Chapter 48

Chapter Forty-Eight

K ira stared at the painting on the wall of Grigory's private, one-room art gallery, heart pounding with shock. Her hand went to her throat as she followed the chain down to the pendant with the Black Forest design—careful not to turn off the camera or microphone—that was reproduced in exquisite detail in the painting before her.

The face could be a mirror, with the exception of Kira's forehead scar and the length and style of hair. But none of that was what had her heart racing. No.

The reason her hand trembled and she felt dizzy was this wasn't an old work, an unsigned self-portrait painted when her mother was Alesya Ivanova Kulika.

No. This was painted by Anna Hanson five years ago.

Kira knew because she had posed for it. The painting was her, not her mother.

"How much do you want for it?" she asked Grigory.

"It is not for sale."

"I'll accept it as a gift, then."

"Marry Aleksandr and it's yours."

Bile crawled up her throat. "I thought you wanted me for yourself."

"I considered it, but I prefer Juliette's company, and I don't think she would be content to be my mistress if I married you."

"How charming that I have no say. At least you considered her feelings."

Juliette had left for her art studio when Aleksandr was introduced to the party. She'd said she was feeling creative and wanted to work, but Kira guessed the woman wanted to be away from Grigory's son, who hadn't bothered to hide his disdain for his father's mistress.

Aleksandr had left right after running off Juliette. Now it was just Kira and Grigory in a room that could easily be part of an art museum.

"When did you get this?" she asked.

"Luka sold it to me a year—maybe two—ago."

He was lying. A year ago, it had hung in the bedroom of her DC apartment. The last time she'd seen it was early February, when she met with the movers who'd packed her apartment and moved most of her belongings to her father's basement.

Conrad had been in the hospital at the time, and she hadn't known how long she'd be staying in his house, so the personal belongings that she didn't need on a daily basis had all been packed for long-term storage.

When had it been stolen?

She had to admit, it was the perfect piece to remove. She'd have noticed immediately if one of her mother's self-portraits had been taken. They were merely wrapped in sheets and propped in a corner. She didn't even know if this painting had its own box or if it had been packed with other items.

Should she call out the lie? Did Grigory know where this painting had really come from? Did he know it was of Kira herself, not her mother?

She tilted the pendant with the camera so it would capture the image in HD clarity. The motion would look natural, touching the silver pendant that was so vividly reproduced in the portrait.

No one, not even Freya, had seen the portraits in the basement, so people viewing it for the first time wouldn't pick up on the very subtle differences between mother and daughter. Kira's jaw was slightly wider. Her nose a tad snub. Oh, how she'd envied her mother's button nose when she was growing up.

She spoke to her image as she held the pendant, her words as much for those watching via camera as for Laskin. "My mother gave me the pendant when I posed for this."

" You posed for it?" Grigory's surprise sounded genuine.

"Yes. About five years ago. She gave me the pendant—which she wore nearly every day up to that point—and told me the story of my father giving it to her when they were first courting."

Given that the same pendant appeared in the portrait in Luka's back hallway, she had to wonder which father her mother had been speaking about.

"Luka told me it was your mother."

"He lied. As did you when you said you bought this a year or two ago. This had to have been stolen from my parents' house sometime after early February." She turned to face him. "What I don't understand is why sell it to you ?"

Grigory studied her, his gaze assessing. "I have long admired the works Luka has that were painted by your mother. I prefer her landscapes—her painting of St. Agatha's Tower is, in my opinion, her best work. Dark. Evocative. I would imagine you have a stockpile of brilliant pieces in your basement."

Kira was jealous of this man who had seen paintings by her mother that she'd never gotten to view. "She was brilliant, but she mostly limited her art to portraits in the US."

"A shame." He returned his gaze to Kira's portrait. "I asked many times to purchase the Red Tower piece. Luka kept it, with so many of her other works, in storage. A waste. But he always refused. Then, a few months ago, he offered to sell me this one. I agreed, hoping it meant he would come around on the others." His gaze went from Kira to the portrait. "I wonder if Luka even realized it was you? Would he have sold it to me if he knew?"

"Well, he's interested in selling me to you, so I suppose he would."

"Huh. Yes. I suppose that is so."

"I have zero interest in your son and am not for sale."

