“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 simmered, 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 and 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 also came with a reassurance that nothing was wrong. Their job had dealt them their share of others’ attractions and perversions over the years; Alec Oliver and his infatuation with Mrs. Fagan were 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?”