“Did you ever meet with my father here?”
“No, but my father did, I believe.”
She felt a surge of jealousy that he knew about the relationship their fathers had shared when she knew nothing at all. “Were they close, our fathers?”
“Yes and no. They didn’t grow up together, so I don’t think they felt like real brothers. But there was a friendship that bordered on kinship, I think.”
Why had her father never told her of this family? She remembered Rand’s words about his protectiveness of her and wondered if she was supposed to fear this man.
Ridiculous.
Still, something prickled at the back of her neck. Had her desire for a family connection overridden her common sense?
The only person who’d known details about her trip to Malta was this man. They’d talked on the phone several times. Exchanged emails once she had her passport and booked her trip. He was also the only person she’d informed of her delayed travel plans. She’d emailed him immediately after rescheduling her flight that first time, providing him with the new arrival time. She’d told him she was needed to teach a class on a Navy base in Virginia. Subbing for a friend.
The shooter, Ben Kinder, had known about her trip to Malta.
Even though she hadn’t given Andre the name of the base, it wouldn’t be difficult to find which one. Posts for classes like that weren’t behind passwords because while many students were required to attend, some could opt in with approval from their commanders. It gave them training hours toward an amount they needed to accrue when not deployed.
“Would you like me to order tea from room service, my dear?”
The “my dears” were getting to be grating, as she’d been subjected to many the previous evening from men like Andre, who weren’t much older than her but took a paternalistic tone. It was a hazard of looking younger than her age, she supposed, but could be a cultural difference as well.
Rand might call her sweetheart, but that was an endearment and not meant to put her in an inferior place. Plus, when he was bossy, he was direct about it, and he accepted being chastised and even apologized when he was in the wrong.
Suddenly, she wished she’d come up with an excuse to bring him with her to this meeting.
“Kira?”
She shook her head and felt her face flush. “Sorry. No tea, thank you.” She inhaled slowly, centering herself.
“It was quite a surprise to meet your client last night.”
“Yes. I never expected to run into anyone I know in Malta. Small world.”
“Will you be meeting with him again while he’s here?”
“Yes. He’s interested in obtaining an original work by a Maltese artist and has asked me to make inquiries. It wouldn’t hurt for me to earn a private commission to offset my travel costs.”
“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?”
