Don't Look Back, page 20
Armed with the address of their destination, Rand used paracord to bind the man to the bench to keep him from chasing after them. It was lucky there was no one in the treed garden across from the main Mdina gate right then. Taking no chances, Rand was fast with his knot tying, and the Russian was bound in a flash.
They set off, leaving the blessed shade and crossed the street in front of the gate. They hopped on the first bus that passed a moment later. Rand tapped his credit card twice, and they were off on the crowded conveyance. Even if the young man tried to follow, there was no way he’d choose to cause a scene in front of so many witnesses. He was already a walking failure. That would seal the deal.
They hopped off the bus a mile away, then crossed the town of Rabat on foot to where Rand had parked the rental car hours before.
“I’m sure the kid will have found a way to call his bosses and warn them we’re coming by now.”
Rand had left the Russian’s phone on the bus, which was on its way to St. Paul’s Bay, if Kira had read the signs correctly. “Do we go straight to the address, or go back to the apartment?”
“Let’s see what Freya can tell us about the address.”
Freya—who Kira figured hadn’t slept in days—said the address was a restaurant near Popeye Village, which was the set for the 1980 movie Popeye, starring Robin Williams and Shelley Duvall.
“Kid played us,” Rand said.
“Sounds like it. Okay. Go to Valletta and check out the hotel? See if fake Andre is still there? It would be the ideal location if they want to send me another message.” The hotel had a major disadvantage over the apartment. It wouldn’t be safe. They couldn’t relax. No making love. No sleep. “Or we can return the apartment, where I can relax and finish this really good book I’m reading.”
Rand smiled. “As much as I love that idea, we need to play offense while we’ve got the ball. We have the address for Luka Kulik’s estate. I say we pop in and say howdy.”
She wanted to take a break from this chaos train but knew he was right. This was her quest, after all. It was time to make a move into enemy territory.
The gated estate was every bit as lavish as one would expect from a Russian oligarch who’d owned it since before oligarchs even existed and the Soviet Union was the big red threat in the east. Or in this case, northeast.
But as the car took the winding road up the hill to the gated estate, Kira was left breathless and speechless with every turn. Her face flushed and her stomach fluttered as each twist in the driveway triggered an aching sense of familiarity.
She knew the pale brownish-gray limestone wall that secured the property. Some part of her mind recognized the archway that capped the vertical iron-barred gate. Beyond the bars, the fountain was as eerily familiar as her mother’s sad smile.
She gripped Rand’s hand as they approached the small stone security booth. Before their car came to a complete stop, the iron bars swung wide and the guard inside the booth waved them through.
Kira was almost dizzy with the feeling of déjà vu as they passed through the gate and circled the fountain. Rand stopped the car in front of the ornate Mediterranean villa entrance. It was the stuff of childhood princess fantasies with colorful mosaic tile doors and pavement flanked by palm trees and flowery shrubs manicured to perfection.
“I’ve been here, Rand. I know it. Just like I knew I’d been in Birgu.”
“We need Freya to find out what year Kulik bought the place. For you to have been here in childhood, it would have to be well before the fall of the Soviet Union.”
Kira stared at the faintly familiar fountain as she considered the timeline. “His status in the Communist Party could well have meant he was given more freedoms. And it’s possible he was an unofficial ambassador. The Maltese Embassy was established in Moscow in 1982, and the first commercial agreement between Malta and the USSR was signed in 1979. Plus, there was that 1988 Malta summit with President Bush and General Secretary Gorbachev. Freya said Kulik and Gorbachev were tight.”
“But now he’s an oligarch in a position to take his money and run, while his son seeks a ministerial role in the next Russian government.”
“It’s got to be maddening to Reuben that his father controls the money and could spike his prospects with little effort.” She opened her car door. “Let’s see who’s home and find out how chummy father and son are.” Better to focus on that than the knowledge this wasn’t her first time entering this house.
She believed her father was “friends” of a sort with the elder Kulik, but surely he hadn’t brought her and her mother here?
Rand placed a hand on her thigh before she climbed from the seat. “We stick together every minute. I don’t care if you need to use the bathroom. We will officially enter the peeing-with-the-door-open stage of this relationship if we have to.”
She smiled. “So soon? We haven’t even entered the sex-in-the-shower stage.”
His beautiful blue eyes filled with a sexy heat. “We’ll remedy that as soon as possible.” Then his mouth was on hers in a hot, fast, deep kiss that sent heat straight to her core.
After the kiss, she held his warm gaze and moved her hand from the back of his neck to run her thumb over the spot just beneath his lip where she’d left a smear of lipstick. “I can’t wait.”
She released him and reached into her purse. She handed him a tissue to clean up and found the tube to reapply. She checked her appearance in the visor mirror, smoothing her hair. She took a deep breath to calm herself. Her social anxiety hadn’t plagued her since the first night at the reception, but now she felt a flutter of a different kind of nerves.
“You look beautiful.” Rand’s voice was low and reverent. He meant it, and that bolstered her.
