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Chapter Twenty-Seven

K ira remained in her seat, sipping her second cocktail long after Reuben left. Rand showed good judgment and didn’t approach her. She didn’t want to talk to him in public.

And she didn’t want to go back to her room, where they could talk in private.

There was too much hurt for her to be able to trust him just yet. But she feared she’d have to trust him because she was more certain than ever that she was in over her head and she needed help.

After twenty minutes, she rose to her feet and wandered up the street to the main road with all the shops and more restaurants. Rand followed her, but as long as he kept his distance, she wouldn’t complain.

It occurred to her that two boozy cocktails weren’t the best dinner, and even though she wasn’t hungry, she needed to eat. She stepped up to the host stand of the first restaurant she saw and requested a table. The heat of the day had lessened as they entered evening hours, but the sun wouldn’t set for another hour and a half, so it was far from cool, and this part of the city lacked the Mediterranean breeze.

My next trip to Malta won’t be in summer.

She tripped over that thought. Would she really come back? The country itself was stunning. The locals were kind. But from the first vaguely threatening text message to learning it was possible her father was a Russian spy, she couldn’t say she was enjoying herself.

Her first European vacation was not going as planned.

She’d really thought her father was a hero, recovering art that belonged to Holocaust survivors.

It was a pretty fantasy. She’d wanted to find proof that her mother’s secret life in the US—Kira’s very existence—had some sort of noble purpose behind it. She’d spun fanciful tales about her mother fleeing the USSR and then working with her father to translate communications for her father that helped him pinpoint which oligarch was living large with someone else’s treasure.

But it was all just fantasy. Her father had been doing something noteworthy, for sure, but exactly who he’d been working for remained a mystery.

Sometimes, history was better left buried.

Her mother had been prone to lengthy periods of depression. There were many half-finished canvases in the basement that had empty cradles or other symbols for a lost child. When Kira was in her late teens, she’d realized her mom must have experienced several miscarriages.

Once, she’d asked, and all her mom had said was, “Don’t look back.” She’d gripped Kira’s hands and repeated the words then added, “Regret is the sharpest knife.”

In two months, Kira would turn forty, an age when having children became increasingly questionable. Once upon a time, she’d fantasized about having children, but as the years passed, she’d realized it wasn’t something she wanted to do intentionally alone. And that was fine. She wouldn’t live a life of regret if motherhood wasn’t in the cards for her.

She’d seen her mother’s sadness due to biology beyond her control. At times, she’d felt inadequate—she hadn’t been enough for her mother.

She didn’t want any of those feelings to haunt her own future.

Rand settled at a table in the same section of the restaurant as hers. She ignored him as thoughts of a future that would never be and a past that made no sense consumed her.

Don’t look back.

The words took on ominous meaning with all the secrets and lies her parents had maintained.

Now she wondered if her mother had meant the words as a directive, not poetry.

R and played by Kira’s rules. He wouldn’t invade her space, but he also wouldn’t leave her unprotected. He sat several tables away and ate a chicken dinner he didn’t taste as she dined with an equal lack of enthusiasm.

The real test would come when they returned to the hotel, which happened all too soon. He waited until the crowd thinned and they were alone on the stair-street that was just two blocks from their hotel before he moved in. “Kira, wait. We need to get you a new phone.”

She paused. He took several quick steps to catch up to her. “Maybe there’s a store still open. I can buy a burner.”

“I’ve got one. I just need to get it from the rental car. It’s only a few blocks from here.”

“Fine. You get it and meet me at the hotel.”

It was a good idea to get her off the street now that the sun was setting, and the detour would take at least thirty minutes because he had to make sure he wasn’t followed.“I’ll walk you to the hotel, then get the phone.”

This would mean she’d read the letters without him, but given that she planned to kick him out of her room, that was going to happen anyway. At least this way, she’d have to let him in if she wanted a clean phone, and he’d have a chance to convince her to trust him again.

He accompanied her all the way to the room, climbing six flights of stairs. He quickly searched the space while Kira waited in the entryway. Seeing no sign of intruders, he said, “Clear.”

