Chapter Ten
Vanka woke up hours before Spiker would pull a pillow over his head to block the morning sun.
She wanted to dig into the intelligence reports without interruption.
There had to be more than what she’d initially surmised.
Even if Buck was in over his head in an underworld of evil, he wouldn’t take on this project with as little information as it appeared they had.
Or maybe that was the point? Buck had known more than he shared. Like a test… but of what? Certainly not ethics. Investigative prowess? Not Buck’s style. That left a short list that cramped her stomach. Alignment. Loyalty. Coercion.
None of those felt right because, as much as Buck liked to play games, he didn’t like to do the work. Vanka retied her hair in a classic bun and abandoned the mess on her table. She needed more caffeine and fewer conspiracies.
She’d just turned the electric kettle on when she heard the floorboards creak overhead. In this old house with its original floors, there wasn’t any hiding where someone was when they walked. She considered it a rudimentary security system. If someone was upstairs, Vanka would know about it.
Not that she’d had the opportunity to test this theory often.
She’d only had one house guest visit. It was silly to call her Nan a house guest. Though what else would she call family who visited?
Either way, she’d known when Nan was up and about and tidying Vanka’s house well before she rolled out of bed.
Spiker joined her in the small kitchen. “Tell me you have coffee.”
“I should lie and watch you suffer.” She eyed his dark hair, mussed from sleep and a splash of water, and then his outfit. Bright orange-and-navy board shorts and a T-shirt that should only have been worn on the beach. “We could set a lawn chair by the sprinkler if it’d make you feel more at home.”
“Coffee,” he pleaded.
“Only because I have no patience for your pity party.” She used a step stool to reach above her refrigerator for a French press and a vacuum-sealed coffee sampler.
He took it from her as she stepped down. The electric kettle signaled that the water was ready. They worked side by side at the counter, passing mugs and making their drinks as they had so many times before. But until now, she hadn’t realized how much of a system they had.
With her tea steeping, Vanka knew what would happen next: she’d organize the tea and coffee, and he’d wipe the counter. Their habit had never stood out to her before she’d seen it in her kitchen. “Do you realize we each do the same steps every time we make tea and coffee?”
Spiker furrowed his brow. “Yeah.”
“You do? Really?”
“What do you mean? Yeah, of course.”
Of course? Of course. In his own way, Spiker liked order and steps. Everything had a correct course of action. She felt the same but trusted an intrinsic inner voice instead.
Spiker shrugged and headed to the living room. “How long have you been at this?”
Longer than she’d admit. “Long enough to know there’s not enough information to do anything.”
The doorbell rang. Spiker spun for the door as though an unseen enemy had fired a warning shot.
“Ignore it.” She sipped her tea. “Probably someone who wants me to sign a petition.”
His eyebrow arched.
“Lots of petitions around here.”
Spiker settled down. “That’s one way to get a job done.”
“Apparently.”
“Don’t you have one of those doorbell cameras? Something to see who’s out there?”
She shook her head. “Nope.”
“Why the hell not?”
“How many times have we used those cameras to track a target?” She’d never understand why millions of people had cameras installed in their homes.
Puppy cams? No way. She could appreciate the argument for nanny and baby cams, but they didn’t need to be on Wi-Fi networks, which were easier to compromise than to set up.
“I trust the company that’s working on my place,” he offered. “They could send a team over by the end of the day.”
This was her opening to learn more about his sabbatical. Vanka sipped her tea. “You’ve worked with them before?”
“Exclusively.”
“Hm.” She baited him for more information. “That good, huh?”
Spiker nodded. “I told ’em what I needed.”
“Which was?”
“Total renovation.”
“And just like that,” she snapped, “they scheduled the architects and the—”
“No. I called my guy up and said what I need, and when it has to be done by. He said no problem.”
“No problem,” she repeated.
“Exactly. They handle the bullshit. The permits and people—” He registered what she’d done far too late.
Hook, line, and sinker. “You made that call after the plane crash.”
Spiker leaned back and dropped his head against the couch. “That has nothing to do with going on sabbatical.”
Vanka sipped her tea. “The timing’s suspect.”
He rubbed the back of his neck and scooted to the edge of the couch, game face on. “Everything in our line of work is suspect, princess.”
“It’s cute that you think I’ll stop asking until I know the truth.”
“There is no truth to uncover.”
