“There are galleries on Gozo and Comino you’ll want to visit. I can arrange a boat for you.”

“That’s very kind, but I can make my own arrangements. Should I use your name when I contact the galleries?”

“No. No. They don’t know me at all. I only know of them from perusing their websites.”

This was far from the first time he’d urged her to go to Gozo. Which wasn’t entirely unusual given the islands were few and small and there was that megalithic site on Gozo she wanted to see. But still, it was such a random and obvious suggestion without specific references.

And last night, at the gallery reception, he hadn’t known anyone, but when planning the trip, he’d spoken as if he knew many of her father’s contacts. It was why he’d suggested joining her.

She rose to her feet and walked to the window. The hotel suite was just high enough for her to have a view of Marsamxett Harbor, which was on the opposite side of the Sciberras Peninsula from Grand Harbor. She kept her movements casual. Easy. She wouldn’t show any sign of suspicion or distress.

This was Cousin Andre. She looked out at the ferry crossing the harbor and adopted an idle tone. “What was my father like when he visited Germany?”

Behind her, she heard his footsteps as he followed her to the window. “I’m not sure I can answer that since I only knew him when he visited. No comparison.”

She supposed that was true enough, but it also wasn’t an answer at all. “Did he speak German most of the time?” Her father hadn’t spoken German much at home. It was her mother who insisted she learn the language with native fluency, at the same time she refused to speak Russian in her presence.

“Yes, I think so. My father wasn’t as fluent in English as your father was in German, so sometimes he would ask him to practice. He hoped to visit his American cousin in Virginia one day.”

She considered that. Andre’s father had died in the late nineties while her father still lived in Pennsylvania. He’d remained in Pennsylvania for nearly ten years after Andre’s father’s death. An easy mistake, but still, it didn’t quite add up.

She covered her mouth with her hand and smothered a yawn. Then she rolled her shoulders like she was trying to force alertness into her bones. “I’m afraid my jetlag is catching up with me. I don’t think I fell asleep until after three this morning.”

She would rub her eyes, but remembered she was wearing makeup. A foolish vanity in this heat, but she’d wanted to feel pretty when she saw Rand. “I’m sorry, Andre, but I’m not feeling quite myself. Do you think we could meet later? I do want to hear more about my father and your father, but I think I need to rest before meeting with Reuben Kulik tonight.”

“Of course. You’re meeting him for drinks, right?”

She frowned. Andre had left before she and Kulik made plans as she was leaving the gallery. They’d offered no sign of knowing each other, so how would he know they planned to have drinks?

She decided to lie. “No. Dinner.”

Andre’s smile was a little too cheerful. “That should be lovely, then.”

“Do you know Kulik?”

“Just by reputation. His family is Russian and quite wealthy. Mineral rights in Russia. Hotels here and there, I believe.”

He didn’t mention the art gallery, which more aligned with his interests. She glanced around the expensive suite. “Do the Kuliks own this hotel?”

Andre’s gaze followed hers around the lushly appointed room. “I have no idea.”

Fear prickled along her nerves. Cousin Andre was lying.

Chapter Twenty

Rand watched Kira exit her cousin’s hotel, thankfully alone. He let out a sigh of relief and texted Freya that she was fine.

Everything about Freya’s plan felt wrong. Again, he questioned whether he should play along. It seemed cruel to keep this intel from Kira. It had taken everything in him not to march into the hotel and yank her out of the guy’s suite. But he’d known that would anger Kira, and she was the person he was here to protect.

To do that, he’d need her cooperation.

Now Freya wanted him to deceive her. She didn’t believe Kira could maintain the façade necessary to extract intel from “Andre Stoltz” if she knew the truth. And for now, Freya believed—and Rand agreed—they’d learn more by playing along than they would by confronting Andre directly.

Rand entered the bookstore where Kira had agreed to accidentally run into him and perused the shelves. As a writer doing research, he should probably pick up some books on local history. There was no shortage of those online, however, so he approached the clerk to ask what she would recommend. Which books were gems in the minds of locals?

“Which period are you most interested in?” the woman asked.

“World War II and the Cold War.”

“Our WWII section is extensive, but you’ll find it harder to find books dedicated to Malta’s history with the Cold War, as this was a Crown Colony for much of it. However, The Malta Summit will be of interest, and we do have a book on that.”

“The Malta Summit?”

“In 1989, then US President George H. W. Bush and Soviet General Secretary Mikhail Gorbachev met in Malta just after the fall of the Berlin Wall. During the meeting, the two leaders declared an end to the Cold War.”

“Where did they meet? Here in Valletta?”

The woman pointed to the south, which revealed nothing but bookshelves, and said, “They met on a Soviet cruise ship chartered to a West German tour company. It was anchored near Marsaxlokk, which is a small fishing village. The seas were rough in December, and it was dubbed the ‘Seasick Summit.’”

Rand remembered reading about the summit on his flight—but he hadn’t focused on that because he hadn’t known of Kira’s dad’s efforts to find stolen art during the Cold War. He’d been more focused on the Malta Conference, a meeting in 1945 between US President Franklin D. Roosevelt and British Prime Minister Winston Churchill, prior to their Yalta meeting with Soviet leader Joseph Stalin. That one also had a catchy name—from Malta to Yalta.

It appeared Malta was a place where US presidents came to end wars.

Now he had to wonder if any of this was somehow related to Kira’s dad’s work that began in a divided Germany to recover items stolen in WWII. Or was Malta just convenient for the German American and his Russian counterpart?

Rand was in the process of purchasing two history books when the shop door opened, and the tap of shoes told him Kira had arrived.

“Mr. Fallon, fancy meeting you here.”

Her smooth-as-silk voice sent a ripple of pleasure through him, even though he’d been expecting her. He picked up his purchases from the counter and turned to face her. “Dr. Hanson, I insist you call me Rand.”

She grinned and took a step toward him. “And you must call me Dr. Hanson.”

He laughed.

She nodded toward his purchases. “Research for your novel?”

“Yes. Malta is an interesting crossroads for summits. I like the political intrigue. And you really can’t beat the setting. What brings you here?”

“I hear they have a good selection of books on art and architecture. I figured as long as I was walking by…” Her voice drifted and her gaze strayed to a table of hardcover new releases.

Rand’s heart thudded as he saw the title her gaze had landed on. He reached for the book. “You like this author?” He picked up the book. Hardcover with a glossy dust jacket, it had heft. He felt warm in the air-conditioned store.

“I started reading the author’s first book on my flight. I haven’t finished it, but I was thinking I might get the new release if I like the ending.”

“So you’re enjoying it?”