Chapter Nineteen
Three episodes into a Netflix binge, the hairs at the back of Spiker’s neck stiffened as he relaxed on the elevated deck, under a canopy umbrella that offered more shade than privacy. His sunglasses shielded his gaze, but his eyes jumped, searching for the incoming threat. Bingo.
A gleaming black GMC Yukon Denali had parked behind Vanka’s driveway, blocking in her Audi. Spiker didn’t need to see through the tinted windows to know who had arrived.
Buck stepped out of the air-conditioning and snarled at the heat. No wonder. The man had arrived as though he’d walked off a mafia movie set, wearing a three-piece suit, a glinting gold watch, and a pinkie ring. That was one hell of a look.
He marched toward Vanka’s front door. Sweat instantly glistened on his reddening face.
Spiker paused his show and cursed. Was it too much to ask for a single day of relative normalcy?
He wasn’t even asking for the suburbia-house-with-a-garden kind that Vanka had staked out, just a run-of-the-mill, no-GSI-guys-at-home type.
Apparently, that was too much to hope for.
Spiker paused his show and, channeling mind over matter, pushed to his feet. “Hey. Back here.”
Buck pivoted on the sidewalk and glared. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“I bet,” he muttered under his breath. It wasn’t worth his time to mention how he’d sensed an incoming headache before Buck shifted the Denali into park.
Buck cut across the yard. Spiker decided to be a good sport and meet his boss halfway. He sauntered into the afternoon sun, then ambled off the deck. Listening to a protective urge to hide the sanctity of Vanka’s gardens, he latched the fence gate at his back. “Didn’t know you were stopping by.”
“What the hell are you wearing?” Deep lines creased Buck’s forehead, and his nostrils flared. “You look like a beach bum.”
“That was the look I was hoping for when I packed my bag.” Spiker smirked and hoped Buck read his demeanor as an unequivocal fuck-you. Then again, if he’d been on the beach, he would’ve missed out on the last few days with Vanka. If he’d quit instead of taking this assignment—
His stomach turned. He couldn’t picture any situation where things between them would’ve changed. Spiker cleared his throat. “But I’m here now. Your A-1 team player.”
Buck snorted and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Where’s Vanka?”
“Inside.”
“Smart woman,” he groused.
“No arguments there,” Spiker offered.
“Let’s get the hell into the air-conditioning.”
Spiker guided Buck from the driveway and retraced the path that Vanka had walked with Akira. Apprehension settled in his gut. The two visits weren’t coincidental. “I didn’t know you made house calls.”
“I didn’t know you did either,” Buck huffed, “but here we are.”
Spiker took the front porch stairs two at a time. If he were in Vanka’s situation, he’d want even a second’s worth of a heads-up. He opened the glass storm door and stepped in. “Guess who’s here?”
“Andy or Akira?”
“Neither. Buck.” Spiker held the glass door open and welcomed their boss in. “Come on in.”
“Jesus, shit, it’s hot outside,” Buck sputtered. “What level of Dante’s hell do you live in?”
Now that Buck was here? Gluttony? Greed? Violence? Fraud? Spiker grinned. “I must’ve missed the fire and putrid rain while I was out back.”
“Shut up.”
His grin deepened. That was probably the best decision he could make.
“Buck?” Vanka shuffled down the stairs, surprised. “Is there a problem?”
“An opportunity.” He shucked off the suit jacket and stepped into the dining room to toss it on the back of a chair. “You got anything to drink around here?”
“Ice water?” she suggested.
“I’ll take a beer.”
“I’ll get it,” Spiker offered. “Vanka, anything?”
Buck eyed them. “You’ve made yourself at home with hostess duties.”
“Actually, I’m closer to the kitchen, and I’m not a dick.”
“Who told you that?” Buck loosened his shirt collar.
Vanka exhaled in a way that Spiker heard as a direct order: stop fucking around.
He lifted his palms in a quick “just playing” gesture, then walked into the kitchen and kept going.
The first order of business was to bring in his tablet before it melted onto the table.
If he couldn’t finish his series binge, it would be another reason to really dislike Buck Baer.
Two minutes later, they were at the table, Vanka at his side and Buck directly across from them, sitting in the same spot Akira had.
They waited for Buck to loosen and roll his cuffs and unfasten another button at his neck, then drain half his beer. Spiker wondered if she had any guesses as to why their boss was there in the flesh.
“Good work with Alec Oliver,” Buck finally said.
A compliment—that was an unusual way for Buck to start. Neither he nor Vanka accepted the praise. There would be a catch.
“We had a long lunch, and your names came up.”
“Sorry?” Vanka asked.
Spiker could feel her incredulity simmer, and tight-jawed, he muttered, “That explains the clothes.”
