Chapter Twenty-One
Alec Oliver fumed and cursed and muttered a laundry list of impotent threats.
His shifty behavior ping-ponged between narcissistic rage and nervous distress.
But he didn’t move from the very spot against the bright, white wall where Spiker had deposited him five minutes ago.
They didn’t have all day, but he hoped that Vanka was enjoying herself, whatever she was doing.
Spiker had a couple of guesses, but given the day and his life in general, he accepted the occasional blindsiding.
Oliver crossed his arms. “Your name isn’t Fagan, is it?”
“Nope.”
His nostrils flared. “Do you work for Buck Baer?”
“Nope.”
Oliver scowled as though whatever hypothesis he’d conjured up had just crashed and burned.
“Baer must know where all your skeletons are hidden.” Spiker chuckled and wondered who else had been assigned to research Oliver. Maybe no one had. Oliver and Baer had a growing symbiotic relationship. When had their paths crossed? “You’ve got to tell me something.”
“Go to hell.”
“I don’t know much about”—he gestured as if they were discussing what Oliver’s favorite shade of white might be—“the whole cuckold scene.”
Oliver’s nostrils flared again. His expression slowly stained the plummy red of Merlot, though Spiker couldn’t guess whether that was from abasement or wrath. “Fuck you.”
“Me?” He smirked. “I thought Mrs. Fagan was the one who had you worked up.”
“Get that woman and get out of my house.”
“As I said, I don’t know much. But I see you as a wannabe-alpha type. Treading like you’re a sadist, covering up a raging case of impostor syndrome.”
Oliver gnashed his teeth behind his thin lips. The nostril-flaring quickened.
Spiker knew he hovered close to the truth. “But I want to know about Buck. Is that his flavor of ice cream, too?”
Vanka’s approach caught both of their attention. Spiker kept Oliver within arm’s reach and pivoted. He’d never seen her with a luminescent smile so big and beautiful. “Did you have a nice walk?”
“I did.” She cradled an armful of white fabric to her chest. “Quite a few nice things to see.”
He gestured to her bundle. “And you found a souvenir?”
Instead of answering, she met Oliver’s gaze and hummed. “More like I stumbled upon an old library book that needs to be returned.” She patted the fabric bundle. “But, I’ll make sure your curtain is returned in pristine condition.”
Spiker snorted. “That’s generous.”
“Thanks, but really, I feel like it’s good manners.”
Spiker laughed. God, he loved this woman. There was no one else like her in the universe.
“Fucking maniacs,” Oliver snarled. “I will have both of you killed.”
Spiker chortled.
“You’re good as dead!”
“Good luck with that.” Vanka glanced at Spiker. “I’m ready whenever you are.”
Oliver sputtered. “Do not—”
“Let’s roll, princess.”
They turned their backs on the billionaire.
Not that Spiker trusted Alec Oliver wouldn’t attack.
But if he did, it would be as obscenely dramatic as his attention-seeking eyesore of a purple castle.
Easy enough to defend against, and given what Spiker was certain that Vanka had bundled in her arms, Oliver wouldn’t call the cops.
All in all, this was far better than anything else he might’ve had planned.
The butler had made himself scarce, and they let themselves out the front door. “You did your good deed for the day.”
Adrenaline kissed her cheeks. “I did.”
They followed the sidewalk to the landscaping van and her Audi.
Spiker waited for her to store the bundle in her trunk and marveled at what she had done—not her Robin Hood-inspired thievery, but that she’d hunted him down and staved off what would’ve been a big mistake.
Spiker hadn’t planned to kill Oliver. That might’ve been a little much—then again, Oliver and Baer discussing plans to take her to bed…
Spiker could make an argument on both sides.
Vanka shut the trunk. “Let me crank the cold air on.”
She opened the Audi, started the engine, and then returned to him.
Her palms rested on his chest. His heartbeat tried to jump into her hands.
The last few days had been the best of his life.
But that wasn’t a fair assessment. The last several years had been the best in his life as well. “You need to know something, princess.”
“What’s that?”
He grinned. “I am in love with you.”
“Fantastic.” Her hands smoothed over his shoulders and locked behind his neck. “Because I am in love with you, too.”
An unexpected lighthearted pop exploded in his chest, and he pressed his lips to hers—
“Spiker—” Her gaze flitted to the side, briefly pausing on the landscaping van, and she stepped back. “Wait—there’s something more you need to know.” The cadence of her breathing faltered. “But not here.”
“What—”
“I need to go home.” She opened the Audi’s door. “I’ll explain—”
His stomach churned. “What about?”
