She wanted to wear her mother’s necklace. To feel her presence as she finally took the trip that might explain her father’s odd behavior.

She grabbed another box and ripped it open. Her heart clenched as she saw the contents. High school yearbooks, research papers, and letters she’d received from a pen pal in Italy as a teen.

Plus it held the only letter she’d ever received from Apollo. She’d gotten a few emails from him when he moved to Paris, but only one actual, honest-to-goodness letter.

She slapped the box closed and opened the next one. And there it was. Her mom’s jewelry box. There was nothing of real value. It was all sentimental. Her mom had loved her rings and necklaces and bracelets. She’d rattled every time she moved her arm, bangles bangling.

Like a cat with a bell, Anna Hanson couldn’t sneak up on a person. When her mom died, her father talked about how much he missed the jangle of her moving through the house. It was more silence than he’d ever wanted.

Kira selected a few pieces, including the watch pendant locket with a Black Forest design. Her father had bought it for her mother in West Germany. Or at least that’s what he’d always claimed. She suspected they’d been in the DDR—or as Americans remembered it, East Germany, a satellite state of the Soviet Union.

She twisted the crown to wind the watch and held it to her ear. A soft ticking sound greeted her. She smiled and pulled out the crown to set it to the proper time.

She then entered the back corner of the basement, where her mother’s paintings were stored. Kira pulled the drop cloth from the largest one, which was also her favorite.

A nearly life-sized self-portrait that included Kira as a toddler, but it was done in a late Victorian style. The backdrop could be the lush drawing room of a British aristocrat or the mansion of a Gilded Age tycoon.

In the background sat an empty cradle, which her mother had explained was her sadness at not having more children. Kira had wanted a sibling when she was young, but her father had always declared he was content with having one perfect child.

Her father had loved her fiercely. Right down to following her to DC when she was in grad school. But even so, he’d never been smothering. Not in the same way her mom had occasionally been.

Her mom had homeschooled Kira until she was in seventh grade. She’d wanted to continue homeschooling, but Kira insisted she needed a life outside the house, and her father had backed her, in spite of Kira’s immaturity, which was likely due to not being socialized with other tweens until she was nearly twelve.

As it was, she’d been awkward at school, but at least she was there. Freya, whose parents taught at the same college as her father, was tasked with introducing Kira around. She’d been intimidating even then.

She’d never been a mean girl, but still, she’d been a force. Pretty, popular, and very, very smart. Freya had been salutatorian to Kira’s valedictorian, but in the end, only Kira had given a speech at graduation because Freya was in Greece, burying her parents and older brother, who’d all died in a terrorist bombing.

She returned her focus to her mother’s portrait. Her mother’s gaze was directed at young Kira. There was love in her eyes, even in paint.

Her mother had been an amazing artist. She could have been a master. Kira compared the pendant she now wore with the silver one her mother wore in the portrait. The detail was exquisite.

Her mom had insisted she didn’t want fame or fortune, and at the point when Kira was clued in on the passport issue, she understood. Her mother flew beneath the radar because she might—in Kira’s mind, it was a certainty—have left Soviet Germany without officially defecting.

And so her mother painted only for herself, her husband, and her daughter. And now her life’s work—several dozen paintings—was hidden in a basement. When Kira returned from Malta, she would change that. These paintings would be seen. She had connections in the art world. They could grace a gallery wall.

But for now, she had a flight to catch. She kissed her mother’s forehead, the lightest touch of lips to canvas, then covered the painting with the drop cloth and made her way to the stairs.

Chapter Eight

It had been a long night for Rand. That was standard for deployments, ops, and even trainings, but yesterday had been none of those things at the start of the day.

Then Rand had killed the man who’d opened fire on two sailors and shot up a lot of property as he hunted a civilian woman on what should be a secure naval base. Any of those things would make for a long debriefing, but add them all together and it was after 1400 the next day and he had yet to be released for a few hours of rack time.

He didn’t care about sleep, but he had hoped to talk to Kira before she boarded her flight. 

Hell, he’d hoped to see her, but any chance of that had slipped away with the sunrise. Not unless he could commandeer a helicopter.