She moved deeper into the room, and for the first time in hours, they were alone.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She rubbed her arms. “Just go get me a phone. And it better not be bugged. You aren’t keeping me under surveillance.”

“It’s not bugged to the best of my knowledge. Freya gave it to me at the airport along with cameras, trackers, spider drones like Diana used last December, and listening devices.”

“If it came from FMV, it’s probably bugged.”

“It was intended for my use, not yours, so probably not.”

“I suppose, given that Freya respects you.”

“She respects you .”

“Bull. But also, that’s not your battle. I’ll deal with Freya when I get home. Go get the phone. When you come back, you can grab your stuff and move to the other room they offered you.”

“Kira—”

“I don’t feel safe with you when you refuse to tell me what the danger is. Don’t you see you made me less safe?”

He really couldn’t argue with that.

He turned for the door, then stopped and pulled his phone from his pocket. “I don’t like you being here without a phone. Take mine.”

She took it and touched the screen. “Doesn’t do a lot of good without your passcode. All I can do is answer calls.”

He didn’t hesitate and took the phone back. He said the six-digit code as he unlocked it. He went to settings and clicked the button to add a user and held up the screen camera to capture her face. It only took a moment before he pressed the device back into her hands. “There. You have the keys to the castle. Freya emailed me a dossier on Luka and Reuben Kulik. I suggest you read that while I’m gone.”

S tunned, Kira stood in the middle of the room clutching Rand’s phone for more than a minute after he left.

Giving her access to his phone was the greatest show of trust she could imagine.

Dammit, she was going to have to forgive him now. She needed him, and she’d be a fool to send him away because of hurt pride. Not that what he’d done was minor in any sense, but she did believe he wouldn’t do anything like that again.

He had two strikes, after all.

She held up the phone to her face, and it unlocked just like it was supposed to. It hadn’t been a trick. He’d really done it.

She went to his email and found the one on the Kuliks as he’d suggested. She read the summary provided by Freya. Reuben was two years older than her, exceedingly wealthy, and had big political ambitions in Russia. No mention of Luka having FSB or KGB ties, but he was likely connected to Bratva. There was an attachment that went into greater detail, but it would be easier to read on Rand’s computer.

She then read the messages about fake Cousin Andre. Freya didn’t have any intel on the man being FSB, but then, no one had his real name yet, and even if they did, it was unlikely he’d be flagged as FSB any more than an American operative would be tagged with CIA, DIA, NSA, or whatever intelligence agency they worked for.

These days, even FBI analysts couldn’t tout their credentials. When asked, they would say they worked for the Justice Department and leave it at that.

It hurt to see Freya’s words, and she took small comfort in Rand’s pushback. She noted he never promised to keep Kira in the dark. He just said he’d make the call as things developed.

The phone began to vibrate, and the screen changed to an incoming call.

Freya Lange.

Kira hesitated a moment, then answered. She had no idea how she felt about the woman who was technically her oldest friend and sometimes her client. Today, she didn’t feel like a friend and had assumed the role of boss without Kira’s consent. She opted for a neutral tone and said, “Hello, Freya.”

“Kira. I was expecting Rand.”

“Sorry. He’s not here.”

“Oh. Well then…when will he be back?”

“Freya, this is about me, so tell me .”

There was a long pause, then Freya said, “I’m sorry I told Rand to withhold what we learned about Andre Stoltz from you.”

“Good.” She wasn’t about to thank her or accept the apology. Not now. They could have it out back in DC. “Now why did you call?”

Freya let out a sharp laugh. “You know, I’ve always liked you, Kira, but I really, really like the strong woman you’ve become.”

“Right.”

“I mean it. I was playing you like you weren’t a member of the team because you’re so close to this emotionally. I wasn’t treating you like an operative. And that was wrong. My decision there had nothing to do with my thoughts or feelings about you. It was a straight-up judgment call I’d make about anyone who was emotionally invested in a situation.

“Someday, you’ll meet Bastian and his wife, Bree. Bastian was on Cal and Pax’s A-Team. Bree can tell you how I…well, shit. I don’t even want to admit what I ordered Bastian to do because I didn’t trust Bree could be logical when it came to her family. I was a great CIA officer and a terrible friend. At least with Bree, I was a covert operative first and the friendship came later. But with you, I think I screwed up because you’re important to me.”

