She blotted her face with a towel. One more deep breath and she grabbed her purse from the hall table and made her way to the living room, where Rand sat before a magnificent view of the deep blue Mediterranean with his laptop propped on a trash can in front of him.

Her heart squeezed at his sheer beauty. But he’d shown her he was so much more than a pretty face and muscles. This wasn’t a fling for him. He wanted a relationship.

Her past was a mess, but he offered her a future. She wasn’t alone anymore.

She would do everything she could to deserve him. Starting now.

She sat on the couch next to him. He took her hand and pressed it to his heart. She felt the heavy beat. It was soothing. In the small box on the screen that showed the two of them, she could see their entwined fingers. He wasn’t hiding the change in their relationship status from his commanders or his team.

She waited for a pause in the conversation, but none came, so she jumped in, having no clue what they were discussing. “I might be able to get us into Laskin’s house.”

Her words were like a record scratch.

In the silence, she added. “If not his house, then one of his businesses.”

The SEAL sitting next to Chris said, “You mean the house on Gozo?”

“Yes.” Her belly churned, and she took a steadying breath. “With everything going on at the villa, my brain skipped over the fact that I’ve seen Laskin before. When he showed up at the villa, I was reeling from learning Darth Vader is my father and Reuben…” She shook her head. “I didn’t really look at Laskin. Even here, seeing his photo on the screen, it didn’t register. But I saw him. Friday night, at the gallery.”

“I don’t remember seeing him,” Rand said. “I didn’t get a photo either. Freya would have caught that.”

“He left before you arrived. He’s an art patron, like Reuben, and he was there to support the glass artist, Juliette Vella. From their body language and what she said, I gathered they’re lovers. She gave me her card.” She reached into the side pocket of her purse, produced the item, and held it up to the camera. “And invited me to visit her on Gozo. She specifically wanted me to see her work in a gallery on the island.

“I think it would be…prudent for my client, military thriller author Randall Fallon, to be interested in investing in her art. He saw her work on Friday night, and it’s actually quite amazing. A good investment. But more important, I’m pretty sure the Gozo gallery is owned by Laskin. He and Reuben are involved in some sort of competition where Juliette’s work is concerned. I wouldn’t be surprised if Laskin told Juliette to invite me to visit because he already knew I’m Kulik’s daughter.”

Chapter Forty-One

“I’ve heard of Juliette Vella and know about her connection to Laskin.” Teague’s face reddened as he spoke, which was somewhat humiliating given that he was a SEAL in a room full of them, but what he was about to reveal could land him in a psych eval that he could very well fail.

Still, he had to speak, no matter the future cost. He had information that could speed this investigation along.

He cleared his throat. This was it. No turning back. “When I was recovering from injuries received during the Lake Olympus Lodge Exercise, I researched Laskin.” He was tempted to justify his actions, but most would understand, even if they didn’t approve.

“NSWC has their own analysts who are trained in that sort of thing.” The statement came from a lieutenant he didn’t know. 

Teague shrugged. “Still, I have information that’s relevant.”

Captain Huang nodded. “Please continue Petty Officer Collins.”

“I speak and read Russian, and I wanted to learn what I could about the man who paid mercenaries to kill me.” He looked at the unknown lieutenant then scanned the room at large, eventually his gaze landed on the screen that showed Fallon and Hanson in one box, Lange in another, and a third showed an old photo of Laskin with his wife, son, and daughter. Both women were now dead.

“Laskin’s son, Aleksandr Grigorevich Laskin, is now twenty-five. Oligarch in training. Supposedly ambitious, but nothing I’ve seen confirms that. His father’s reputation took a beating when rumors spread that Laskin was turning away from supporting the current regime—which we know he was because that was part of the deal he tried to cut with the US in exchange for the rescue of his daughter.