He rose from his seat at the conference table to grab a cup of water, stretching as he did so. He nodded to Kramer, Burns, and Collins as they filed in. Flyte, as Assistant Officer in Charge, had a seat at the table. Later, when Rand left the team and Flyte became Officer in Charge, Burns would move up to AOIC and get a seat when the meetings were as packed as this one would be.

The rest of Rand’s team had been released to get a few hours’ sleep, but they’d been called back in because the shooter had been identified. This would be a short briefing on the preliminary findings, then, in theory, Rand could go home at last.

Morgan would be teleconferenced in because Kira had been on base fulfilling a Friday Morning Valkyries training seminar contract. Would Kira also join in, or was she at the airport already?

Rand had asked if she could be detained, but not only were there no grounds to keep her in the US, he had no doubt she would hate him forever if he stopped her from leaving.

Not that he could blame her. There were no grounds except he was worried. He’d seen her, battered and bloody. He’d checked her pulse and breathing after monsters had hurt her. Now he couldn’t stand the idea of her being vulnerable to that kind of abuse again.

The guy had been hunting her. Either to kill her or take her hostage.

Again.

All Rand wanted was to protect her.

It took a few minutes to set up the video feed with Morgan and one of the investigators who’d been part of the initial search of the apartment. Once everyone was present, Captain Huang launched right in. “Dr. Adler, it’s our understanding that you’re sitting in on this meeting as a person with security clearance and as Dr. Hanson’s employer. Furthermore, I understand that Dr. Hanson declined to join this conversation as she is currently on a flight to Europe.”

On the screen, Morgan nodded. “She’s currently being escorted to the airport by Freya Lange and former Special Forces Sergeant Cassius Callahan. They will see her safely through security.”

“Very good,” the captain said. “At present, we have begun the initial search of Ben Kinder’s apartment. Kinder is—was—a civilian employee of JEB Little Creek-Fort Story. He worked for Fleet and Family Readiness as an Information Technologies specialist.”

So not trained military, just as Rand had expected. IT guys were often into gaming. Was Kinder a first-person shooter fan gone wrong? But what would Kira have to do with that?

“We’re currently searching for a connection between Kinder and Hanson,” Huang continued. “Dr. Adler, I understand Ms. Lange shared his name with Dr. Hanson?”

“She did. I have a recording of their conversation to submit, but the gist is Dr. Hanson has never heard of Ben Kinder.”

The discussion continued, with Morgan being questioned about Kira’s trip and if she was working for FMV in Malta.

“No. This is a personal trip for Dr. Hanson. Something to do with her father, who recently passed. We didn’t even know she was leaving the country until we asked her to step in for Dr. Diana Edwards to teach the class on base.”

“It seems impossible anyone could have known Dr. Hanson would be tapped for that assignment,” the captain said.

“Absolutely. Dr. Edwards was taken ill Sunday night. That evening, Lieutenant Chris Flyte”—Morgan tipped her head toward her computer camera, indicating she saw Chris sitting next to Rand—“took Diana to the hospital. The following morning, she was in surgery. No one could have predicted her sudden illness or that Dr. Hanson would be the only one available to step in. When she told us about her vacation, we told her we’d find someone else to teach, but she insisted.” She smiled grimly. “Kira is quite thankful to Diana.”

Morgan had switched to informal first names, a sign her relationship with both women was more than that of employer. He’d realized that when he saw Kira’s car at her baby shower, but he was fairly certain the shift had occurred in the last few months. He’d known Freya and Morgan and their husbands for years and had regularly visited them when he was in DC to see his sister. Until the baby shower, Kira hadn’t been at any of the formal or informal gatherings either couple had hosted.

“Given that there was no way for the shooter to know in advance Dr. Hanson would be there, is it possible Dr. Edwards was the original target?”

This was old ground, covered in the middle of the night, but new people were being read in. “The gunman called out Kira by name,” Rand said.

“How did he know she was there?”

Rand replied. “It was all over Signal and the other informal base chats. That’s how I learned she was there.”

“We have on our list to check Kinder’s computer to see if he was in any of the base chats. Even though he was a civilian, he was IT and worked on base. He’d know how to get in.”

As far as Rand was concerned, the guy’s computer or cell phone would be their best bet. Maybe he’d written a manifesto. But they’d only just located the guy’s apartment. They were hours, even days, from having real information.