She tested the drone, making sure she knew how to make it work, then tucked it away. It was unlikely she’d need it. At least, she hoped she wouldn’t.

Rand had his baseball ring still camera and the video camera in the collar of his shirt that Freya had used yesterday to watch and listen to the meeting with Kulik. The Navy had taken over control of that feed today, while Freya and other Valkyries would be busy assisting elsewhere.

Rand fastened Kira’s repaired pendant around her neck. Along with fixing the chain, a video camera with microphone were now concealed in the crown. Kira wouldn’t have two-way communication, but everything she said and did would be observed by FMV and NSWC. She could turn off the camera and mic with a touch on the latch release if she needed privacy.

They took a few minutes to test distances, with watchers back at NSWC directing Rand to adjust the length of the chain so the pendant rested at the right height on her breastbone for clear video of objects four feet and farther away.

Once it was set, she turned off the camera. They would have a few minutes of privacy before they set out.

She turned to Rand, who wore light cotton vacation slacks and yet another Aloha shirt, this one linen and embroidered with red and yellow hibiscus flowers.

“You have an impressive collection of Aloha shirts.”

“I had a few and borrowed the rest from Cal and other guys on my team. Cal provided the pants and shorts with concealed holsters—he sometimes does covert ops for FMV and needs to carry concealed while playing tourist. Thankfully, we’re about the same size. The Hawaiian shirts are great for being loose and covering the holster.”

She ran her fingers over the embroidered flowers. “And you look good in them.” She took a deep breath. “Ready?”

“Yes. You?”

“I hope so. Is that good enough?”

“You got this, Valkyra.”

She sucked in a breath, almost a laugh. The silly name had a sweetness to it. “Valkyra?”

His blue eyes were serious and warm. “A warrior unlike any other. Valkyrie and siren. That’s my Valkyra.”

Sirens were from Greek mythology, while Valkyries were Norse; this reminded her of Apollo and Freya, named by their parents for the ancient religions they each studied and taught. Freya was all that remained of Kira’s personal history, and she found memories of Apollo didn’t bring the bite of pain that usually accompanied thoughts of him. Between understanding more about herself—fourteen, not seventeen; a child who didn’t have the emotional maturity for the relationship she’d believed she was in—and finally having addressed the unspeakable with Freya, she was ready to put the pain to rest and grieve the boy she’d loved.

She smiled and kissed Rand. “I like it.”

It was fitting also because Freya was more family to her than Luka or Reuben, and Apollo would always have a part of her heart, in the same way she couldn’t stop loving the parents who raised her in spite of what they’d done.

Someday, she hoped to understand. To lessen the accompanying anger. But still, the love for them would remain.

She tucked her cell phone in the outer phone pocket of her purse and headed for the stairs to the salon and rear deck exit. It was time to get to work.

A wall of heat met her as she slid open the glass door. Today would be even hotter than yesterday. And yesterday had been a visit to the underworld.

It had been lovely this morning to be on the water. The city would be sweltering. But it was a new to her island, new architecture, new history. A place she was fairly certain she’d never been. Of course, she’d been wrong on that point before.

She waited until they were in a taxi headed for the city before texting Juliette that she was on her way.

Her phone rang a moment later. Apparently, Juliette was a phone person, not a text person.

“Kira! So glad you’re here. Did you take the ferry?”

“No. We chartered a boat for a few days.”

“We?”

“My…client”—she flashed Rand a grin at the emphasis she put on the title—“is with me. You met him at the gallery. Rand Fallon, the author. He was quite taken with your work and is interested in acquiring a sculpture. Says he wants to put it in a book—but I think that’s just for the tax write-off.”

Juliette let out a musical laugh. “He is a clever man. And quite handsome, yes?”

“I should mention you’re on speaker.”

“Oh, I know, dear. See you and the extremely attractive Mr. Fallon soon.”

The screen flashed with the words: CALL ENDED.

“I like her,” Rand said.

Kira laughed. “I do too.” The fact that she liked the woman scared her.

How deep was Juliette Vella in Grigory Laskin’s schemes?

Chapter Forty-Five

“How long have you known my father? Conrad, I mean.” Kira and Juliette strolled through a tourist square in Victoria, with Rand following behind as they wove through the crowd on the sweltering hot Monday morning.

“Five…no, six years.” Juliette pulled open the glass door of a gelato shop, and Kira stepped inside, again thankful for the invention of air-conditioning.

They joined the queue and placed their orders, then decided to eat at a table inside to escape the heat. Rand had a giant waffle cone filled with strawberry and drizzled with chocolate syrup. He’d winked at her when he ordered, and she’d laughed.

She’d gone for a much smaller and a lot less messy cup of vanilla caramel swirl. She’d save strawberry for when they were alone.

“How did you meet? I’m sorry, but I know so little about my father’s visits to Malta. I’m eternally curious.”

“It was art that brought us together.”

Well, that was hardly surprising and not the information she was looking for. She took a bite of gelato and tried again. “On Friday, when I first showed up at the gallery, did you know I was Conrad Hanson’s daughter?”

“No. I recognized you from the portrait, and so I asked Phillipe after I saw you talking to him. I was stunned when he said you were Conrad’s daughter. As I mentioned then, I had no idea he had a daughter, but I guessed immediately who your mother must be.”

“Did you ever meet my mother?”

“No dear. Thirty years ago, I lived here on Gozo and had yet to make my mark in the art world.”

“What about Grigory? He—” She searched for the right phrasing. She did not want Juliette to take offense. “He gave me the most uncomfortable look that night.”

“I noticed. He was in a terrible mood—I thought it was because the piece that was central to the show was one I’d refused to let him buy—but then he stared at you in a rather intense way and complained about Reuben messing up an important deal.”

“What sort of deal?” Rand asked.

Juliette shook her head as she scooped a bite of gelato from her cup. “I have no idea. It’s always something between them. Reuben has political ambitions and wants Grigory’s support, but Grigory is putting all his political weight behind his own son, who is too young and inexperienced.”