Don't Look Back, page 2
As expected, there were grumbles when she introduced herself, but they dissipated when she explained Diana was recovering from an emergency appendectomy.
A student in the front row raised his hand. She hadn’t planned to take questions until after each topic was covered, but she hadn’t begun yet, so she nodded for him to proceed.
“Are you the same Dr. Hanson who was abducted in connection with Dr. Edwards and the terrorist leader Makram Rafiq?”
Her throat went dry. She should have expected this. It was strange that she hadn’t. The trial for the two men who’d abducted her would likely begin in the fall and was surfacing again on the news as legal dominos lined up. Her abduction had been a side story to the bigger, horrific crimes committed by the terrorist leader and his American accomplices, but she’d had her share of media attention, especially back in December and January.
She nodded and said, “I’m not able to discuss the events of last December any more than Diana could if she were here. Trials are pending, and we won’t do anything to jeopardize the prosecution.” She picked up the remote to start the presentation. “We’ve got a lot to cover, so let’s begin.”
The first session went well enough. During her lunch break she texted Diana to tell her things were going fine and ask how she was feeling.
The reply came from Diana’s boyfriend, Lieutenant Chris Flyte.
Chris
Thanks, Kira. D is sleeping but doing better today. So thankful you could step in.
Kira
Of course.
It had been an ordeal to arrange these workshops. A last-minute cancellation for the very first session could have doomed the contract, and Diana had moved to Virginia Beach to be with Chris. Any work she could get locally was a bonus.
Saw some posts in the base chats that tagged you and the news reports from Dec. Hope that wasn’t an issue.
Everyone was so careful around Kira’s mental state. With good reason. She’d just been starting to process what had happened in December when her dad suffered a massive stroke. He was hospitalized for nearly a month. Three weeks after returning home to Kira’s care, just when they thought he was through the worst and had a good chance of recovering most of his speech and mobility, he died suddenly in his sleep.
She gave Chris the same answer she’d been giving everyone the last few months.
I’m fine.
And she was. Now. She fully expected to fall apart later. After Malta. After she had answers.
Then the grieving could begin.
She stared at the phone for the awkward moment of wondering if the conversation was done or if she needed to say “bye.” The joys of group chat with people one didn’t know well.
Her stomach growled. She had only forty-five minutes for lunch. She’d figure out the rules of texting with one of the SEALs who’d saved her life another day.
She didn’t know if she’d ever quite be comfortable around Chris Flyte, and he wasn’t even the SEAL who’d found her lying on the floor, battered and at her worst.
She still shuddered at the state she’d been in when Lieutenant Commander Randall Fallon had found her. She knew she’d regained consciousness. If it could be called that. She was pretty sure she’d said something to him, but had no clue what.
Later, she’d told her father to send him and the others who waited at the hospital home. She couldn’t face anyone.
By the time she was ready to face Rand again, he was gone. Then he was deployed. Or maybe he’d been avoiding her. She’d never be sure.
And then her father had the stroke. Still, two weeks after he’d returned from the hospital, with her father’s encouragement—some might even call it nagging—she decided to leave him home alone and attend the baby shower for Morgan’s second child.
She arrived more than an hour late, and as she parked her vehicle, she spotted Rand up against his car with a petite, gorgeous Latina woman Kira had met once at FMV’s offices. Staci was a grad student in cultural heritage preservation who’d been a coworker of Morgan’s when they both waited tables at Double D, a restaurant known for its busty, scantily clad servers.
Staci was beautiful and bold and everything Kira wasn’t.
She wasn’t sure if Rand and Staci had kissed, but regardless of whether or not lips were involved, there had definitely been a moment between the attractive couple. Then Rand opened the passenger door, and Staci climbed inside. Kira ducked in her seat as Rand drove by. She’d waited until they were gone, then she started her engine and drove home to her ailing father. She did not have the energy for peopling after witnessing that.
She’d missed her shot with Lieutenant Commander Randall Fallon when she turned him down that fateful December day, but she couldn’t regret it. He’d accepted her no, but he’d left the door open by entering his number into her cell phone. That act had probably saved her life.
She’d texted Help to Rand in the seconds before she was kidnapped. Without her message, no one would have known she’d been abducted, and Diana wouldn’t have taken an enormous risk that led to her being found before the man who’d paid for her abduction had the opportunity to rape her.
She’d done the right thing in turning Rand down then. It was just a shame that by the time she was ready to maybe give him a yes, he’d met someone better.
She let out a sigh. Of course he was on her mind today, given she was teaching on his base and had just exchanged texts with one of his teammates. Thankfully, no SEALs were slated to take these classes. Diana had another series of lectures just for special operators that would begin next month.
Kira locked the classroom and headed to her car. She’d grab lunch at a drive-through. The car line was long, however, so she parked and went inside the fast-food restaurant.