"But think of all you'll gain. You'll have everything you could ever dream and an EU passport for unrestricted travel."

"I'm supposed to give up my life and freedom for a passport ? No, thank you." The irony that months ago, getting a passport was her fondest dream. Now she had one and could well lose it along with her American citizenship, but still would never consider this ridiculous offer.

"You can keep your boy toy. As long as you give Aleksandr an heir, he won't care what you do."

"I'm sure my boy toy would be thrilled with that arrangement."

She wanted to leave this house. This island. Even this country. But she had to tolerate this. She was the reason Rand was able to be here, working in the office, hacking the network.

If she flounced off, Rand would be booted.

He'd only been at it about forty minutes. They figured he'd need at least two hours.

Laskin didn't believe there was absolutely nothing he could offer her to make marrying his son appealing, but to buy Rand time, he needed to think she was invested in this game, even if it was only to hear the terms or negotiate a surrender.

She had an idea that could give Rand at least an hour, probably more, and maybe she'd get more answers. She was certain Reuben and Grigory were working together. She rolled her shoulders, bracing herself for the next step needed. At least it wouldn't require spending time with Aleksandr.

"Listen, I'm sick of this. I will not marry Aleksandr no matter how much you pay me. Everyone involved seems to forget that you have nothing to offer me that I want. Even that painting"—she jerked her thumb behind her, toward the portrait—"already belongs to me. I can prove it was stolen."

"Good luck getting Interpol to take it from me."

She would steal it back herself, then.

"Call Reuben. Make him come here. We need to talk and call off this farce."

She had little doubt Reuben would come. Waiting for him should buy Rand lots of time.

"Why not go to his villa?"

"Several reasons. First, we need neutral ground, which their villa is decidedly not. Second, it creeps me out. My memories are vague, and everything about the place is unsettling. Third, I don't want to see Luka. I don't trust him. Don't remember him except fearing him. But I remember Reuben. He was a good brother."

This was all true.

Grigory studied her and then gave a sharp nod. "Why not? He and I have business to discuss anyway."

R euben's arrival was distressingly quick and heralded by the whirr of helicopter blades. She should have realized that billionaires didn't bother with boats when they could island hop by helicopter.

So much for buying time.

Reuben entered the salon where she waited with Grigory and Aleksandr. For his part, Aleksander showed no interest in Kira and appeared to resent being made to spend even fifteen minutes with her while they'd waited for Reuben. She figured he had important video games to play and guessed he went through the motions of saying and doing the minimum of what he needed to in order to keep his father's purse strings open.

If she agreed, she had no doubt he'd marry her. It would change nothing in his life except perhaps his residence if they moved to a new estate.

Kira was baffled as to how both families intended to coerce her into agreeing. Did they really think money would be enough for her to accept the horrific arrangement? Were they so deeply embedded in their patriarchal world that they didn't realize she could and would make her own choices?

She wasn't Nadia, desperate for power in a life that never held any for her. Nadia likely thought the wealth she'd gain from being Aleksandr's wife would give her autonomy, not realizing that she had more autonomy as his mistress than she ever would as an official member of the Laskin patriarchy.

Grigory rose from the couch when Reuben entered the room. "We will let you talk in private." When Aleksandr made no move to follow, Grigory glared at his son. "Come, Aleksandr."

The young man scowled. "Things were finally going to get interesting." He stood and followed his father from the room.

"He's so very charming," Kira muttered under her breath before facing her brother. She didn't stand to greet him or move to shake his hand. "I didn't think you'd come so quickly."

"Of course, dear sister. Father was disappointed you didn't request his presence too."

"I'm not ready to talk to Luka. I don't know him. But you, I remember. I have a lot of questions."

"As do I, baby sister."

She guessed he'd tag her with sister as often as possible, landing the blow that had sent her reeling yesterday over and over. She reminded herself that today wasn't about family. Everything she was doing was to buy Rand time and to gather her own intel. "Why didn't you tell me who you were—and who I am—on Friday?"

"I wanted to see if you knew already."

"And Saturday, when you told me Conrad was a spy, why didn't you tell me then?"

"I wanted to see if you knew about the spying. If you were here to finish Conrad's job."

"What kind of intel could I possibly have that would be of interest to Russia?"