“The family business.”
Nerves weren’t a problem for Vanka. At least, not usually, and certainly not in her home.
She had what Nan referred to as a strong constitution, a description Vanka had errantly assumed to be an affectionate term for a well-loved pain in the arse like herself. She hadn’t been too far from the truth.
For the umpteenth time, she re-situated herself on the couch in a vain attempt to find a comfortable spot. When that didn’t work, she fidgeted with her tea and considered taking a second shower in less than an hour.
The back door opened. Giddy, nervous energy erupted like caffeinated cherry bombs in her veins. Half of her could not wait to talk to Spiker. The other half didn’t like conversations where she didn’t safely know what to expect—and that hit like another explosion. Spiker was her unexpected.
How the bloody hell had she never noticed?
Sure, he was strong, sturdy, and safe, but he always packed a surprise.
And… gah, she was the opposite for him? For as much as she considered her secret suburban life and extracurricular activities a potential volcano of surprises, he worked with Vanka-the-unflappable.
No wonder Spiker had gone bonkers over her nonexistent New York City flat.
He strolled in like they’d had a day on the beach, but his tired eyes and disheveled hair told another story. Spiker lifted his hands and beckoned like a street fighter readying for a round. “Hit me with whatever you’ve got.”
God, she loved him. “Do you want to take a shower? Tea?”
“Do I look like I want tea or a goddamn shower?”
Nope. “Sit down with me?”
He kept his eyes on her and rounded the glass table as if she were a snake that might strike. “What do I need to know?”
“The Lacedaemonian Mask—”
“This is about work?” His eyes narrowed. “I say I love you, you say, ‘Yeah, me too, but wait,’ and now you want to talk about work?” He shook his head. “No dice.”
“Point taken.” She moistened her lips. “Do you remember what Nan said she was working on in the library?”
“Maybe?” He gestured vaguely and rubbed his hands through his dark hair. “Same as you said. The family business.”
“Yes, right. I had told her about Alec Oliver.”
Spiker’s eyebrows knit. “Why?”
“GSI had more to say about Alec and his guest list than what they were worried might have piqued Robin Hood’s curiosity.”
“And your Nan jumped into the role of a trusted resource officer, because, what? Your family knows a lot about fossils and rocks?” Disbelief flattened his expression. “Give me a break, Vanka. You could have put her in danger.”
Vanka hesitated. If Spiker was angry about endangering Nan, this conversation would not go well when she told him more. “I wanted to know if the Lacedaemonian Mask was real. I had never heard of it—”
“Same. But I didn’t call my folks and chat over the details.”
Her molars clamped. “Okay, can we pause for a moment? I’m trying to share something that isn’t easy for me, and you’re being a jackass.”
Spiker opened his mouth to protest, but managed to bite his tongue without choking on the point he wanted to make.
“Thank you.” She scooted closer and touched his leg. “My conversations with Nan are always through an encrypted message service.”
Unsaid questions flexed in his jawline.
“I wanted to know if the mask was real, if it had been stolen, or if Buck was setting us up on a wild goose chase…” She pulled her hand back. “You’d made a killer argument for GSI smoking out the weak links—which I didn’t agree with. But the concern was in my head.”
His frown deepened. “Get to the part that I need to know.”
“I’m trying.” Wasn’t this the height of romance?
If she didn’t think he deserved to know everything, she would’ve said, “Never mind,” and suggested they jump in bed.
“If the mask had been at Alec Oliver’s, I wanted to take it.
” The admission didn’t sound all that scandalous now that she’d said it, probably, mostly because she already had. “It deserves to go home.”
“Very Robin Hood of you.” He caught the sarcasm and reined it in with a deep breath. “Look, I don’t care where your head was at. Name one person at GSI that hasn’t dreamed of going rogue before?”
She popped off the couch, removed a framed landscape photograph from the wall, and held it for Spiker to see. “Do you know where this is?”
He squinted as he studied, then guessed, “Nevada?”
“Yes! Do you remember when I asked you to pull over so I could take this picture?”
Recognition dawned. “Yeah. About three years ago.”
Vanka nodded. “We had been in Las Vegas and finished an assignment early. We had another job lined up.” She handed him the frame. “It didn’t make sense for us to head home and turn back in less than forty-eight hours.”
“I remember,” he said.
“I booked us an overnight at a luxury spa.”
Spiker snort-laughed. “You booked us mud wraps and massages.”
“Yes.”
“I bagged out of mine.” He made a sorry-not-sorry face. “But those beds were amazing.”
“The spa was located near Richard Bagley’s mobile home park.”