“Not my handler. Conrad’s. He was a double agent.”
“As were you.”
“I am loyal to the country that made me rich.”
“You traded secrets with your government’s blessing.”
He shrugged. “I was doing my part for Mother Russia. If I gave a little, I would get more from Conrad.”
“How did it begin?”
“With the Stoltz treasures. Conrad was looking for them for his stepfather. He contacted me, because he traced my father as one of the Soviets in charge of the East German state that was home to the salt mine where he believed the family’s artwork had been hidden. I had a home in East Germany at the time…”
His face pinched, and she wondered what he’d remembered to cause his voice to trail off. He cleared his throat and resumed. “We formed a friendship discussing art and history.” He waved his hand around the room, which was filled to bursting with paintings—not her mother’s work—and sculptures.
Art was clearly this man’s passion.
Was that why he’d married her mother? Because she painted?
“I enjoyed Conrad’s company and was stuck in the DDR. Your mother had a difficult pregnancy with you and insisted we stay in the DDR instead of going back to Russia for your birth as we did for the others.”
Others. Kira had wondered if her mother had miscarried or even had a stillbirth. She wanted to ask about that, but it could wait. Right now she needed to know about his and Conrad’s spy games. “So it was while my mother was pregnant with me that you and Conrad began your information exchange?”
“I don’t know how it came about for Conrad, but I suspect MI6 or CIA were monitoring one or both of us. He was granted entry into East Berlin and other parts of the DDR for his research. I was an important figure in the party. High ranking with even higher-ranked friends. I would guess MI6 or the CIA or both instructed him to gather intel for them. He started nudging me in that direction about a year into our acquaintance. I received approval from my superiors in the party, and the spy games began.”
He made it sound so very much like his role was on the up and up, but she highly doubted that. Neither man would risk so much if there wasn’t meat to the intel being traded.
But her father—dammit, Conrad—wasn’t here to ask.
Her mother must have known, of course.
Then Conrad Hanson stole mother and daughter away, but continued with the spying, probably because Luka would get suspicious otherwise. “What happened—officially—to me and my mom?”
“When you were almost four, you were out on a boat, paddling around the harbor, with Alesya and Reuben. Just the three of you. You fell in. Your mother jumped in after you. You both disappeared, never to be seen again. Your brother, nine years old, screamed and cried for hours. When we found him, he was sunburned and dehydrated. Nearly dead himself.”
She imagined that brother she’d adored, so young and terrified. She might not like the man he was now, but her heart ached thinking of what he’d gone through.
He easily could have died that day.
Instead, he’d been abandoned by his mother.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The look on Kira’s face was painful to see. Rand couldn’t imagine what she was thinking and feeling as she swiped at more tears. He knew she likely wanted more answers, but first, they had to process what they’d learned.
A maid entered the room rolling a cart laden with food and drinks. Rand took the opportunity to rise to his feet. “That’s enough for today. Thank you for your hospitality, but we’re leaving now.”
“I insist you stay. I have two guest rooms made up. You will move in.”
“No,” Rand said. He might be making a mistake in making this call without consulting Kira, but she was distraught, possibly not rational. There was no way this house was safe.
To his great relief, she stood as well. “No. We must go.”
“But we have years to make up for, baby sister.” The words were delivered with a cold edge.
Reuben Kulik entered the room via the arched doorway to the main corridor, another man by his side. The stranger’s face niggled at Rand’s brain. He’d seen this man before. Or at least a photo of him.
He was probably ten years older than Reuben. Tall, with gray-speckled dark hair, he moved with authority and had the hard edges of a man who knew power. When he stepped closer, Rand spotted a wristwatch that cost the same as a luxury vehicle. Another oligarch.
Probably another proud owner of a Maltese passport. They could be in the middle of a neighborhood of oligarchs, for all he knew. He shuddered at the thought of what the homeowner’s association dues might be.
He offered his hand. “Randall Fallon.”
The man hesitated, then accepted the handshake, which was firm and brief. “Grigory Laskin.” His gaze scanned Kira from head to toe, then glanced toward Luka. “This is your wayward daughter? The American?”
The hair on the back of Rand’s neck had gone up at hearing the man’s name. Years of training ensured he gave no outward sign of recognition. Or alarm.
He took Kira’s arm. “Come, my love. We’re done here.” He used the endearment to piss off the men in Kira’s newfound family. He didn’t care what Laskin thought. They just needed to get away, now.
“Stay, sister. I want to hear all about our dear mother.”
If Reuben wanted to run her off, he couldn’t make his voice any creepier. But then, Rand suspected he absolutely wanted her to leave. She was a threat to his position as sole beneficiary of the Kulik billions, and Luka Kulik didn’t look well. His skin had an unhealthy yellowish tone.
Given that Kira was innocent in her parents’ deceit, there was a very real chance she could claim the aging oligarch’s heart. If he had one.
Kira cocked her head. “I’m sorry for what she did to you. I didn’t know.”
