Don't Look Back, page 24
“We know about the murdered employee,” the lieutenant said, “but how do you know someone escaped?”
“Because I was catfishing online for someone to inform on Laskin.”
“To the US? What would that do? We can’t touch him.”
“No, to the Russian president. The enemy of my enemy might still be my enemy, but it doesn’t mean I can’t use him.”
“You found someone?” This question came from a woman who worked for NSWC. An analyst, he supposed.
“Laskin’s dead daughter’s best friend. She was the daughter of one of Laskin’s security team. Nadia Maximovna Voronova grew up with Katerina Grigoryevna Laskina. Nadia is a nobody with a fondness for breaking through firewalls to post on social media sites that she shouldn’t have had access to because of her age and nationality, but when Laskin got his golden passport and moved to Malta, she and her father moved too. Laskin’s daughter stayed in Russia with her mother, visiting Malta occasionally. The girls stayed in touch through social media until Katerina was abducted. Nadia is now a maid in the household, a permanent resident at the Gozo estate.
“It was easy to find Nadia with all the photos she posted online of her dead best friend. I found her earliest posts on VKontakte. After she moved to Malta, she joined Facebook but still uses VK to connect with friends in Russia. She’s also on WhatsApp, Instagram, and TikTok.”
“Is her father the man who was pushed from a window?” Commander Gleeson asked.
“No. Maxim Voronov is the one who escaped. Nadia says he’s in Morocco, but I’ve never been able to locate him. Unlikely he’ll speak of Laskin’s opposition to the Russian president, not when his daughter remains in Malta.”
“Why does she stay and not join him?” Kramer asked.
“She’s set her sights on marrying Aleksandr Laskin. She’s almost twenty. He’s twenty-five. I gather they’ve been lovers for several years.” He faced the screen, addressing Dr. Hanson. “She’s mentioned Juliette Vella and her contempt for the poor old woman who will never be more than a mistress.”
“Who does she think you are when you chat with her?” Flyte asked.
“A twenty-year-old computer nerd who likes her TikToks.”
“And you got all that from her with that shallow a story?” This came from a captain.
“She wanted attention. I gave it. Asked the right questions. Became her confidant. It was a slow process. It took me months to build her trust, but I had time.”
Too fucking much time as he recovered.
He didn’t share that she’d send him photos of her new clothes or makeup techniques and ask him if he thought Aleksandr would think she was sexy. She was an adult, and he never sent her dick pics or anything that crossed a line, no matter how many times she asked.
He did what he needed to keep her hooked. She always told him when Aleksandr was in residence, which was what he wanted to know. He liked keeping tabs on father and son, and Nadia was more than accommodating.
“Is she likely to marry the son?”
“I doubt it.” Truth was, he felt sorry for her. Young, pretty, foolish. She was in for a rude awakening when Aleksandr tired of her.
The analyst chimed in. “As Laskin’s only surviving child and sole heir, Aleksandr is more likely to marry another oligarch’s offspring. With the current political instability in Russia, alliances among the ruling class are going to be key. Last week’s failed military coup is a sign of what’s coming. The next coup will be political—a leader selected by the oligarchs if the man can get support from the military. If Grigory Laskin can pull off a large-scale assault on Navy SEALs on American soil—without embroiling the Russian military and therefore risking open retaliation—he’d be in a solid position to be that leader.”
The words hung in the room, almost as if everyone stopped breathing as the logic of what had just been stated settled in.
A failed Russian coup just days before the shooting on the base.
An oligarch—or two—hungry for power in an unstable Russia.
Someone muttered, “Holy shit.”
For a moment, Teague thought that person might have been him, but no. He’d just been thinking it. As they all had.
Captain Huang broke the silence, addressing Teague. “When was the last time you chatted with Nadia?”
“It’s been about ten days, I think. A few days before the shooting. I can check in now if I’m set up with a virtual private network. I have a secure VPN at home that marks me as being in Sitka, Alaska, which is where she thinks I live.”
“Do you let her see your face?”
“Not without a filter. I have a high-quality one that makes my face look thinner—younger—and changes my eye and hair color. It’s set up on a burner phone that’s in my car. Our conversations always start with texting, but if she insists on seeing me, I can use a backdrop so it looks like I’m a head on Mt. Rushmore or something. I do that most of the time anyway.”
“Okay,” the captain said. “Get your phone. Use my office. I’ll call tech and have them meet you there to set up the VPN.”
Teague rose from his seat. He faced the camera and addressed Fallon and Hanson directly. “What I can ask is limited, but is there anything you want me to try to find out?”
“Anything about Aleksandr’s relationship to Reuben,” Hanson said. “Given the age difference, I doubt they’re close, but maybe we’ll get lucky.”
He nodded. “I’ll do my best.”
Kira watched Collins leave the room, then stood herself. “I’ll text Juliette. Make plans for tomorrow.”
She left and took several deep breaths. Instead of taking them to calm herself, she thought about the shocking news she’d received today. She needed to be the opposite of serene. Riled up. For Juliette, she needed to be the shell-shocked woman who’d just discovered her whole life was a lie.