A young Black woman in front of her in line did a double take, then smiled and said, “Dr. Hanson. I enjoyed your class this morning. You won’t believe how many times I’ve had to tell some dumbass on deployment to leave artifacts on the ground or that buying an artifact from a rando on the street is funding the very terrorists we’re there to stop.”
Kira smiled. “It’s an endless battle. Thanks for taking it on. Many choose to look the other way, especially when the person doing it is a friend or peer.”
“I’m planning to study archaeology when I’m out of the Army. I want to specialize in Black history.”
“There are a lot of opportunities in programs focused on decolonizing archaeology and anthropology.”
“I’m two years out, but I’m already searching schools and programs. Any you recommend?”
“I’m more familiar with art history programs in general, and when it comes to anthropology, I’m disappointed to say that efforts to decolonize the profession at the university level began after my time, so I’m not current with the most effective professors and schools.”
“But you’re so young!”
Kira smiled at the familiar refrain. “I’m older than I look. I got my PhD ten years ago.”
“When you were what, twenty?”
“Closer to thirty.”
“Wow. What moisturizer do you use?”
Kira didn’t want to say it was probably more about a life spent indoors and out of the sun than a good skin regimen, so she smiled and said, “Just good genes, I guess.”
At least the too much time indoors thing would change with the trip to Malta. She was going for family research, but she’d have plenty of time to wear a bikini and swim in the Mediterranean. She’d walk along the walls of forts that were nearly five hundred years old and would feel the warm Mediterranean breeze on her skin as she looked across the water and tried to imagine what the sea had looked like as the Ottoman Empire attacked and eventually captured Fort St. Elmo during the Great Siege.
She would visit the Blue Lagoon on the island of Comino and hike to see the megalithic temples on the island of Gozo. And she would drink fruity cocktails and be bold and flirty with handsome strangers. She would do all these things outside, in the searing Maltese sunshine. Starting tomorrow.
The line moved forward, and the young soldier got her food. Moments later, Kira had hers and nodded to the woman as she headed out the door.
She had just survived an unplanned social interaction. Good practice for her trip.
The next session went better than the first. No one asked awkward questions about her abduction in relation to Makram Rafiq’s arrest. She got into the groove with Diana’s presentation materials now that she had one session under her belt. The third would be a snap.
She only had a fifteen-minute break between sessions two and three. She dashed to the ladies’ room. There was a line when she got there, but thankfully, it moved quickly. By the time she was done, the room was quieter.
She washed her hands and checked her makeup. After reapplying lipstick, she stared at her face in the mirror and breathed deeply. The scar on her forehead stood out in bright red on her pale skin. Over time, she imagined it would fade to white, but it was still fresh six months later.
Even with the scar, she looked so much like her mother.
After her mom died, her father would cup her cheeks, smile, then say, “It is my greatest joy that your mother lives on in you.” But in the weeks before his stroke, he would scowl as his finger touched the ugly red wound, the only visible evidence of her abduction. He didn’t say his thoughts aloud, but she knew him well.
“It’s not Freya’s fault, Dad.”
“She—and her whole family—were always trouble.”
Considering what had happened to Freya’s family, his words were downright cruel, and she had to wonder at what had made her once sweet father into a man with such a mean streak.
Maybe it was triggered by facing his own mortality. It was certainly fueled by fear for her.
She closed her eyes and took a final deep breath.
Today, I am a Valkyrie.
When she returned to the classroom, it was nearly full. She glanced at her watch and gave a small sigh of relief to see she had two minutes to spare.
She kept her head down as she traversed the center aisle to the front of the room, wading through a sea of camouflage.
One more class. Two hours. Then Malta, sunshine, and answers.
She fiddled with Diana’s lecture notes, hearing the low buzz of conversation as the last students filed in.
Her throat was dry, and she was glad to see the empty water bottle on the lectern had been replaced with a fresh one. She pulled up the spout and raised her head as she squeezed the bottle to fill her mouth.
That’s when she saw him. Sitting in the front row, just feet in front of her. Blond, blue-eyed, muscled perfection. Lieutenant Commander Randall Fallon.
The water hit her throat, and she choked, involuntarily spewing a geyser in his direction.
She coughed and clapped a hand over her mouth.
Drops of water dripped down his handsome face as he grinned. “Hello, Kira.”
Chapter Two
Rand was glad for Kira’s penchant for keeping her head down when entering a room. It had given him time to brace himself for her reaction to seeing him. He’d imagined this moment a thousand times in the last six months, but never envisioned this. Her invading his territory. On his base, teaching classes, looking every bit as sexy-librarian as she had six months ago.
He’d seen the posts about the hot teacher in one of the base chat groups and had been irritated but not surprised that Diana was being objectified by her students. Scrolling down further, he’d been stunned when the name of the substitute teacher was posted.
Now he knew why Chris was out on sick leave. And he finally had a chance to see Kira when she couldn’t turn him away.
He’d expected surprise, been braced for anger, hoped to see a kindle of excitement.
What he got was water in the face. Par for the course, really.
