His words cut to the quick. No. She wasn’t. Valkyries were badasses like Diana. And Morgan and Freya. Even Staci was likely to be a full-fledged Valkyrie soon. Plus, Valkyries had security clearance. Today, she’d been playing dress-up in the only kind of Valkyrie job she could get: teaching.
But she liked teaching. And she was good at it. A good teacher could change the world.
“Thank you for your vote of confidence, Lieutenant Commander. Now, if you all don’t mind, I need to figure out how I’m going to get off this base and to a rental car company.”
A woman in uniform rose to her feet. “We’ll have a marine drive you back to DC, Dr. Hanson.”
“Thank you.” She turned for the door.
Before she was on the other side, Rand said, “I’ll drive Dr. Hanson home.”
“No, Lieutenant Commander,” the woman said. “Sit down. You have not been dismissed.”
Kira was thankful. The last thing she wanted was hours in a car with a man who thought she was weak.
Chapter Seven
The marine assigned to drive Kira home walked through the two-story house and basement, ensuring it was empty of intruders before leaving her alone. She reset the alarm, then went straight upstairs. Sleep was in her immediate future.
Before changing into her favorite oversized T-shirt, she unlocked the gun safe and pulled out her Sig Sauer, which she’d purchased in the weeks before her father died. She rammed the magazine into the grip and racked the slide.
She knew how to shoot. She’d received lessons at Raptor’s Virginia compound as soon as she was physically able. She didn’t usually sleep with a loaded gun in her nightstand drawer, but knew there was no way she’d get the rest she needed tonight without the peace of having a piece at the ready.
If only she could bring the gun to Malta. She’d have to look into gun laws there. See if she could legally acquire one. But if she couldn’t, she had also taken hand-to-hand combat lessons from Raptor operative Chase Johnston, which was akin to taking dance lessons from Baryshnikov.
She hadn’t told Morgan or Freya about the lessons. They would ask why she didn’t train with them, and she wasn’t ready to share with anyone her secret desire to be a real Valkyrie. No, when she was ready, she’d surprise them with her skills. She was facing down forty, but she wasn’t too old.
The FBI and CIA didn’t take applicants over thirty-seven. Not that she had ever wanted to join those ranks, but she had to admit consulting with the FBI on art crime had always held a certain appeal. But that door had been closed because she couldn’t get a passport. Not without risking her mother’s citizenship status. And the background check required to work for the FBI was certainly out. She’d always understood why her father didn’t want her to have a passport, but it had been pure manipulation that he’d withheld her birth certificate from her so she couldn’t get one on her own.
She’d been a home birth, and he’d lied to her about the city and state where she was born. But now she knew the other reason she couldn’t find herself when searching for the certificate was because her legal last name was her mother’s maiden name—which, she suspected, was fake. All part of the subterfuge to hide her mom.
Her father was listed on her birth certificate, so he’d likely had no problem getting her a social security number with the surname Hanson when he’d applied for her SSN when she entered public school in seventh grade. He’d handled the paperwork for getting her learner’s permit when she was fifteen too. He’d always been at the ready when she needed to legally prove her existence, but then the certified copy would disappear before Kira ever had a chance to see it. Or had a clue where he hid it.
As an adult with a driver’s license, SSN, credit cards and scores, she’d never needed the certificate. What would he have done if she’d announced her intention to get married?
Send emails warning prospective suitors away, she supposed. Not that Rand would ever consider her marriage material. Or that she’d want that from him.
The idea was extreme to the point of being ludicrous. Especially given that her mother was no longer in danger of being deported.
Still, her father had done it, and she’d probably never know why.
Her dad’s subterfuge no longer mattered. Her mother was gone and couldn’t be harmed. Kira finally had a passport. Next step: passing a background check. In the meantime, she was checking off boxes, learning how to fight. When to attack and when to retreat.
She placed the loaded gun on the nightstand, then donned her T-shirt and brushed her teeth. Before sliding under the covers, she confirmed the wooden baseball bat she slept with was under the covers on the right side of the bed.
It was a good thing she didn’t have a lover because she wasn’t ready to give up the bat. Especially after today.
The singsong voice saying her name haunted her thoughts. Eerily and creepily familiar.
My name was his last word.
She pulled the bat closer and smiled grimly as she stroked the hard wooden length. If only it had a vibration setting.
It was short enough to fit diagonally in her suitcase. It was coming with her to Malta.
She wouldn’t be caught off guard again.
The house was utterly silent. She’d turned off the air conditioner while the marine searched the house. She would rather be hot than allow the noise to mask the sound of an intruder.
She’d moved into this house directly from the hospital, staying with her father in those first weeks of recovery. She’d never slept in her apartment again. Had only entered it to direct movers to pack her things.
By the time the move was decided, her father was in the hospital, and she didn’t have time or energy to move herself. So movers packed up everything she owned, most of which was now in boxes in the basement. Her furniture was in the garage.
Her parents had bought this house when Kira was in grad school in DC. Her father had retired from the small liberal arts college in Pennsylvania where he’d taught since she was ten years old, and they wanted to be near Kira. It had felt stifling at the time, her parents’ protectiveness of their adult daughter. But Kira hadn’t been the most mature of new adults and her mother also suffered from anxiety. She knew her mom’s need to be nearby was as much for her mental health as it was to be present for Kira.
Now this house was Kira’s. Her inheritance. Mortgage free. It gave her the luxury to take a break from her usual work as she figured out what was next. She had savings too—her father’s life insurance had been more than generous.
Malta was the first step in figuring out what was next. She would connect with her father’s step-cousin. If she found what he’d spent his life looking for, her work could open doors with the Cultural Heritage Monitoring Lab—aka the new Monuments Men—and maybe earn her Valkyrie wings.
But she would also enjoy Malta as the vacation she’d never had. She would swim in the Mediterranean and flirt with handsome strangers over fruity cocktails.
She would be bold. Brave. Strong. A Valkyrie in spirit, if not in association.
Kira checked her watch as she returned the box to the shelf in the basement. Freya and Cal would be arriving in fifteen minutes to give her a ride to Dulles airport. She didn’t really have time for this last-minute quest, but she was sure her mother’s jewelry box was down here somewhere.