“As already stated, analysts believe Laskin financed the LOLE attack in an attempt to win back the favor of the Russian president after he dallied with betraying him. But it failed. He got no headlines of a massacre of SEALs on American soil. The man who ran the mercenary team was killed in the park, but there had to be people on Laskin’s payroll who were involved. Laskin did some very angry house cleaning of his security team. At least one man had a date with an open window. Another escaped.”

“We know about the murdered employee,” the lieutenant said, “but how do you know someone escaped?”

“Because I was catfishing online for someone to inform on Laskin.”

“To the US? What would that do? We can’t touch him.”

“No, to the Russian president. The enemy of my enemy might still be my enemy, but it doesn’t mean I can’t use him.”

“You found someone?” This question came from a woman who worked for NSWC. An analyst, he supposed.

“Laskin’s dead daughter’s best friend. She was the daughter of one of Laskin’s security team. Nadia Maximovna Voronova grew up with Katerina Grigoryevna Laskina. Nadia is a nobody with a fondness for breaking through firewalls to post on social media sites that she shouldn’t have had access to because of her age and nationality, but when Laskin got his golden passport and moved to Malta, she and her father moved too. Laskin’s daughter stayed in Russia with her mother, visiting Malta occasionally. The girls stayed in touch through social media until Katerina was abducted. Nadia is now a maid in the household, a permanent resident at the Gozo estate.

“It was easy to find Nadia with all the photos she posted online of her dead best friend. I found her earliest posts on VKontakte. After she moved to Malta, she joined Facebook but still uses VK to connect with friends in Russia. She’s also on WhatsApp, Instagram, and TikTok.”

“Is her father the man who was pushed from a window?” Commander Gleeson asked.

“No. Maxim Voronov is the one who escaped. Nadia says he’s in Morocco, but I’ve never been able to locate him. Unlikely he’ll speak of Laskin’s opposition to the Russian president, not when his daughter remains in Malta.”

“Why does she stay and not join him?” Kramer asked.

“She’s set her sights on marrying Aleksandr Laskin. She’s almost twenty. He’s twenty-five. I gather they’ve been lovers for several years.” He faced the screen, addressing Dr. Hanson. “She’s mentioned Juliette Vella and her contempt for the poor old woman who will never be more than a mistress.”

“Who does she think you are when you chat with her?” Flyte asked.

“A twenty-year-old computer nerd who likes her TikToks.”

“And you got all that from her with that shallow a story?” This came from a captain.

“She wanted attention. I gave it. Asked the right questions. Became her confidant. It was a slow process. It took me months to build her trust, but I had time.”

Too fucking much time as he recovered.

He didn’t share that she’d send him photos of her new clothes or makeup techniques and ask him if he thought Aleksandr would think she was sexy. She was an adult, and he never sent her dick pics or anything that crossed a line, no matter how many times she asked.

He did what he needed to keep her hooked. She always told him when Aleksandr was in residence, which was what he wanted to know. He liked keeping tabs on father and son, and Nadia was more than accommodating.

“Is she likely to marry the son?”

“I doubt it.” Truth was, he felt sorry for her. Young, pretty, foolish. She was in for a rude awakening when Aleksandr tired of her.

The analyst chimed in. “As Laskin’s only surviving child and sole heir, Aleksandr is more likely to marry another oligarch’s offspring. With the current political instability in Russia, alliances among the ruling class are going to be key. Last week’s failed military coup is a sign of what’s coming. The next coup will be political—a leader selected by the oligarchs if the man can get support from the military. If Grigory Laskin can pull off a large-scale assault on Navy SEALs on American soil—without embroiling the Russian military and therefore risking open retaliation—he’d be in a solid position to be that leader.”

The words hung in the room, almost as if everyone stopped breathing as the logic of what had just been stated settled in.

A failed Russian coup just days before the shooting on the base.

An oligarch—or two—hungry for power in an unstable Russia.

Someone muttered, “Holy shit.”

For a moment, Teague thought that person might have been him, but no. He’d just been thinking it. As they all had.