Her pale white skin flushed a bright red as she caught her breath and said, “Rand! Er…Lieutenant Commander Fallon. I’m so sorry! I didn’t expect to see you…”
She was adorable flustered. But then, after about ten minutes alone with her, he’d been smitten and thought she was adorable no matter what her mood or manner.
He wiped the drops of water from his face with a bandanna as he chuckled. To be fair, she’d barely splattered him. He deserved much worse.
He hated that she’d seen him with Staci, and later, he should’ve called her when her father died. But he couldn’t tell her what he believed her father had done, not when she was deep in grief. Failing to offer an explanation for his absence would hardly be a comfort.
“It’s good to see you, Kira.” He didn’t think he’d ever said truer words. The last time he’d looked into her eyes, her face had been swollen and her forehead split open. It was damn good to see her today, bruise-free.
He glanced around the room, which had gone silent at some point after Kira choked upon seeing him. “Er…I hope you don’t mind my crashing your class.”
Her gorgeous, long-lashed hazel eyes narrowed, but a smile tugged at her perfect red lips. She took a step toward him, but remained just out of reach. “This session is pretty basic for someone with your experience and type of deployment. I’m sure you know Diana will be teaching a more advanced class for Navy and Army special forces next month.”
That almost-smile was everything. He grinned back, feeling more confident by the moment. A lot of women found him attractive, and he was fairly certain Dr. Kira Hanson was within that Venn diagram. He dropped his voice to just above a whisper. “I don’t mind redundancy in education. SEALs are all about training and learning. We practice over and over, even when we have a skill down.”
Her face, which had returned to her natural pale peach, flushed again as she rolled her eyes. “Your choice, of course, but you’ll probably be bored.”
With Kira at the lectern? Never.
“Can we chat after class?”
She grimaced. “Actually, I’m on a tight schedule and need to hit the road.”
“Five minutes? Please?”
She huffed out a sigh. “Fine. But that’s all I can spare.” She glanced at her watch. “And I’m now running behind.” She turned and took her place at the lectern.
Rand settled into his front-row seat. After six months of wondering, waiting, and wanting, in two hours, he’d get a five-minute, private, face-to-face with Dr. Kira Hanson.
Kira smiled at the roomful of students who’d just witnessed her spew a mouthful of water on the commander of a Navy SEAL team.
Don’t try this at home, kids. I’m a professional.
But as usually happened in these sorts of situations, the ridiculousness of the moment took the edge off. Session one had been fine, two even better, but three… Well, she stuck the landing.
Or rather, since she was pinch-hitting, it was a home run.
Her ego appreciated that this was the session in which Rand was front row, center, even though she avoided his gaze the entire time. She was working. Dialed in. This was her forte.
The students laughed at her—or rather Diana’s—jokes, and where appropriate, Kira expanded on her expertise when it came to identifying fake provenance for potentially legal sales. Provenance traps were the bread and butter of forgers and fakers, and their prey ranged from big-cat super-rich collectors to tiny-kitten servicemen and women looking to bring home a souvenir from deployment.
She clicked to the slide that listed the fines and felony charges one faced when bringing looted artifacts into the US. “Nothing spoils a homecoming more than being arrested at the end of the gangplank.”
A few people snickered, but there was enough uncomfortable shifting in seats to tell her that the message hit home. She did the thing she usually avoided and met the gazes of random students. “If you have in your possession artifacts or art that might have been fraudulently obtained, there are amnesty programs to return the item to the country or community where it belongs. Likewise, if you have family members who might have taken art or antiquities in the past, you can contact the Monuments Men and Women Foundation to discuss repatriation without penalty. The Foundation doesn’t care that your grandpa—or in this room, more likely great-grandparent—took a relic from a church or saved an illuminated manuscript from a Nazi book burning, but then kept it for him or herself. The mission is to return the works to their rightful owners. In some cases, there are rewards of up to twenty-five thousand dollars.”
She touched the remote to give the MMWF website information, and an image of the Foundation’s WWII Most Wanted Art deck of cards, which showcased some of the major works that remained missing since the war. “We’ve arranged with the Foundation for all class attendees to receive their own deck of cards. Grab one from the table at the back of the room on your way out. This concludes the prepared lecture, and we have”—she glanced at the clock—“five minutes for questions.”
She cruised through the Q&A, and next thing she knew, it was over. And it had been easy. Fun, even.
But the most intense part of the day—five minutes that loomed both ominous and wonderful—was about to start.
Chapter Three
Several students made their way to the front of the room to ask Kira questions before filing out. Rand sat back and watched the woman, who’d transformed while teaching into the person he’d spent a few intriguing hours with last December.
She’d started out timid when they first met too. But once she warmed up, she’d been radiant. It was the same today. He’d enjoyed the metamorphosis when it was just for him, but it was even more impressive to watch her bloom in front of a lecture hall full of strangers.
And now he enjoyed watching her in the one-on-one chats with the students. She laughed, made jokes, and then deftly ushered them out of the room as she packed up her teaching materials.