“Cool your jets.” Buck chuckled as though the possibility of outing the covers that they had crafted over many years was a joke. “The Fagans.” He arched an eyebrow toward Vanka. “Especially Mrs. Fagan, as he called you.”
She crossed her legs under the table. “How…”
Revolting?
“…odd,” she finished.
“Is that the right word?” Spiker asked her.
Vanka touched her bare foot to his calf and issued another warning, but it was also a reassurance that nothing was wrong. Their job had dealt them their share of others’ attractions and perversions over the years; Alec Oliver’s infatuation with Mrs. Fagan was to be soundly ignored.
Spiker returned to what should’ve been a more significant part of the conversation. “You had lunch at the purple castle?”
“What?” Buck asked. “Who the fuck’s ever heard of the purple castle? We met at Brielle. The steak tartare is out of this world.”
“Maybe that’s why you’re sweating so much,” Spiker offered.
“What?” Buck snapped as Vanka kicked under the table.
“Foodborne illnesses are nothing to mess with.”
“It’s fucking hot outside, you moron.”
“All right,” Vanka interrupted, and shot his chest full of daggers. “Moving on.”
Buck drilled his knuckles on the table. “Is there something you wanna get out in the open?”
“No,” she answered for Spiker, “other than a reminder that he wanted to be on the beach.” She issued a much stronger warning with a narrowed glance. “Which Spiker will put aside for everyone’s sanity.”
Buck cracked his neck. “Like I was saying. We had lunch. I apologized for not making his little to-do, and Vanka came up. A huge success.”
“Coming up as a topic of conversation doesn’t sound like a success.” She pursed her lips. “I was going for more of a forgettable haute couture aspect.”
“You danced with him.”
“That was unavoidable,” she countered. “And gave us a fantastic angle for photographs.”
“Those were good too,” Buck agreed.
Vanka leaned in. “Alec confirmed that he has a mask from Sparta.”
“And with any luck,” Buck grinned, “Robin Hood will make his move, and we’ll nail his ass to the wall.”
Spiker drilled his index finger on the table and bit his tongue, praying Vanka would chime in with a simple, ultra-British, “Sorry? So we’re definitely on Team Bad Guys?”
She didn’t.
His patience evaporated. “Buck, why the hell are you here?”
As though Buck had been waiting for the demand, his smarminess intensified, dragging out the moment. Spiker exhaled loudly, but that didn’t encourage Buck to say another damn word. Spiker was hoping for something like, Not to see you. I won’t let the door hit me on my way out.
“Alec Oliver wants the Fagans to join him one night,” Buck declared.
A violent urge to destroy Buck and Alec ripped into Spiker’s shaking fists. Anger punched his chest. Rushed breaths dried his throat and stole his ability to speak.
“Sorry?” Vanka managed.
“Your choice of the location,” Buck continued. “Alec prefers his home in McLean and alluded that that would be Mrs. Fagan’s preference. But he was fine with a hotel.”
She cackled. “Not a chance.”
“Let me run through the terms,” Buck continued, unruffled. “It will be worth everyone’s time.”
“What the fuck—No.” Spiker pushed back from the table. His rage shifted to sheer disbelief. The request was too much, even for Buck. This had to be a miscommunication. “I don’t understand.”
Buck laughed and slapped the table as though he thought they were all getting one hell of a kick out of the request. “Yeah, I can tell you do.”
“Let’s back up,” Vanka demanded. “How are you involved in this…” She gestured blankly. “…request?”
“He brought up the Fagans.” Buck shrugged. “I said I might be able to assist.”
Spiker stared.
Vanka’s jaw snapped shut twice. “Who does he think you are?”
Buck frowned as though he didn’t understand. “Me? He knows who I am.”
“And GSI?” Vanka ventured. “He knows you own GSI?”
“Of course,” Buck guffawed. “How the hell would we know about his fancy mask and the party if he hadn’t asked for—”
“This can’t be real.” He thumped his fist on the table instead of bashing it through Buck’s face or the wall.
“You’re making it up. For all I know, you’ve made up the whole story about Robin Hood.
” He looked from Buck to Vanka and back.
“It’s as logical as this seedy sex request. You create stories about stolen art, make a few new friends, turn ’em into clients however you can.
” Spiker stood and planted his fists on the table. “So, what? Now you’re a pimp?”
“Get your ass back in that chair,” Buck barked, then snapped to Vanka, “Has he been acting like a lunatic this whole time?”
“No.”
“I’m the lunatic?”
“Spiker,” Vanka whispered.
He ignored her. “I’ve been on your payroll for years, and there have been ugly assignments. But they weren’t wrong.”