She composed her message and hit Send.
A moment later, her phone rang. Juliette.
She answered with a laugh that was a decent facsimile of stressed-out cheer. “Well hello, I uh…guess you got my message.”
“Your timing was perfect, darling, as Grigory just told me we are to invite you over to see your mother’s painting.”
Her stomach dropped. She didn’t know if it was at the words or the fact that this was better than she could have hoped. “Grigory…has one of my mother’s paintings?” Her voice cracked on painting, but only a little.
“Yes dear. I didn’t know it was by your mother until we met on Friday night. The resemblance is uncanny.”
“Why didn’t you say something then?”
“Reuben asked me not to. And…it is his gallery.”
Kira did understand that. Still, she could have saved Kira a lot of questions and even danger if the woman had spoken up. “Tell me, had you ever met my Cousin Andre before?”
“The German man with you that night? No. Should I have?”
“I don’t know. It’s all so confusing. So you knew about my mother?”
“I only knew what everyone else knew—you’re the spitting image of Reuben’s mom, who painted several self-portraits and some landscapes. Luka sold one of the portraits to Grigory.”
“Why would Luka sell it?”
“You’ll have to ask him, dear. But it is a lovely portrait. Your mother was an amazing artist. Do you paint?”
Kira did, but she wasn’t about to get into that discussion now. The apple had fallen far from the tree in her case, but she’d accepted that years ago.
“Is tomorrow good for you? I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be staying in Malta, but I want to see more of your work. That’s why I messaged you to begin with.”
“Tomorrow is perfect. We can start at the gallery, then go to Grigory’s villa for lunch.”
She closed her eyes, giving thanks for the invitation, even though she was well aware Reuben and Grigory were probably laying some sort of trap for her. Little did they know she had an undercover SEAL at her back, and behind him was the entire fucking US Navy.
Chapter Forty-Two
Kira was disappointed Teague Collins was unable to speak to Nadia that afternoon or evening, but they had other logistics to work out. The Navy made arrangements to have equipment delivered to Rand, and a SEAL team was mobilized to Naval Air Station Sigonella on the island of Sicily—which was little more than a hundred miles away. If they found themselves in a bind, Rand would have backup.
Freya located a fifty-foot yacht for them to charter, so Rand would have a place to store his SEAL gear once it was delivered, plus they’d have transport to Gozo. It was early evening when they grabbed their bags and left the apartment for a marina outside Valletta to claim the yacht.
Kira had never spent time on any kind of yacht and probably would have been impressed no matter what, but Rand assured her the boat was on the high end of luxurious. “Just the kind of thing I’d rent if I were trying not just to woo you, but your wealthy newfound family too.”
They placed their bags in the large cabin with a full bed and attached three-quarter bathroom—or rather, head in sailor parlance—at the rear of the boat.
Not rear, stern, according to Rand.
He went on to explain that the kitchen was a galley, the living room with spoked steering wheel was a salon and interior helm, while the helm on the upper deck was the cockpit. There was also a V-shaped stateroom in the bow with a second head.
She poked around the galley, which had smaller versions of all the usual kitchen appliances, then said, “It’s too bad Freya didn’t work her magic to stock the kitchen, because I’m starving.”
“It’s been a day, and we haven’t eaten since before Mdina. There’s a shop on the corner where we can get groceries. We should get some basics for the next few days, but what do you want to do for dinner? Make something simple here or eat out?”
She considered the question. She had zero desire to cook, but they could probably find something frozen to pop into the oven. That didn’t really appeal. They had work ahead of them tonight, and she needed a break now. “Let’s go out. Relax for a bit.”
He nodded. “I think we’ve both earned an hour off.”
Kira changed into capris and an airy halter top that showed off her curves. She never would have worn something like this in the US. Some wild streak had taken over when she shopped for this trip.
Rand took one look at her and grinned. “Have I mentioned that I really love your vacation wardrobe?”
She laughed. “Thank you. I went on a shopping binge a few weeks ago. I was always so careful how I dressed once I started working for…him.” She still hated to say his name, but she knew Rand would understand. Maybe when the trial was over, if he received the expected life-without-parole sentence, she’d feel differently.
She shifted her focus to the halter top, which made her feel sexy and fun. Bold. Like Staci probably felt every day. She didn’t want to think about Staci right now, but she’d spent a lot of weeks comparing herself to the vivacious woman and had consistently rated herself inferior.
That feeling was fading, but not quickly enough. She pasted on a bright smile. “It’s fun to get to be someone else on vacation other than shy, awkward, mousey Kira.” She grimaced. “I guess I’m not really that Kira anymore. I’m someone else entirely. Kira Lukovna Kulinka.”
Rand took a step toward her. “Only if that’s who you want to be. And I happen to be captivated by all your iterations.” He touched her cheek, then slid a hand to cup the back of her head. His fingers triggered a tingling in her scalp.
Thoughts of other women with Rand vanished like water vapor in the Maltese heat.
