German, but it was clear who it was meant for.

It is with great pleasure I learned of your arrival, dearest Kira. We have much to discuss. Be at the Mdina gate noon tomorrow. Come alone.

"I read about Mdina on my flight," Rand said. "You know they filmed several King's Landing scenes from Game of Thrones there? I can't wait to see it."

"I presume this is your way of saying I'm not going alone."

"If it helps, I'll be more clear: you are not going alone."

She kissed his neck. "I wouldn't dream of it."

She set the letter aside, turned off the side table lamp, and settled against him. He held her for a long while as they sat looking out at the dark waters of the Mediterranean Sea.

After months of longing and a turbulent day, he had Kira in his arms. He would happily spend the night in this chair, but she needed a good night's sleep because tomorrow was likely to be just as dangerous.

He kissed her temple and said, "Why don't you head to bed? I'll take a shower, then sleep on the couch." The only bedroom had a single, queen-sized mattress. Sharing would be too intimate for their current situation. Not with her wearing only thin satin and him in boxer briefs and a T-shirt. He'd be rock hard with nowhere to escape.

"You're bigger than me. I can take the couch."

He shrugged. "I'm a SEAL. I can sleep on the ground if I have to."

"But you don't have to." She climbed from his lap and stretched.

"I won't take your bed, Kira. I'm fine with the couch."

He'd placed his duffel in the only bedroom when they first arrived. Now he followed her inside to grab his toiletries. On top of his duffel was the bag of books he'd purchased this morning. It had been soaked by the sprinklers, and the damp paper ripped as he set it aside to reach into the duffel to grab his Dopp kit. The book he'd bought for Kira fell out and hit the floor.

She reached down to pick it up. "Shame about the book." She studied the cover. "Maybe it will dry if we set it out in the sun tomorrow?"

"Toss it. I'll buy you a new copy."

"Throw away a book? That's sacrilege."

He laughed. "I'm sure the author won't mind. It's destroyed. He'll get an extra sale."

" I mind. I'll see if I can dry it." She removed the dust cover. Beneath, the hardcover was etched with the title and author name. Rand felt a tremor as she traced the gold letters that spelled Reece Foresman with her finger before flipping it open.

Rand held his breath as she painstakingly separated the wet pages. Peeling them apart with infinite care. Blank page. Title page. Copyright. A second title page with author name and publisher logo.

Finally, she reached the dedication.

Her gaze was idle until the name must've caught her eye.

Then she sucked in a sharp breath and held up the open book. Her eyes were wide with surprise. And there were the words he'd agonized over in late December, two weeks after she'd been abducted:

For Kira. A Valkyrie and a Siren.