Freya drew in a deep breath. “Kira, you’re the only person left alive who also loved Apollo. And I know he didn’t deserve you. I know how he hurt you. But it means something to me that I have a person in my life who knew my family and grieved for their loss. And I’m sorry I never said that to you. Sorry I didn’t hug you and tell you how mad I was at Apollo on your behalf. But I could only deal with my own grief at the time.”

Freya’s voice broke somewhere in there, and Kira sucked in a breath to try to hold back her own tears. She lost the battle and swiped at her eyes, glad this wasn’t a video chat and Rand wasn’t here. One public breakdown a day was enough.

She sniffed and waited until her voice was steady to speak. “Thank you. I did love him. And I hated him. And I know you weren’t in a place to face my mixed emotions when you’d just lost everyone.”

“I’m sorry you had to find out about his girlfriend the way you did. If I had known, I would have tried to find a way to spare you that. But I didn’t find your letter until weeks after his death.”

She swallowed. “Thank you.”

It was surreal to be having this conversation now, when it was Kira’s family that was the issue. More than two decades had passed, and the tears they were both spilling proved that the words were long overdue.

Kira needed to fully let go of the pain Apollo had caused and also allow herself to remember the boy she’d loved. Ever since Freya had returned to her life, she’d known they would have this conversation. It was part of why she’d feared the woman, but also wanted to be her friend.

“We can talk about this more when I’m back in DC.”

“Promise me we will?” Freya’s voice was soft. Almost yearning. It was a tone she hadn’t heard since they were kids. And even then, it had been rare. Freya had always seemed like she had it together compared to Kira’s awkwardness.

“We will. But you have to promise to tell me about Rand too.”

Freya let out a soft shriek. “I knew it. He’s head over heels for you. Has been since December.”

“I hardly think that’s the case, but he’s made his interest clear.”

“Kira, I’ve known the man for more than six years. He dated Staci. He’s brought other dates to get-togethers. And he’s different with you.”

The fluttery feeling when she thought about Rand was back. “Well then, we’ll put him on the agenda when we talk.”

“I can’t tell you about the classified ops, but Morgan can share things that I can’t.”

“Fine. After you and I talk about Apollo, we’ll open a bottle of wine and invite Morgan over for a girls’ night.”

“She’ll be thrilled.”

Warmth settled in Kira’s belly. She very much wanted to be part of Morgan and Freya’s inner circle. Not because she wanted to be a Valkyrie, but because she’d realized exactly how lonely she was in the months since her father’s stroke and passing.

She didn’t need to fear Staci. Or Freya. Or even Apollo’s ghost.

“Okay. So why did you call Rand?”

“I’m afraid your Cousin Andre—the real one—has been found.”

“Afraid?”

“His body was found. By a cadaver dog. He was buried in his own backyard.”

Kira sucked in a sharp breath, the brief emotional catharsis wiped away by the stark news. “When do they think he was killed?”

“I don’t have any information from the medical examiner—or whatever they call them in Germany—as they just found the body today, but it’s a good bet it was months ago. The last time anyone remembers seeing him was late January. He lived alone and worked from home—he had a web-based consulting business, and he sent out a bunch of emails that he was taking a three-month-long cruise at the end of February. It wasn’t until sometime in May when clients and friends began to worry. But the cruise line did have a passenger by that name, and his passport was scanned at several ports. He sent emails from his regular account. His phone had a legitimate ping trail. My guess is he was killed at the end of January, and whoever killed him had a lot of money to maintain the fiction that he was alive for so long.”

A sound at the door told her Rand had returned. She’d been pacing the empty room as she talked, and now she paused in front of the window and stared across the harbor toward the night lights of Fort St. Angelo and Birgu.

The door opened. She turned toward the hall, but from this angle, Rand was out of sight as he latched the door.

“I learned something from Kulik when I had drinks with him tonight. I don’t know how reliable he is, but he said the man who posed as Cousin Andre was my father’s FSB handler.”

Footsteps sounded, and the man she knew only as Cousin Andre entered the room. “Reuben Kulik was correct.”