Vanka straightened from the bookshelf. “Ready to move on?”
Spiker shoved his hands in his pockets, the safest place if he wanted to keep them to himself, and nodded. “Let’s go.” Because there wasn’t a place on earth that she could go and he wouldn’t follow.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
If Vanka was going to discuss her parents, this library was a fitting location. The fact that she had not only brought them up, but shared a part of what she guarded so closely . . . Well, that was the kind of problem that could lead to other problems. Much like the day’s trip that she couldn’t wait to embark, which now seemed dangerously too close to home.
But it wasn’t. She’d already had the internal debate and decided that this wasn’t a bad idea. The visit was something that should’ve happened long ago. Nan had always wondered about Spiker. He would find Nan fascinating. An afternoon with Nan was the cure for an awkward morning and rough start.
And, a bonus for Vanka, Nan had an uncanny ability to dissect situations, like a psychological surgeon. Vanka didn’t want to talk to Nan about a man. She wanted to present a major predicament—their latest assignment from GSI—which Spiker was very much in the thick of.
Oh, and she couldn’t leave out the part where she’d suddenly found herself a tad lovestruck by a man she regularly, though playfully, threatened to assassinate. Not everyone got her sense of humor.
Vanka spotted Nan, partially obscured by a row of brass table lamps, and instantly felt an extra kick in her step. “There she is.”
“Who?”
“My Nan.”
“Your Nan.” Spiker chuckled as though he should’ve expected a meeting like this. “Why not?”
“Remind me later—you need a pat on the back. Always a good sport.”
He snorted. “You can buy me a beer.”
Nan’s gray hair was tied back in a low bun. She never wore enough eye makeup and always wore too vivid a shade of red lipstick. When Vanka was an exasperating tween and ridiculous enough to believe that her opinion reigned supreme, she’d given Nan makeup tips. Nan would add another coat of lipstick.
When a single table was all that was left between them, Nan lifted her head from an oversize book and brightened. She carefully closed what she had been reading and placed her notebook on top of it as she stood. “I didn’t expect you.”
Vanka gave her a hug. “Surprise.”
Nan’s attention stayed on Spiker. “I was wondering if I’d ever meet you.”
He cocked his head as he gestured to Vanka. “I—uh, same.”
Nan tossed her hand out. “You didn’t know I existed until about thirty feet ago.”
“Fifteen.” He grinned.
She nodded at Vanka, “Good girl. Never show your hand.” Nan capped a heavy, gold ballpoint pen with a floral design and tucked it into a leather satchel. “Give me a minute, and we’ll take our conversation somewhere that allows more than a whisper.”
It wasn’t long before they had returned outside and found a table shaded by London plane trees in Bryant Park. The iconic trees and lush gardens reminded Vanka of the hours she’d spent outdoors when she was a child.
“A little about me,” Nan said once they had settled. “My name is Nan. I’m Vanka’s Nan, and don’t refer to me as a grandma.”
He smiled. “Noted.”
“It’s very interesting that you’re here,” Nan continued and quickly faced Vanka. “I assume you’ll explain.”
“We needed a change of scenery.”
“Ah, yes, so you popped onto a train and found me, as one does when they’re bored.”
“What do you know about me?” Spiker asked.
Nan checked her slender gold watch. “We don’t have enough time for that. Could you be more specific?”
Spiker’s grin deepened. “What does Vanka do for a living?”
“What do you do for a living?” Nan countered.
Spiker shifted in his chair, clearly uncomfortable about what Nan might know, and that was enough of an answer for him to divert the conversation. “What about you?”
“Me?” Nan asked.
“What do you do for a living?”
“My dear, if you’re trying to flatter me, suggesting that I’m not old enough to be retired, you need to try harder.”
Spiker laughed.
“He’s not trying, Nan,” Vanka added. “He’s nosy.”
“Ah.” Nan jested. “Of that, I approve wholeheartedly.”
“So you . . .” He gestured for her to go on.
“Oh, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you I was a bank robber.”
“Are you?” he asked.
“A robber of banks?” She huffed. “No. I do not rob banks.”
“Would’ve been interesting if you did,” he chortled. “Rob anything else?”
Nan snickered. “Would that count as a job?”
“Depends on who you ask.”
Nan motioned to Spiker and said to Vanka, “I like him.”
“Some people do,” Vanka said.
Nan returned her attention to Spiker. “I work—yes, still, unbelievable, I know—in the family business.” She laced her fingers together. “It can be rather boring. Except when it’s not. Which is what could be said about life in general.”
“That’s pretty deep,” Spiker joked.
“That’s why I brought you up here,” Vanka volunteered. “Nan’s a fountain of deep life advice.”
“That’s me.” Nan shimmied her shoulders but picked up on the underlying tension. “What’s wrong?”
Spiker chuckled and shook his head. “Everything.”
“Work,” Vanka clarified, and ignored Spiker’s sharp surprise.
Nan hummed. “I can’t toss advice if I’m unsure what’s wrong. Speak up, or let’s move on.”
Spiker glanced at Vanka.
She shrugged. “Nan’s a good sounding board.”
Spiker rubbed his chin and said, “Our assignments have changed. They’re different from our usual.”
“How so?” Nan asked.
He hesitated as though mentally parsing his words. “We’re lending a hand to the wrong team.”
Nan squinted. “What the bloody hell does that mean?”
Vanka bit her lip and wondered what would come to light.
“Hypothetically, say something was stolen.” He took off his watch and slid it to Nan.
She eyed it and nodded. “Hypothetically.”
“I want it back. You have it,” Spiker explained.
Nan covered the watch with her hand. “It’s all mine.”
“And you hire a company”—Spiker gestured to Vanka—“to make sure I don’t get it back.”
Nan pressed her lips together and studied the watch. After a long, thoughtful moment, she asked, “And that’s a problem?”
“Yeah,” Spiker added unexpectedly. “Hypothetically, Vanka’s making sure I don’t get my watch back.”
Nan shrugged. “My advice is to get over it.”