She set her tea on the glass table and met his gaze. He tried too hard to keep her eye. They had too much training and too many years together to hide much from one another. “That you insist otherwise only fans my curiosity.”
“It wasn’t the plane crash.”
“Fine,” she said. “I believe you.”
“Good.”
“But it was something.”
“I need a break.”
“Why—” The doorbell rang again. She glared at the front door as if it were responsible for the timing of the interruption. “Ignore it.”
A heavy knock followed.
Spiker stood. “The friendly neighborhood petitioners are a little heavy-handed, don’t ya think?” He strode to the door, checked out the peephole, and muttered, “Of course.”
“What?”
Spiker’s muttering continued under his breath as he unlocked the deadbolt and cracked the door.
He positioned himself in the opening and waited for the other person to speak.
Vanka didn’t hear anything, but Spiker opened the storm door and then offered a curt goodbye.
The door shut, and Spiker relocked it, turning with the empty casserole dish in his hand.
“If that guy’s not your guy, he’s sure as fuck angling to be. ”
Vanka opened her mouth but didn’t know what to say.
“You want to know why I need a break?” He lifted the casserole dish as if it were a smoking gun. “I’m tired of assholes who beat around the bush. Who say one thing and do another.” Spiker headed toward the kitchen. The dish clattered in the sink. “Do you remember last year, what Jason Green said?”
Her head spun. “When we…”
“Yeah. When we thought Jason had turned.”
“He didn’t.”
“I know,” she said emphatically. “We were doing our job.”
“We should’ve known better.” Spiker walked the outskirts of her living room. “We—”
“If you’ll recall,” she raised her voice. “One of us figured that out before the other.”
“That’s not my point.”
She stood and locked her hands on her hips. “Then what’s your bloody point?”
Spiker put his hands out as if there were something to catch or kill. His brow furrowed, seemingly frustrated and furious at an explanation he refused to say.
His next breath seemed to deflate him. Spiker shut his eyes and dropped his hands. “I just needed a break.”
Curiosity drained away, leaving her cold and worried about her partner.
She cared about him more than anyone outside her family—not that she’d admit that to Spiker.
The truth was, she’d pressed him because she’d been hurt.
Not because she’d put any thought into what his reasons might be.
She’d assumed they were surface-level crap.
That he wanted to get laid and drink rum runners all day.
The plane crash had been a good jumping-off point for her inquisition, but she didn’t think that the accident had messed him up.
They’d been through worse together and lived to laugh about the stories once they’d untangled themselves from death’s grip. “Okay.”
His attention snapped to her.
Vanka crossed her heart. “Okay.”
“I’m not in the mood for your psycho-trickster bull crap, princess.”
She crossed the room and gave him a hug.
Vanka had never been accused of being touchy-feely.
She most definitely was not a hugger. They, as a rule, had no problem with a touch, grope, or convince-the-world make-out session.
More than once, they’d stayed alive by pretending to be stupid American tourists getting frisky instead of a stealth team that had triggered a security checkpoint.
Every lean, hard muscle in Spiker’s strong body contracted. “What are you doing?”
He needed a hug. A real one. She might’ve too. “Shut up and appreciate the moment.”
His chest rumbled. Quiet laughter followed. One by one, the frozen muscles relaxed, and he returned the hug.
This close to him, she couldn’t help but breathe him in. Spiker smelled like Spiker: masculine and safe, dependable and formidable.
She unlocked her arms from his chest and retreated to the safety of the couch. “Moment’s over.”
His dark eyes searched for more than she knew how to offer. An apology almost slipped out of her mouth, but that would’ve been a lie. The air conditioning hummed as the day grew warmer. The room was cool, but the heat was growing, racing under her skin and flushing her cheeks.
He licked his bottom lip and retraced his steps to where he’d originally sat. “Do me a favor?”
A knot lodged in her throat. “Hm?”
Spiker searched the bookshelves that lined her living room.
Mostly nonfiction, though she was proud of her collection of classics and poetry.
None of their spines would give him any answer he might be searching for.
She’d pushed enough for one morning. He dropped his gaze to the glass table strewn with paperwork.
“Whatever you reviewed this morning,”—he cleared his throat—“fill me in?”
Disappointment and relief collided at the back of Vanka’s throat.
She didn’t understand either, and pretended the anticipation of an unknown favor hadn’t made her disconcerted.
“Of course.” She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and smoothed her tidy bun.
Asking her about work was the best favor he could have done her.
“I’ll explain everything I think you need to know. ”