Page 74 of Don't Look Back

She ran for the door to escape Mama’s room. But her mother’s sharp voice made her stop. Mama scolded her for hiding. Told her she knew better than to hide in private quarters. And she mustn’t tell anyone about Mama’s friend.

It was a secret. Mama would trust her, but she must be a good girl and keep the secret. If she did, she’d get ice cream. Chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry all in one bowl, just like she liked it.

She loved ice cream more than anything. She promised. She wouldn’t tell anyone, not even her older brother, Reuben.

ChapterThirty-Five

Tears poured down Kira’s cheeks as she stared at the painting. The memories were too overwhelming to verbalize for Rand. But she knew without a doubt they were real. Not a dream. Not a fantasy.

Reuben was her brother.

But how was that possible? Luka Kulik’s dead daughter would be in her midthirties. Kira was two months away from her fortieth birthday.

She remembered Reuben’s words that first night, calling her father a thief. And then there was the letter she believed was written by Luka Kulik.

We will drink a toast to success and grieve for those who are not present to celebrate with us. Your parents. My wife and daughter.

It had been a taunt. A reminder of the wife and child Luka Kulik no longer had, but Conrad Hanson did.

And then the letter she received yesterday:

In addition, the Stoltz treasures have been located. Come to Malta. Once all is returned, our friendship must end. But we will not grieve, for all will be as it should, with treasures once stolen, now returned.

I’m the stolen treasure.

Her dad—Conrad Hanson—had stolen her from her real father, Luka Kulik.

Somehow, decades after the theft, Kulik found out, and orchestrated Kira’s return.

“What have you remembered, Kira?” Rand’s voice was soft. Gentle. And beyond patient.

“I remember this place. My mother, my father. My brother. One memory—playing hide-and-seek with Reuben and seeing my mother…Reuben’smother…kissing my dad. But not my real father. The man who raised me. Conrad Hanson.”

“Luka Kulik is your father.”

“Now I know how Luke felt.” She swiped at her tears and let out a bitter laugh. “When Darth Vader broke the news, I mean.”

“Who’s to sayIam the villain?” The voice behind her had a thick Russian accent.

She turned to see the elderly man she recognized from his profile on Wikipedia. Luka Kulik had thinning white hair and a lined, ruddy face. He leaned heavily on a cane as he approached. He must’ve entered the corridor through the nearest door, which was why she hadn’t heard the tap of his cane.

“After all,” he continued, “it was Conrad Hanson who stole you from me. You had everything you could ever dream of, and he took you to live in America, raised by a poor, doddering professor.”

She wanted to defend her father…they hadn’t been poor at all, and it was the man before her who doddered. But he was right about the theft, and the implications—all the years of lies from her mother and father—caused rage to surge in their direction.

My whole life is a lie.

Rand took her hand, threading his fingers through hers. He’d tucked his gun back in the holster, perhaps reluctantly, but it also wasn’t a great idea for a SEAL to enter an oligarch’s home uninvited and immediately pull a gun on him, so she understood the action.

The oligarch’s eyes dropped to their joined hands. “I thought you were my daughter’s client?”

She wanted to tell him not to call her his daughter, but found she couldn’t. It was the truth. She didn’t need a DNA test to prove it.

“I was,” Rand said, “but now I’m more than that.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“It’s none of your business,” Kira said.

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