A week had passed since their return, and it was the first day that no one was making demands on Kira or Rand to answer more questions. Kira slept in, and it was glorious to wake up to the morning sun with Rand by her side and no one, absolutely no one, grilling her like a filet.
After breakfast, they would drive to Kira’s parents’ house—hers now, but she still thought of it as theirs—so she could sort through her mother’s belongings one more time.
Her mother had lived a life of guilt and grief, and Kira was certain she’d left some kind of explanation intended for Kira—and maybe even Reuben—somewhere. She had to start looking.
Of course, it was entirely possible that was the first thing her father had burned before he died, given that his correspondence with Luka had survived.
Rand drove, and she settled into the passenger seat, fiddling with the radio because she liked keeping one ear on the news. The reports about what did—and didn’t—happen on the base on July 4th were entertaining, at least, with those who wanted to believe the worst crying cover-up, while the photos and interviews with those who lived on base demonstrated again and again that there had been no harm, no foul.
The video of Reuben expressing his ambition to be president had been shared with Russian spies in the same way Freya had tapped a CIA contact to tell the FSB to collect Cousin Andre.
Of course, no one had known then that the FSB agent who’d been contacted was Reuben himself, who no doubt paid someone else to do the dirty work. Reuben was nothing if not a delegator, even in his spying.
The Maltese government had been informed of the possible Neolithic site that was located on land Luka Kulik had purchased two decades before. They’d since learned that initially, Luka planned to build a hotel there. Now they knew why he’d never moved forward with the development.
There was little doubt Reuben had Cousin Andre’s body removed once he learned Kira had escaped, but still, the idea that he could face questioning for murder had been fun to ponder.
The NPR station played top-of-the-hour music before going through the headlines. They started with new developments in the fallout over the recent coup attempt in Russia, but it was the next story that had Kira sitting up straight in her seat.
“NPR news has confirmed that a private jet en route to Moscow from Valletta, Malta has disappeared from radar and is suspected to have crashed. It is reported that Russian oligarch Luka Kulik and his son, Reuben Kulik, were the only passengers on the jet. At this time, there is no known connection between Luka or Reuben Kulik and the coup attempt eighteen days ago, but it is known that the oligarch has recently been at odds with the Russian president. His son sought to change that and was seeking a more active role in the Russian government. NPR has been unable to confirm early reports that the jet was shot down before it entered Russian airspace.”
Rand took her hand as the words sank in. She’d known this would happen. Had counted on it, even.
Teague Collins’s words during that first meeting had stuck with her.
The enemy of my enemy might still be my enemy, but it doesn’t mean I can’t use him.
Everyone knew the Russian president wouldn’t let anyone come after his job and live, and Reuben had as much as admitted that was his goal on camera. He’d even boasted about his supposed success with the attack on Little Creek, making sure those in power knew he was the one behind the successful attack.
Until he found out it wasn’t a success at all.
“You okay?” Rand asked as he squeezed her hand.
She took a deep breath. “I think so. We knew this would be the outcome. I don’t have to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. But it does feel weird. To know I helped place the dominos.”
“You might have helped place them, but in the end, it was Reuben—and Luka—who did everything that put them in that situation. Hell, they never should have gotten on that plane. They had to know their days were numbered. I’d have warned them to stay away from windows.”
“Windows are too subtle when Reuben might have been connected to the coup attempt. The weird thing is, that’s the one thing I think he was innocent of.” She rubbed her rib and remembered the feel of his boot.
But she also remembered the story of that day in the boat. He’d jumped in the water to save her. Reuben might not be a reliable narrator, but she believed him.
She’d really loved her big brother back then.
She held Rand’s hand as they continued driving north, and she grieved the loss of yet another family member. She even gave herself space to grieve the biological father she’d never really known.
A week later, a package arrived at Kira’s parents’ house addressed to Kira Lukovna Kulika. The return address bore Luka Kulik’s name and Mdina address.
The plane wreckage had been found two days ago, along with the bodies of Reuben, Luka, and two pilots. There was no doubt he was dead. He must’ve mailed it before he and Reuben left for Moscow.
She was surprised to see the enclosed letter was from Juliette.
Kira,
I imagine you must have been devastated to learn that your brother burned your mother’s paintings the day you left. I am so sorry he stole that last piece of your mother from you. Believe it or not, Luka shares your grief at that. He asked Grigory to return the painting he stole from you.
Grigory has refused, but I have chosen to ignore his decision. In a matter of days, Aleksandr and Nadia will wed. It seems her father is in some trouble in the US and I suspect he’s keeping secrets for Grigory, who is paying for his silence by agreeing to the marriage. When that happens, I will no longer be welcome at the villa as Nadia asserts her new power in ways that will please Aleksandr.
This is fine with me. My time with Grigory is over. I am no longer his fun, and he is no longer mine. I will get to enjoy more time in my studio, creating art that makes me happy.
And so, as my last act as Grigory’s mistress, I am returning this painting to its rightful owner. I know it isn’t the art you originally came seeking, but I suspect Luka disposed of the Stoltz family art decades ago. It was just the excuse that kept your two fathers meeting every few years.
Knowing your mother was full of secrets, I examined the frame before wrapping the painting and discovered the back of the canvas is two layers thick. I removed the top layer and found the letter that is packed with the painting.
I hope the letter answers questions that Luka and Reuben will not.
Love,
Juliette
Kira studied the painting, which had hung on her bedroom wall until it had been packed away and stored in the basement with the rest of her belongings—which she was now in the process of sorting through as she prepared to sell the house and move to Virginia Beach.
Rand looked at the portrait. “Can I hang this in my study?”
That was the room where he said he did most of his writing, and she liked the idea of it being there, in a private room instead of over the mantel or another visible space. She wished her mother was alive to paint Rand, or a portrait of the two of them. That would be something to display for everyone.
Perhaps it was time she shoved aside her anxieties and resumed painting herself. She would never be as good as her mother, but she could be as good as herself. And she enjoyed it.
