Laskin’s words sounded cold in both languages. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but my maid confessed that you pushed her to send a message from Aleksandr’s phone to stop your sister from coming to Malta. This resulted in the attack on Little Creek that undermined your own plans for the fourth.”

Even now, Laskin was careful, making no claim on the attack. Did he know it was being recorded, or was he recording it himself?

At least they had Reuben.

“She’s lying to protect Aleksandr. He told me he didn’t want to marry Kira, so he sent Benny in to set her up as a conspirator. Her fingerprints and DNA would have been all over the bombs.”

“Benny? Who is Benny? And what bombs? What are you talking about?”

“This is Aleksandr’s fault. All of it.”

Laskin hung up without another word.

Later that afternoon, Kira, Rand, and the SEALs boarded a US military helicopter and flew to Sigonella, where Kira and Rand would catch a Navy transport flight to Norfolk while the Fire Team would catch a flight that would return them to their platoon in Rota, Spain.

The stopover at Sigonella was brief. In minutes she’d said goodbye to the SEALs and was boarding the jet with Rand. They were the only passengers for the long flight home. In Norfolk, she and Rand would be met by Navy officials, DIA, CIA, and FBI investigators, Homeland Security, and pretty much every other alphabet soup agency charged with protecting American soil and the US military.

Her part in the Malta affair was done.

She leaned against Rand as the jet took off, her mind swirling. This trip had begun with such hope and excitement when she first got her passport. She hadn’t known the seeds of excitement were being planted by a fake cousin, or that she was being lured by a father she didn’t know.

Her heart ached as she thought of her last words to Reuben before she left. “I’m glad I got to remember you, but sorry I got to know you. Still, I will always grieve the boy you once were.”

She had no words to offer Luka. She had no doubt he’d paid someone to poison Conrad, causing the stroke that hospitalized him and, when that failed, poisoned him a second time, killing him. It was probably then that the killer had stolen her portrait. Plus, she had those memories of fear that confirmed her belief that her mother would never have left and abandoned her son if the danger hadn’t been dire.

She closed her eyes as she held Rand’s hand and they flew over the Mediterranean Sea. She’d been in Malta for seven days. Just half the time she’d originally planned.

But in that time, they’d uncovered a conspiracy in time to stop it. And Rand had saved her. Again.

She hadn’t recovered a single piece of art stolen by Nazis—although she had identified several pieces in Luka’s and Grigory’s possession—but she had learned far more than she wanted to know about her parents.

She’d gained and lost a brother in that time.

And she’d fallen in love. That was the one part of her trip to Malta that would stay with her forever. The only souvenir she was taking home.

Chapter Sixty-Five

A week had passed since their return, and it was the first day that no one was making demands on Kira or Rand to answer more questions. Kira slept in, and it was glorious to wake up to the morning sun with Rand by her side and no one, absolutely no one, grilling her like a filet.

After breakfast, they would drive to Kira’s parents’ house—hers now, but she still thought of it as theirs—so she could sort through her mother’s belongings one more time.

Her mother had lived a life of guilt and grief, and Kira was certain she’d left some kind of explanation intended for Kira—and maybe even Reuben—somewhere. She had to start looking.

Of course, it was entirely possible that was the first thing her father had burned before he died, given that his correspondence with Luka had survived.

Rand drove, and she settled into the passenger seat, fiddling with the radio because she liked keeping one ear on the news. The reports about what did—and didn’t—happen on the base on July 4th were entertaining, at least, with those who wanted to believe the worst crying cover-up, while the photos and interviews with those who lived on base demonstrated again and again that there had been no harm, no foul.

The video of Reuben expressing his ambition to be president had been shared with Russian spies in the same way Freya had tapped a CIA contact to tell the FSB to collect Cousin Andre.

Of course, no one had known then that the FSB agent who’d been contacted was Reuben himself, who no doubt paid someone else to do the dirty work. Reuben was nothing if not a delegator, even in his spying.

The Maltese government had been informed of the possible Neolithic site that was located on land Luka Kulik had purchased two decades before. They’d since learned that initially, Luka planned to build a hotel there. Now they knew why he’d never moved forward with the development.

There was little doubt Reuben had Cousin Andre’s body removed once he learned Kira had escaped, but still, the idea that he could face questioning for murder had been fun to ponder.

The NPR station played top-of-the-hour music before going through the headlines. They started with new developments in the fallout over the recent coup attempt in Russia, but it was the next story that had Kira sitting up straight in her seat.

“NPR news has confirmed that a private jet en route to Moscow from Valletta, Malta has disappeared from radar and is suspected to have crashed. It is reported that Russian oligarch Luka Kulik and his son, Reuben Kulik, were the only passengers on the jet. At this time, there is no known connection between Luka or Reuben Kulik and the coup attempt eighteen days ago, but it is known that the oligarch has recently been at odds with the Russian president. His son sought to change that and was seeking a more active role in the Russian government. NPR has been unable to confirm early reports that the jet was shot down before it entered Russian airspace.”

Rand took her hand as the words sank in. She’d known this would happen. Had counted on it, even.

Teague Collins’s words during that first meeting had stuck with her.

The enemy of my enemy might still be my enemy, but it doesn’t mean I can’t use him.

Everyone knew the Russian president wouldn’t let anyone come after his job and live, and Reuben had as much as admitted that was his goal on camera. He’d even boasted about his supposed success with the attack on Little Creek, making sure those in power knew he was the one behind the successful attack.

Until he found out it wasn’t a success at all.

“You okay?” Rand asked as he squeezed her hand.

She took a deep breath. “I think so. We knew this would be the outcome. I don’t have to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. But it does feel weird. To know I helped place the dominos.”

“You might have helped place them, but in the end, it was Reuben—and Luka—who did everything that put them in that situation. Hell, they never should have gotten on that plane. They had to know their days were numbered. I’d have warned them to stay away from windows.”

“Windows are too subtle when Reuben might have been connected to the coup attempt. The weird thing is, that’s the one thing I think he was innocent of.” She rubbed her rib and remembered the feel of his boot.

But she also remembered the story of that day in the boat. He’d jumped in the water to save her. Reuben might not be a reliable narrator, but she believed him.

She’d really loved her big brother back then.

She held Rand’s hand as they continued driving north, and she grieved the loss of yet another family member. She even gave herself space to grieve the biological father she’d never really known.

A week later, a package arrived at Kira’s parents’ house addressed to Kira Lukovna Kulika. The return address bore Luka Kulik’s name and Mdina address.

The plane wreckage had been found two days ago, along with the bodies of Reuben, Luka, and two pilots. There was no doubt he was dead. He must’ve mailed it before he and Reuben left for Moscow.

She was surprised to see the enclosed letter was from Juliette.

Kira,

I imagine you must have been devastated to learn that your brother burned your mother’s paintings the day you left. I am so sorry he stole that last piece of your mother from you. Believe it or not, Luka shares your grief at that. He asked Grigory to return the painting he stole from you.

Grigory has refused, but I have chosen to ignore his decision. In a matter of days, Aleksandr and Nadia will wed. It seems her father is in some trouble in the US and I suspect he’s keeping secrets for Grigory, who is paying for his silence by agreeing to the marriage. When that happens, I will no longer be welcome at the villa as Nadia asserts her new power in ways that will please Aleksandr.