Reuben smirked. "You were abducted last December in connection with a terrorist and artifact smuggling ring. Don't play innocent." He stepped forward until he loomed above her seated position. He tapped the puckered red line on her forehead. "You were involved up to your pretty scar. Were you working for Conrad?"

It had never occurred to her that Reuben would believe her role in that was any bigger than it actually had been. "I was abducted because one of the men involved wanted to own me. I'd had another bad run in with him just hours before my abduction. That's all it was."

There was more, but none of it was relevant today.

When Reuben said nothing, she tried a different tack. "Was it you who had my portrait stolen, or was that Luka's doing?"

"Your portrait?"

"Yes. Mine."

Reuben crossed the room, navigating around a marble bust that could well be an original of Ancient Greek origin, one of Juliette's sculptures, and a Murano glass vase. He paused in front of her mother's painting, which hung alongside an Old Master from the High Renaissance.

"Huh. It is you. Should have realized. The pendant made me think it was Mama."

"Who stole it from my basement?"

He shrugged. "Someone Papa hired, I'm sure."

"Was it the same man who poisoned my dad?"

Reuben turned to face her. "Why dear sister, what a terrible accusation. Whyever would you say such a thing?"

"Russians do love their poisons. I have little doubt you've developed one that can cause a massive stroke."

"Can you prove it?"

"Even if I could, it would have been one of your minions. I doubt you or Luka do your own dirty work. When the first attempt failed, did you send your assassin back to finish the job?"

"For what it's worth, it wasn't me. That was Papa's vendetta. I preferred when you were dead."

W as that a threat?

Rand's pulse thrummed as he paced in front of the laptop. He faced the screen camera and directed his words to Vicki. "I should take a break. Find Kira and ask her what the artist character's motivation could be."

"Don't you dare." Freya's voice was soft and low. "She's doing great. You'll just break her stride. And I need you there to open another link. Another computer just signed on to the network. It might be Grigory's since he left Kira and Reuben alone."

She was right. He knew she was right. But damn, he hated this.

He sat with his profile to the window. Movement caught his eye. He turned to the door as Nadia entered the office, carrying a pitcher of sangria, of all things. "Mr. Laskin asked me to bring you refreshments."

He highly doubted that.

"Thank you, but I'm not drinking while I'm working."

He rose from his seat and moved away from the computer. The last thing he needed was for her to spill a full pitcher on the laptop that was the main portal to all the computers and phones that were logged in to Wi-Fi.

He took a step toward her. She smiled broadly, taking his movement as a sign of interest.

She set the pitcher on the table and raked him with her gaze, her eyes narrowing in a way he'd bet she practiced in the mirror. She bit her bottom lip. "You are so big."

She really needed to work on her come-ons. But then, she was so very young.

How should he play this? Nadia was a potential source. Sending her away could shut that door. He also didn't want to get her in trouble with the boss, not when Teague could keep tabs on the Laskins through her.

But then, the boss could well have sent her to distract him.

In his ear, Freya said, "Be receptive, but cautious."

He was in view of the camera on the laptop and the camera in the room. Everyone was watching.

He studied her from head to toe, then smiled approvingly. "Did your boss really send you here?"

He was sixteen years older than her. He felt like a dirty old man.

She cocked her head and took another step toward him. When she was right in front of him, she leaned in and whispered, "No." She ran a finger down his chest. "I thought you might be lonely."

He gently removed her finger from his chest. "I'm here with Kira."

She pouted. "Haven't you heard? She's going to marry Aleksandr."

He let out a sharp laugh. "I don't think so."

"Oh, she will. He has assured me. I tried to stop her from coming here and stealing my Aleksandr, but she is here."

The hair on the back of his neck came to attention. In his ear, Freya said, "The fuck?"

He definitely needed to get this woman to talk. "And because she's taking your Aleksandr, you're here for me?"

She grinned. "You are very handsome. And big."

"I'm not a piece of meat."

He imagined Teague and Chris and the others snickering as they watched. He'd bet anything one of them had used the word himbo in the last ten seconds. He'd laugh if the situation weren't so deadly serious.

"Kira won't marry Aleksandr. She hasn't even met him."

"She's met him. While you are stuck here. He is very handsome and richer than you, and he doesn't have to waste her vacation with boring work."

"She's not interested in money."