“Shy. Valkyrie. Siren. Tourist. Historian.” He grinned and dipped his head so his lips touched her neck and added, “Sexy librarian.” He kissed below her ear, then nipped the lobe and added. “I like every one of you, but one thing you’ve never been to me is mousy.”
She pulled his mouth to hers and kissed him. Not shy. Not awkward. He wanted her. All of her. He didn’t compare her to women from his past. He thought her a siren.
She felt a rush of feminine power as his hand explored her body, first cupping her butt, then her breast beneath the halter top. His growing erection against her belly triggered a jolt of satisfaction.
A siren.
What a wild thought.
Rand was about to scoop Kira up and take her to the stateroom when she broke the kiss and stepped back. “You promised me shower sex, but I need food before I’ll have the energy.”
He laughed, feeling strangely light in spite of the intense day. Kira did that to him. “I haven’t forgotten. For a boat, this has a decent-sized shower. Freya did well.” The first thing he’d thought of when he saw the shower was how much he wanted to strip her down and make good on his promise.
“I think she went the extra mile to apologize for yesterday.”
“She wasn’t listening in, in the car when we talked about the shower or anything about us. The video link wasn’t live until we entered the house.”
“I know. But she’s smart…and I might have admitted yesterday that I’m interested in you.”
“Oh, you did now?”
This must’ve been the conversation they’d had before she’d taken down the FSB agent. Which meant Kira had been in a forgiving mood even before Andre broke in. That made him happy in a ridiculous way. She hadn’t welcomed Rand back just because the danger had become real.
If there was one insecurity he had with Kira, it was that her interest in him stemmed from the fact that he’d managed to help rescue her twice. After all, both times he’d asked her out—each occurring before she’d found herself in danger—she’d turned him down.
He didn’t want to be with a woman who was only interested in his SEAL status. That would be gone. Soon. He wanted a woman who could love the emerging thriller author, or whatever it was he ended up doing after he retired from the Navy.
“I did. She said when I get back, we’ll have a bottle of wine and Morgan will spill all the secrets Freya can’t.”
“Well, that story is one where Morgan saved my team and earned my everlasting gratitude.”
“And that’s how you became friends? I assumed you met her through Pax or Freya.”
“I knew Pax—we were in Djibouti at the same time and did some joint missions together, but it was Morgan who sealed the friendship. When they settled in DC a year later, it was easy to keep in touch given that I visit my sister as often as I can.” He took her hand and turned toward the door that led to the rear deck. “C’mon. Let’s get dinner so you’ll have energy to for all the orgasms I intend to give you tonight.”
They went to the first restaurant they found just outside the marina and sat across from each other at an outside table as the sun set and night lit with lights that reflected off the water and made four-hundred-year-old limestone structures glow.
They both ordered mocktails, because much as they wanted to enjoy a night of vacation, they needed to remain sharp.
They were done with dinner when Rand’s cell phone vibrated. He plucked it from his pocket, expecting to see Freya or someone from his team, but it was a text to the number on the business card he’d given out at the gallery on Friday night.
He tapped the message and saw it was from the manager of Reuben Kulik’s art gallery. Rand opened the message. It was routed through FMV’s security, which would strip and analyze any attachments. There was no way anyone could get a location from Rand’s phone.
Philippe DeAngelo
I have located an original painting by the artist you are seeking.
Rand handed Kira the phone and asked, “Any chance this is legit?”
She frowned. “I doubt it. Pretty damn convenient. But I don’t know enough about the artist to make a guess based on anything other than my gut.”
“I’ll put him off then. Tell him we’re busy until midweek.” That was true enough.
“That’s good. Play it cool—like a true buyer would. No one wants to drive up the price by being too eager. You can even say you realized you blew it when I set you straight.”
“That works. He’s the one who witnessed my surprise at seeing you. I was the unsophisticated collector. You are sophisticating me.”
She laughed, then shook her head. “Please, don’t become like so many of my clients. I love your unpretentious enjoyment of art that speaks to you.”
“Isn’t that what it’s supposed to be about? Works that resonate without a primer on what makes them special?”
“Ideally. But that gets lost when money is involved. I guess you need to decide, are you collecting for investment, or for personal pleasure?”
He reached for her hand and pulled it to his lips. “I’m doing it for love.”
Heat bloomed in Kira’s belly, and she stood. “Let’s go back to the boat.”
He threaded their fingers together as they walked to the gated wharf. He entered the code, and they made their way down the long pier to their slip on the end. Instead of going inside, he took her to the upper deck by the cockpit, where they had a three-sixty view of the harbor and shore and city above a steep wall.
Every few minutes, fireworks went off somewhere. Across the harbor, or up the coastline. Even over land, beyond the city wall, all but the largest mortar bursts hidden by buildings.
After the turmoil of the day, it felt like a miracle to be there. The saltwater breeze on her skin, the briny scent of the sea, and the presence of this man by her side in a place both foreign and familiar. The pop of fireworks matched the blooming joy in her chest.
It was wild to be happy right now. To feel even a small glimmer of peace.