Later, she’d marvel at how wild it was that a man as incredible as Lieutenant Commander Randall Fallon was so clearly taken with her, but for now, she’d just enjoy the ride. “I’d kiss you for that, but then we’d have to start over, and we’d never get out of this car.”
Of course, that had a certain appeal.
“You got this.”
“I wouldn’t without you.”
He kissed her nose. “We got this.”
She slid toward the open car door. “Then let’s do it.”
The car beeped with the sound of the alarm arming. He took her hand as they walked up the stone steps. Her belly rolled, and she was thankful for the physical contact. Her mother’s voice was back. Her words were unintelligible, possibly Russian, but the tone was there. The warmth.
Her mother had been here with her, she was sure of it.
A shiver of fear ran down her spine. She knew now she’d learn more about her parents today than she’d ever bargained for. The truth had settled at the edge of her consciousness, like a forgotten word or name that teased the mind, staying just out of reach.
The door opened wide as they approached, and they were greeted by a male servant. “I am told to bring Miss Hanson into the main gallery to wait.”
Wait for what…or whom?
But she didn’t bother asking. If their host was going to pretend this was a planned visit, so would she.
The man paused before leading them down the hall. “Mr. Fallon is to wait here.”
“No,” they said in unison. Rand’s grip on her hand tightened.
The butler—or whatever his title was—paused for a long beat, his gaze dropping to their hands.
“We’ll do this another time, then,” Rand said, turning for the door.
She moved with him. They were united in this. The sooner they left, the sooner they’d get back to the apartment and could try shower sex. She wasn’t sure she wanted the answers she’d find here anyway.
Unfortunately, the man cleared his throat and said, “Very well. Follow me.”
Rand felt Kira’s hand tremble as they approached the arched entry to an ornate room that had been designed and decorated to ensure visitors knew the homeowner had ridiculous wealth. His first time in a billionaire’s residence.
It was pretty and cold. Not a place to live. The couch and chairs looked stiff and uncomfortable. His recliner might lack style, but it was damn comfy and his favorite place to sit and write when he had time.
Kira took in the room, betraying none of the nerves he knew she felt. Outwardly, she was serene.
His badass Valkyrie.
He pulled out his phone and texted Freya, letting her know they were in the house.
She sent a link. He clicked on it, giving her control of the small video camera in his shirt collar. She could hear and record everything as long as his cell phone signal wasn’t jammed. There was no reason for the Kuliks to expect him to have this kind of tech, and jammers would mess with their own surveillance, so he had reason to believe this would work for initial reconnaissance.
When he returned from this trip, he’d have a long report to file with NSWC, including a list of all the people he interacted with. The fact that he was in the house of, and about to meet, an oligarch who once had—and might even still have—the Russian president’s ear was…significant, to say the least.
But he was on an off-the-books assignment that Little Creek brass had signed off on. He was glad Freya would have a digital record and was compiling notes on dates and times he met with everyone. The report would be a beast, but he’d have the necessary documentation and not just to cover his ass. Fresh intel was exactly what the US military needed when it came to Russia.
Kira did a slow circuit of the room. Rand watched her, giving her space as she ran her fingers over sculptures and vases. He had no doubt each piece was an original work of art and not something picked up from Etsy, Historie, or World Market.
Her touch was gentle. Reverent.
She did like touching art when she could, and he smiled remembering how she’d used that same reverent touch on his body. Kira was it for him. He’d known it months ago, but the reality of being with her was even better than he’d imagined.
She frowned as she touched one object—an artifact from the Middle East that looked similar to one of the items that had been recovered by Diana in her work for Friday Morning Valkyries last fall. He wondered if the frown was at the reminder of her abduction, the likelihood the artifact had been looted, or something else.
He approached her and studied the object—a small clay tripod bowl—and asked in a quiet voice, “What’s wrong?”
“I’ve seen this before.”
“In one of the listings for looted art and artifacts? Was it something your father might have been searching for?” That would make sense. It was also the supposed link between her father and the oligarch.
“No. I’ve seen it here. In this room. I—I think I broke it. When I was a child.”
She then picked it up and turned it over, studying the stubby legs. She let out a slow breath then held it up to him so he could see the small crack where the leg had been reattached with glue.
Chapter Thirty-Four
She’d known the moment she walked into the room that she’d been there before, but at the same time, she thought the wainscoting might have been painted and the furniture replaced. But the art…several pieces were oh, so familiar.
Old friends, even.
All at once, she remembered a hidden door. Not perfectly hidden, but disguised by the chair rail moulding and the lines of the wallpaper. She turned for the section of wall and spotted it. Her fingers found the moulding that capped the wainscoting four feet above the floor, remembering how it felt to reach up to touch the hidden latch above her head.
She pressed the release and the door opened, swinging toward her.
“Whoa.” Rand stood just behind her.
She pulled the panel wide and stepped forward, but Rand stayed her with a hand on her hip. “I go first.”