"Oh, but she likes art. Aleksandr can give her her heart's desire."

"She's been offered that before by a man just as rich. She said no. It happened very publicly. It was even on the news."

Nadia pouted. "Yes. That was when Aleksandr saw her. The woman from the painting. We were watching the news in bed, and suddenly, he shouted, ‘It's her! It's her!' then he left me and ran to speak to his father."

He'd figured the Kuliks had found Kira because her face—so like her mother's—had been on the news many times since December. This was the first confirmation they'd had of this theory. "When was this?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Months ago."

"Before Christmas?" He'd heard Kira say her portrait had been stolen sometime after the new year, but Aleksandr could have seen the painting at the Kulik villa.

"After, I think. I don't know."

Kira's face had been on the news periodically since then, as the investigation continued and trials drew near.

"And when did you find out Aleksandr intends to marry her?"

Her brow furrowed with thought. "A week ago. He told me she was coming and they would get engaged."

"Last Monday? Or before?" Monday was the day before the gunman shot two sailors on base. The only person who knew Kira was going to Malta at that point was Cousin Andre. Not even Freya had known until she'd called and asked Kira to substitute for Diana.

"Yes. Sunday. Monday. Sometime then. I was big mad. Aleksandr said I could still be his mistress. Like Juliette." Her lip curled. She clearly considered herself above the renowned glass artist.

"And you tried to stop Kira from coming. What did you do?"

She smiled and pressed close to him. "I'll tell you, but first you have to kiss me."

His hands landed on her hips, intending to nudge her backward, but her words stopped him. He figured at this point, she was doing this for the conference room camera. Probably hoping to cause Kira the same pain she was in over losing her shot at the princess-cut diamond ring.

He figured she'd say anything to get him to kiss her, but she happened to have said the one thing that would work.

She couldn't know who he was or what he was after. No one outside of NSWC and FMV knew exactly what happened on the base last Tuesday. The shooting was attributed to a lone gunman and Kira's name was nowhere to be found in the news reports.

But he couldn't be obvious, or she'd wonder why he was eager to know her secret.

He stroked a thumb along her jaw. She was a beautiful young woman. Young being the operative word. "What's your game here, Nadia?"

He was sick at the idea Kira would see this. It would bring back Apollo's betrayal and the hurt of seeing him with Staci. But this was the job they'd both signed on for. He had to see it through.

"She can't have him. He's mine . For years, I have waited. She shouldn't have come. I warned her."

The text Kira received her first night in Malta. Nadia was the source. Freya had the number. Now she could match it to the phones connected to the villa's Wi-Fi.

"You should be asking me to take her away, then, instead of trying to seduce me."

"Grigory will never let you take her. He made a deal."

"She doesn't belong to Grigory. Or Luka. Or Reuben or even Aleksandr."

"Do you think she belongs to you?"

"I wish. But no. Not even me. She's not property. You are not property."

"Ha! I have been property my whole life."

He feared that was true.

"You should quit this job. Find another. Move out."

"My passport is Russian and in the hands of my employers. I'm here at their whim."

That was probably illegal, but he had no idea what Maltese laws were regarding household staff and foreign workers.

He leaned down and brushed his lips over hers. "What did you do, Nadia?"

"Nothing bad. I sent a message for Reuben, using Aleksandr's computer."

He kissed her again, lingering a moment longer. He whispered, but the earbuds would catch his words for the team in Virginia. "For Reuben? Why for him?"

She pressed her mouth to his and slipped her tongue between his lips. He responded lightly, then pulled back and waited for her whispered answer, delivered directly into his earbud microphone. "He promised me if I sent the message, she wouldn't come. But it had to be from Aleksandr's computer, or it wouldn't work."

He moved to press his lips to her ear. "What did the message say?"

"Gibberish. Something about German children or chocolate and a small stream."

Kinder—the last name of the gunman—meant children in German. It was also a popular brand of chocolate made in Germany. He'd bet money that stream and creek could be used as interchangeably in Russian as they could in English. Little Creek.

He slid a hand down her back and over her butt, hating the action, but he needed to keep her on the hook as he asked the last question. "When did you send this message?"

"Monday? No. Tuesday. Why does it matter? She is here. Reuben lied."

No. Reuben hadn't lied, but he had failed.