A few people snickered, but there was enough uncomfortable shifting in seats to tell her that the message hit home. She did the thing she usually avoided and met the gazes of random students. “If you have in your possession artifacts or art that might have been fraudulently obtained, there are amnesty programs to return the item to the country or community where it belongs. Likewise, if you have family members who might have taken art or antiquities in the past, you can contact the Monuments Men and Women Foundation to discuss repatriation without penalty. The Foundation doesn’t care that your grandpa—or in this room, more likely great-grandparent—took a relic from a church or saved an illuminated manuscript from a Nazi book burning, but then kept it for him or herself. The mission is to return the works to their rightful owners. In some cases, there are rewards of up to twenty-five thousand dollars.”

She touched the remote to give the MMWF website information, and an image of the Foundation’s WWII Most Wanted Art deck of cards, which showcased some of the major works that remained missing since the war. “We’ve arranged with the Foundation for all class attendees to receive their own deck of cards. Grab one from the table at the back of the room on your way out. This concludes the prepared lecture, and we have”—she glanced at the clock—“five minutes for questions.”

She cruised through the Q&A, and next thing she knew, it was over. And it had been easy. Fun, even.

But the most intense part of the day—five minutes that loomed both ominous and wonderful—was about to start.

Chapter Three

Several students made their way to the front of the room to ask Kira questions before filing out. Rand sat back and watched the woman, who’d transformed while teaching into the person he’d spent a few intriguing hours with last December.

She’d started out timid when they first met too. But once she warmed up, she’d been radiant. It was the same today. He’d enjoyed the metamorphosis when it was just for him, but it was even more impressive to watch her bloom in front of a lecture hall full of strangers.

And now he enjoyed watching her in the one-on-one chats with the students. She laughed, made jokes, and then deftly ushered them out of the room as she packed up her teaching materials.

At last, he had her all to himself.

She nodded toward the door. “I need to drop the room key in my base sponsor’s cubicle, which is upstairs.”

He followed her through the door into the main corridor. As she locked the door, her flushed, happy face turned somber, reminding him they had serious ground to cover.

The hall was empty, so he launched right in. “I’m so sorry about your father.”

She gave a short nod as she tucked away the key and headed toward the staircase. Her gaze was on her feet as she said, “Thank you. I thought maybe you’d reach out before or after he died. I’ll admit, it hurt that you never replied to my email.”

“The one where you told me to leave you alone? Or the one that said your boyfriend wants me to stop emailing you?”

Her head snapped up. “What?”

He shrugged. “All I know is what I received.”

She resumed walking. When she reached the stairs, she climbed one, then turned to face him. The stair gave her a boost, and they stood eye to eye. “I don’t have a boyfriend. And why would I complain about emails I never received?”

The confusion on her face was genuine. He’d expected that. But there was no way he could have had this conversation with her months ago, when her father was gravely ill or very recently deceased.

“I emailed you a half dozen times in those first weeks, Kira.”

She shook her head. “Not possible.”

“I’ll show you my outbox if that’s what it takes. I don’t have my laptop on me, but my house is only twenty minutes outside the gate.”

Her gaze dropped to her shoes again. “I had a concussion. In December. My screen time was limited to medical consultations for the first ten days or so, but still, I’d have seen your emails later, when I was back online.”

“Someone must have deleted them.”

The same someone who sent me emails twice from your account.

He waited for her to make the connection. He couldn’t be the one to accuse her recently deceased father.

She closed her eyes. “There’s only one person who had access to my computer last winter.”

“I presume that person isn’t your boyfriend.”

She sighed. “As I said, no boyfriend. It had to be my father.”

He wanted to ask who Apollo was—when he’d received the email, her cryptic declaration when she’d been semiconscious had come to mind—but now wasn’t the time to pull the pin on that grenade.

One hot topic at a time.

“I figured as much when Freya told me about your dad’s illness. He made it clear at the hospital none of us were welcome. And later…”

“Later, when he was ill, he needed all my attention. Given that he died seven weeks after his stroke, it wasn’t too much to ask.”

He nodded. “I couldn’t…shit…I still feel awful for telling you this now. But Kira, I couldn’t let his lies make you hate me.”

Her gaze remained fixed on her feet. “I didn’t hate you.”

“You thought I ghosted you.”

She huffed out a sigh. “I was hurt. But that’s not hate.”

He placed a finger under her chin and raised her gaze to meet his. “And I hate that you were hurt. More than that, I need you to know I wasn’t the one who did the hurting.”

Well, except for her seeing him with Staci, but that was yet another grenade to save for when they had more time.

As if she could read his mind, she looked at her watch. “I need to return this key and hit the road.”

“What’s the rush? I’d like to take you to dinner.”

She gave him a sad smile. “Because you’re hungry? Or are you asking me out on a date?”

Her words were not an exact echo of what she’d said to him in December, but it was close enough to not be accidental.

“A date, Kira. I want to date you. I have since the day we met.”

If he was hoping for a similar confession from her, he was doomed to disappointment. But her smile deepened a bit, so all hope was not lost.

“Another time, maybe. I have an early morning flight out of Dulles.”

That surprised him. One of the few things she’d told him was she didn’t travel. “Where are you off to?”

“Malta.”

“Wow. When you decide to go somewhere, you don’t mess around. Why Malta?”

“My father visited there often. I’m following up on one of his passion projects, finishing his research.”