“That depends on who you ask.” Buck’s nostrils flared. “And I never asked you.”
Vanka stood as a peacemaker. “Let’s take a break before we say things we will regret.” She paused, but nothing changed. “I could use a bite to eat—or maybe tea?”
Buck snarled. “We aren’t caped crusaders that work for a fucking greater good.”
“I’d love to hear what it is we do,” Spiker challenged.
“We’re purveyors of a niche service, and that service is whatever I say.”
“Purveyors? What kind of word-of-the-day shit is that?” He’d had enough. Rage distorted the shape of the room, the height of the ceiling. Spiker could’ve torn the house apart with his bare hands. “I fucking quit.”
“No, he doesn’t.” Vanka stared at the door that Spiker had slammed on his way out. If she didn’t intercede immediately, this would go from bad to worse. “We all need a break.”
She turned to her boss but didn’t know what to say.
The man had offered her body as a perk for a client.
God, this was too much. She had so much invested in this job.
There was still so much potential. They couldn’t just quit.
Buck had to see where he’d gone wrong and would fix what he’d screwed up.
Fury trembled in her hands. Vanka pressed them to her side and maintained complete control over her voice. “Do you understand what you suggested?”
Buck muttered under his breath.
“I mean, really, Buck, do you see why he’s—rather, why we are so very…” There wasn’t a word that held enough rage. “Irate?”
That didn’t pack nearly enough anger, but it was all she had.
“Give me a break.” Buck pushed his chair onto its back legs. “We’ve all had to hold our noses from time to time.”
“Hold my nose? That’s your suggestion as to what I might do before spreading my legs?”
He let the front chair legs slam against the hardwood. “Name your price. I’ve always negotiated your contracts fairly.”
The bad had now gone to worse. She shouldn’t have been shocked. Spiker had understood Buck’s sinking depravity, but she’d had to walk into a wall of it to fully see GSI for what it was becoming. “Get out.” She pointed to the front door. “Now.”
Buck blustered and resettled on the edge of his seat. “What the hell’s crawled up your ass?”
“If you don’t walk out, I will kill you and make it look like an accident.
” She nodded to his hands, which had moved from her sight.
“And I’ll do it before you pull that side piece from your hip.
” Vanka cleared the fury from her mind. Her raging, ragged breaths became cold and tightly controlled.
“I’ve held my nose for enough of your assignments that you know what I’m capable of. ”
Buck shifted his hand away from his gun.
“Good.” She inclined her head toward the door. “Now go.”
The chair scratched roughly against the floor. Buck grabbed his suit jacket. “We’ll hammer this out when you two calm down.”
“No,” she corrected. “We’re done. I never want to see your face again.”
As he left, the arrogant bastard had the nerve to act as though he didn’t believe her. She didn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing the door slam. Vanka closed it gently and returned to the table. The empty house was too quiet without Spiker.
Where had he gone? His cell phone was on the counter. He hadn’t taken her car keys. Vanka rushed to the front door, suddenly worried Spiker was beating Buck to a pulp on her front lawn.
He wasn’t.
They both were gone.
And now… she didn’t have a job. That certainly threw a wrench in all future plans. But more importantly, where was Spiker?
Vanka shut the front door and checked the backyard. No sight of him. It unnerved her that he’d left without any way to communicate. She stepped from the deck and paced her gardens. If she collected herself, she would figure out where Spiker went.
She took another deep breath and knelt at the foot of a raised garden bed. The rosemary was such a hardy beast. Nothing kept that down. The basil spooked when the sun shone too bright. This wasn’t working. She pressed her temples and tried to relax.
Andy’s window slid open. “Hey, how are you doing, Vee?”
Oh, for God’s sake. She didn’t need this right now. Vanka pasted on a smile and turned toward her neighbor. “I cannot complain. How about you?”
“Ah,” he frowned. “After I saw Spiker, I could’ve sworn you two ‘just friends’ had a fight.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Where did you see him?”
“I thought so.” Andy crossed his arms. “Definitely a couple.”
“Andy.” She crossed to the fence. “Where did you see him?”
His teasing expression changed. “Is everything okay, Vee?”
She didn’t know Andy any more than she knew Buck, and both had been well-researched enough. But if she had to pick one to trust, it’d be Andy. “No. It’s not, and I need to find him right now.”
Andy contemplated for a long moment and leaned into the window. “He walked by when I was washing my truck.”
Oh no. Vanka’s stomach sank.
“He promised me another round of fruit salad and a case of brewskis.”
“For what?” She already knew the answer.
“To borrow my wheels. Said he had to take care of something for you.”
Oh shit. Spiker was going to kill Alec Oliver. Just her bloody fucking luck.