He pulled his gun from the holster at the small of his back and entered, keeping the barrel pointed at the floor. Cautious, but not aggressive.
Although pulling a gun when one was a guest in an oligarch’s home and entering a hidden corridor would probably be considered aggressive.
She followed on his heels, unwilling to wait for him to clear the corridor first. They’d agreed they’d stick together, no matter what. That included entering secret chambers. Or, in this instance, secret hallways.
It connected several rooms on this floor and was a shortcut to the veranda and swimming pool. There was also a back staircase to the bedrooms on the upper floor, bypassing the grand staircase in the entryway. Kira remembered how fun it was to use this corridor to sneak around the house.
The hall was lined with painting after painting, and her throat squeezed as she recognized at least one artist’s style. Her heart pounded as she approached the large portrait at the end of the corridor. Almost life-sized, a woman stood with a child at her side. It was achingly familiar. The ornate background, which she’d always thought was a Gilded Age mansion, was the large formal living room of this very house.
She remembered it all now.
As she drew closer to her mother’s painting, the differences between this one and the one in her basement in Virginia became alarmingly clear. The child at her side was not herself. She studied the boy, probably aged five or six.
There was a baby in the cradle.
Rand gasped when he saw the portrait. “You look exactly like her.”
“Yes. My mother. She painted it.”
She considered the déjà vu feeling that had settled in as they approached the house. How the house looked like a child’s princess fantasy house. But now she knew it wasn’t just any childhood princess fantasy, but her childhood princess fantasy.
Except it hadn’t been fantasy. Those vague childhood dreams, the glimpse and scent of paradise, they had been all too real.
She had lived in this palace. She’d worn pretty, colorful princess dresses and had a dog named…she couldn’t remember the name, but it was on the edge of her brain as memories piled upon memories. The dog had been her second-best friend.
Her very best friend had been her older brother. Oh, how she’d worshipped him. She would follow him everywhere throughout the house. He would hide from her, and she would seek, using this corridor.
But it was the reverse game that was even better. She was so small. Five years younger than her brother, she could fit in the tightest hiding places. She was so good at hiding, so patient because she wanted to impress him with her skills, sometimes she’d wait for the longest time.
An eternity.
And her brother wasn’t the only child she’d played with. There were others she hid from in these corridors. She was better at hide-and-seek than all of them. Sometimes she was never found.
At least once, she’d fallen asleep as she hid in their mother’s bedroom. She woke to the sound of her mother and father talking. The German language, not the Russian one.
Her mother kissed her father, and she saw them through the slats of the cupboard. They kissed and kissed, and Kira no longer wanted to be there hiding. She was tired of waiting. Her brother hadn’t found her. She’d won the game.
She emerged from her hiding place, declaring victory, and saw the man her mother kissed wasn’t her father.
But also…he was. She knew his face from when he taught her to ride a bike and cheered for her after she gave her valedictorian speech at her high school graduation.
But it was wrong to see him here. He shouldn’t be kissing Mama. He was surprised and looked like she’d felt when she broke Papa’s glasses.
Was he angry that she’d won the game? It wasn’t a game for him. It was for princesses and princes. Not for mamas or daddies or papas.
She ran for the door to escape Mama’s room. But her mother’s sharp voice made her stop. Mama scolded her for hiding. Told her she knew better than to hide in private quarters. And she mustn’t tell anyone about Mama’s friend.
It was a secret. Mama would trust her, but she must be a good girl and keep the secret. If she did, she’d get ice cream. Chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry all in one bowl, just like she liked it.
She loved ice cream more than anything. She promised. She wouldn’t tell anyone, not even her older brother, Reuben.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Tears poured down Kira’s cheeks as she stared at the painting. The memories were too overwhelming to verbalize for Rand. But she knew without a doubt they were real. Not a dream. Not a fantasy.
Reuben was her brother.
But how was that possible? Luka Kulik’s dead daughter would be in her midthirties. Kira was two months away from her fortieth birthday.
She remembered Reuben’s words that first night, calling her father a thief. And then there was the letter she believed was written by Luka Kulik.
We will drink a toast to success and grieve for those who are not present to celebrate with us. Your parents. My wife and daughter.
It had been a taunt. A reminder of the wife and child Luka Kulik no longer had, but Conrad Hanson did.
And then the letter she received yesterday:
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.
I’m the stolen treasure.
Her dad—Conrad Hanson—had stolen her from her real father, Luka Kulik.
Somehow, decades after the theft, Kulik found out, and orchestrated Kira’s return.
“What have you remembered, Kira?” Rand’s voice was soft. Gentle. And beyond patient.
“I remember this place. My mother, my father. My brother. One memory—playing hide-and-seek with Reuben and seeing my mother…Reuben’s mother…kissing my dad. But not my real father. The man who raised me. Conrad Hanson.”
“Luka Kulik is your father.”
“Now I know how Luke felt.” She swiped at her tears and let out a bitter laugh. “When Darth Vader broke the news, I mean.”
