His next breath seemed to deflate him. Spiker shut his eyes and dropped his hands. “I just needed a break.”
Curiosity drained away and left 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 a touchy-feely person. 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 growing heat raced under her skin, flushing into 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.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Spiker tossed a tennis ball in the air with one hand and caught it with the other. “Would I be a poor house guest if I complained?”
“No.” Vanka didn’t glance up from her crossword puzzle. “You’d be your usually cheery self if you complained.”
“We don’t have enough information. We’ve gotta get out there and collect our own intel.”
She scowled at the puzzle and erased an answer. “I see that you’ve come up with a new suggestion since this morning.” Her scowl deepened, then a light bulb must’ve popped to mind. It was the most animated she’d been all day. “Oh, wait.” Vanka set her pencil on the page. “That’s what we decided before lunch, but we don’t have a single actionable idea to follow up on.”
He launched the tennis ball across the room. She didn’t bother to duck as it struck the wall over her shoulder. “I’m bored out of my mind.”
She lofted the ball back. “I’m game for anything, but we have nothing.”
“This assignment is stupid,” Spiker said. They hadn’t found a single pattern to the stolen property, neither in its initial theft nor its theft from those who possessed it, and there hadn’t been a single ransom request. Wasn’t that why the majority of art thefts occurred? To force insurance companies to pay for safe returns. There was an entire illegal industry dedicated to insurance claims. “Maybe there’s not actually a problem at all.”
Vanka’s eyebrow lifted.
He continued, “Maybe these guys, Buck’s new friends, just misplaced a few things.”
“A few things?” Vanka pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re trying to equate million-dollar paintings with the way you lose your keys, but they’re on the counter all along.”
“I don’t misplace my keys, but yes. Exactly.”
She snorted. “No.”
“Why not? Name one asshole on our list who doesn’t have a few dozen houses, mistresses, and mega yachts. Maybe Buck’s new friends are idiots who have misplaced valuable goods.”
“That’s what we’re calling those guys now? Buck’s buddies?”
“Versus the guys who used to be on our hit list?”
Vanka laughed but shook her head. “That doesn’t work. The misplaced goods were returned to their rightful owners.”
“Damn it.” Spike had forgotten about the imaginary Good Samaritan who was the focal point of this job. Who the hell risked their life to steal stolen goods? The world wasn’t made of real-life Robin Hoods. He clapped a hand around the tennis ball and tried to crush it. “I hate this gig.”
“I had no idea,” she deadpanned.
“Princess, you’re as helpful as a hemorrhoid.”
“That’s disgusting.” She closed the puzzle and set it on the glass table next to their useless pile of reports. “Fine. I’ll be helpful. We should go do something. The best answers come when we’re not searching for them.”
“I’m not going to another museum.”
“Party pooper. How else will you find inspiration in stolen artifacts? Hell, if you pay attention, you’ll see looted treasure on display.”
He squeezed the tennis ball. “What?”
“Think about dinosaur exhibits. How do you think those fossils made their way from overseas to the US?”
“Amazon?” he suggested.
“You’re a wanker.”
He feigned confusion. “Did you just hit on me?”
“An immature one at that.” She rolled her eyes but pressed on. “Think about it. Trilobites and pterosaurs didn’t hopscotch their way into museums. Benefactor-backed explorers and military-conquest looters sometimes behaved the same. They took what they wanted.”
“Million-dollar souvenirs,” he muttered.
“Exactly. If Andy walked over with his gardening tools and dug up my rosemary and thyme, I’d make sure no one could find his body.”
“That’s what I love about you, Vee.” Spiker tossed her the tennis ball. She flung it back as though punishing him for Andy’s pet name. “And why I’d never steal your thyme.”