“Thank you, Rand. For being here. For everything.”
His arms surrounded her as she stood in front of him at the railing and they both looked out over the water. His hands wrapped around her waist, holding her tight. He kissed her neck, then whispered in her ear, “I will follow you anywhere, Dr. Kira Hanson.”
Her name. Her real name. At least, the name that would always feel real, even if it wasn’t legal. Kira Hanson was thirty-nine and born in Pennsylvania.
She would claim her real birthdate if she could without losing her citizenship.
She placed her hands over his at her waist. She wanted to stay in the moment. To put off that worry until another day.
Several booms sounded, and there were half a dozen bursts of cascading fireworks.
“The Maltese sure do love their fireworks,” she murmured. “Are they set off every night, or is it just a summer thing?”
“I don’t know. We’ll have to visit again in a different season and find out.”
“It’s a date.” The booms stopped and silence descended, for a few moments at least. “I always loved going to see the fireworks on the Fourth of July with my parents. I was even a little bummed that I’d be here and miss the display this year. It’s hard to believe we’re just two days away from that.”
“Do you go to the Mall to watch in DC?” he asked.
“I haven’t in years. Too crowded, too hot. I usually go to one of the smaller displays on the Chesapeake.”
“The new junior lieutenant on our team—Burns—has a house with a view of a local fireworks display that’s set off from a barge on the Chesapeake. It’s really close to Little Creek. We were all invited to a barbecue at his place. With everyone on high alert, I’d guess that’s canceled.”
“The Fourth would be a significant date to strike.”
Another pop sounded as her words settled in.
She remembered the analyst’s words during the meeting earlier.
“If Grigory Laskin can pull off a large-scale assault on Navy SEALs on American soil…he’d be in a good position to be that leader.”
A good position to be the next president of Russia.
After a long pause, Rand said, “Yes. Very.” His arms loosened around her and she let go of his hands. “I need to call my commander.”
“I know.”
Chapter Forty-Three
The boat lightly rocked, a cozy haven as they lay on the double bed in the stateroom, Kira’s cheek pressed to Rand’s bare chest, her hand resting over his heart. The beat was rapid but slowing as they both caught their breath. One hand stroked her back, dipping down to cup her bottom. She wished this peace would last longer than the time it took for their breathing to even out, but already her mind was spinning in three different directions.
“If we’re going to make this work,” she said, “we need to get in a big ugly fight tomorrow.”
Rand let out a pained laugh. “Not the first thing I want to hear after making love, but I understand.”
She winced. “Sorry. I promise I wasn’t thinking about fighting while you were inside me.”
His arm tightened around her, while the fingers of his other hand threaded through her hair. “So what do you want to fight about?”
“Better if we don’t plan it. I’m sure we can improvise in the moment and it will look and feel more real.”
“’Kay.”
She ran a hand over the smooth moguls of his abs, enjoying the feel of his nails on her scalp. “Tell me about your parents.” Anything to avoid thinking about hers—all three of them.
The fingers threading through her hair stilled for a beat. “It’s not a pretty story. But, obviously, not as ugly as yours, either.”
“The weird part is, up until today, I would have said my parents were pretty great. I just had questions.” She wondered if she’d ever return to that mental space. But right now, she didn’t want to think about it. It was nearing midnight, and they’d been working for hours to plan for tomorrow. At last, they were in bed and she had a few minutes of escape. She’d opted to save shower sex for another time, because she’d wanted to lie with him like this.
Rand’s fingers began working her scalp again. She closed her eyes and made a sound a lot like a purr.
“My childhood was pretty great too,” he began. “It wasn’t until later things got rough. You asked me last December what my dad did.”
“You said he drank in a way that it sounded like it was his job.”
“Yeah. It was flippant, but true. In the end, anyway. He served in Vietnam, drafted when he was nineteen. Never talked about it. In his twenties, he went to college and ended up being a middle school teacher. Language arts, social studies, and physical education. Several years in, he met my mom, a high school English teacher who was ten years his junior. He had PTSD and everything you hear about with Vietnam vets, and of course, it was untreated, but he held it together, first for work—he loved teaching—then because he was in love with my mom. They had me and, two years later, my sister.
“Things were good at home. At least as far as I knew. He coached my Little League baseball team and was the junior varsity baseball coach at the high school. He could have played in the minors if he hadn’t been drafted.”
Kira felt dread at where the story was headed. She shifted so she could tilt her head back and see his face. He lifted her hand from his chest and brought it to his lips, then placed her palm back on his heart.
He turned his gaze to the ceiling as he spoke in a monotone voice. “My dad got upset when I joined ROTC in college and told him I intended to become a SEAL. I thought at first he was mad because I wasn’t going to play minor league ball or even college ball, but I didn’t want to live his interrupted dream. My mom told me it wasn’t that. It was the military. He couldn’t stand that I was willingly joining the ranks of the war machine that had stolen his dreams. He’d always been a drinker, but according to my sister, it got a lot worse when I went off to school. He began to unravel. It all happened so fast.”
“You aren’t responsible for your father’s breakdown.”
“I know. But it’s like telling me it’s not my fault you were abducted. I saw it happening. My mom even begged me to change my mind. Humor my dad and play ball. I could fail out of baseball honestly and call it a gap year. But I refused. I was angry she’d even asked. I had a full scholarship, and ROTC was no small part of that. If I didn’t take it, another student would get it, and no guarantee I’d get it the next year.”
