Page 88 of Don't Look Back

“Well, that story is one where Morgan saved my team and earned my everlasting gratitude.”

“And that’s how you became friends? I assumed you met her through Pax or Freya.”

“I knew Pax—we were in Djibouti at the same time and did some joint missions together, but it was Morgan who sealed the friendship. When they settled in DC a year later, it was easy to keep in touch given that I visit my sister as often as I can.” He took her hand and turned toward the door that led to the rear deck. “C’mon. Let’s get dinner so you’ll have energy to for all the orgasms I intend to give you tonight.”

They went to the first restaurant they found just outside the marina and sat across from each other at an outside table as the sun set and night lit with lights that reflected off the water and made four-hundred-year-old limestone structures glow.

They both ordered mocktails, because much as they wanted to enjoy a night of vacation, they needed to remain sharp.

They were done with dinner when Rand’s cell phone vibrated. He plucked it from his pocket, expecting to see Freya or someone from his team, but it was a text to the number on the business card he’d given out at the gallery on Friday night.

He tapped the message and saw it was from the manager of Reuben Kulik’s art gallery. Rand opened the message. It was routed through FMV’s security, which would strip and analyze any attachments. There was no way anyone could get a location from Rand’s phone.

Philippe DeAngelo

I have located an original painting by the artist you are seeking.

Rand handed Kira the phone and asked, “Any chance this is legit?”

She frowned. “I doubt it. Pretty damn convenient. But I don’t know enough about the artist to make a guess based on anything other than my gut.”

“I’ll put him off then. Tell him we’re busy until midweek.” That was true enough.

“That’s good. Play it cool—like a true buyer would. No one wants to drive up the price by being too eager. You can even say you realized you blew it when I set you straight.”

“That works. He’s the one who witnessed my surprise at seeing you. I was the unsophisticated collector. You are sophisticating me.”

She laughed, then shook her head. “Please, don’t become like so many of my clients. I love your unpretentious enjoyment of art that speaks to you.”

“Isn’t that what it’s supposed to be about? Works that resonate without a primer on what makes them special?”

“Ideally. But that gets lost when money is involved. I guess you need to decide, are you collecting for investment, or for personal pleasure?”

He reached for her hand and pulled it to his lips. “I’m doing it for love.”

Heat bloomed in Kira’s belly, and she stood. “Let’s go back to the boat.”

He threaded their fingers together as they walked to the gated wharf. He entered the code, and they made their way down the long pier to their slip on the end. Instead of going inside, he took her to the upper deck by the cockpit, where they had a three-sixty view of the harbor and shore and city above a steep wall.

Every few minutes, fireworks went off somewhere. Across the harbor, or up the coastline. Even over land, beyond the city wall, all but the largest mortar bursts hidden by buildings.

After the turmoil of the day, it felt like a miracle to be there. The saltwater breeze on her skin, the briny scent of the sea, and the presence of this man by her side in a place both foreign and familiar.The pop of fireworks matched the blooming joy in her chest.

It was wild to be happy right now. To feel even a small glimmer of peace.

Rand was the major reason, but there was more to it. She didn’t have the answers she wanted, but she had answers.

Tomorrow was uncertain. She couldn’t turn back now that she’d opened Pandora’s box. And if her family posed a threat to the United States, she had to be the Valkyrie she’d longed to become.

“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.

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