Buck snarled. “We aren’t caped crusaders that work for a fucking greater good.”
“I’d love to hear what it is we do,” Spiker challenged.
“We’re purveyors of a niche service, and that service is whatever I say.”
“Purveyors? What kind of word-of-the-day shit is that?” He’d had enough. Rage distorted the shape of the room, the height of the ceiling. Spiker could’ve torn the house apart with his bare hands. “I fucking quit.”
“No, he doesn’t.” Vanka stared at the door that Spiker had slammed on his way out. If she didn’t intercede immediately, this would go from bad to worse. “We all need a break.”
She turned to her boss but didn’t know what to say. The man had offered her body as a perk for a client. God, this was too much. She had so much invested in this job. There was still so much potential. They couldn’t just quit. Buck had to see where he’d gone wrong and would fix what he’d screwed up.
Fury trembled in her hands. Vanka pressed them to her side and maintained complete control over her voice. “Do you understand what you suggested?”
Buck muttered under his breath.
“I mean really, Buck, do you see why he’s—rather, why we are so very . . .” There wasn’t a word that held enough rage. “Irate?”
That didn’t pack nearly enough anger, but it was all she had.
“Give me a break.” Buck pushed his chair onto its back legs. “We’ve all had to hold our nose from time to time.”
“Hold my nose? That’s your suggestion as to what I might do before spreading my legs?”
He let the front chair legs slam against the hardwood. “Name your price. I’ve always negotiated your contracts fairly.”
The bad had now gone to worse. She shouldn’t have been shocked. Spiker had understood Buck’s sinking depravity, but she’d had to walk into a wall of it to fully see GSI for what it was becoming. “Get out.” She pointed to the front door. “Now.”
Buck blustered and resettled on the edge of his seat. “What the hell’s crawled up your ass?”
“If you don’t walk out, I will kill you and make it look like an accident.” She nodded to his hands, which had moved from her sight. “And I’ll do it before you pull that side piece from your hip.” Vanka cleared the fury from her mind. Her raging, ragged breaths became cold and tightly controlled. “I’ve held my nose for enough of your assignments that you know what I’m capable of.”
Buck shifted his hand away from his gun.
“Good.” She inclined her head toward the door. “Now go.”
The chair scratched roughly against the floor. Buck grabbed his suit jacket. “We’ll hammer this out when you two calm down.”
“No,” she corrected. “We’re done. I never want to see your face again.”
As he left, the arrogant bastard had the nerve to act as though he didn’t believe her. She didn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing the door slam. Vanka closed it gently and returned to the table. The empty house was too quiet without Spiker.
Where had he gone? His cell phone was on the counter. He hadn’t taken her car keys. Vanka rushed to the front door, suddenly worried Spiker was beating Buck to a pulp on her front lawn.
He wasn’t.
They both were gone.
And now . . . she didn’t have a job. That certainly threw a wrench in all future plans. But more importantly, where was Spiker?
Vanka shut the front door and checked the backyard. No sight of him. It unnerved her that he’d left without any way to communicate. She stepped from the deck and paced her gardens. If she collected herself, she would figure out where Spiker went.
She took another deep breath and knelt at the foot of a raised garden bed. The rosemary was such a hardy beast. Nothing kept that down. The basil spooked when the sun shone too bright. This wasn’t working. She pressed her temples and tried to relax.
Andy’s window slid open. “Hey, how you doing, Vee?”
Oh, for God’s sake. She didn’t need this right now. Vanka pasted on a smile and turned toward her neighbor. “I cannot complain. How about you?”
“Ah,” he frowned. “After I saw Spiker, I could’ve sworn you two just friends had a fight.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Where did you see him?”
“I thought so.” Andy crossed his arms. “Definitely a couple.”
“Andy.” She crossed to the fence. “Where did you see him?”
His teasing expression changed. “Is everything okay, Vee?”
She didn’t know Andy any more than she knew Buck, and both had been well-researched enough. But if she had to pick one to trust, it’d be Andy. “No. It’s not, and I need to find him right now.”
Andy contemplated for a long moment and leaned into the window. “He walked by when I was washing my truck.”
Oh no. Vanka’s stomach sank.
“He promised me another round of fruit salad and a case of brewskis.”
“For what?” She already knew the answer.
“To borrow my wheels. Said he had to take care of something for you.”
Oh shit. Spiker was going to kill Alec Oliver. Just her bloody fucking luck.
CHAPTER TWENTY
A perimeter grid search of Alec Oliver’s swank McLean neighborhood hadn’t revealed Spiker or Andy’s truck. She would have been surprised if she had found Spiker strolling up the billionaire’s driveway, but that she’d been compelled to check showed her uncertainty.
Where had he gone, and why? She scanned a manicured cul-de-sac and continued to expand her search—what if he’d gone home? She cursed her lack of video surveillance. What had she been trying to prove to herself with her Luddite security of deadbolts and a reliance on creaking floors? That she was just like everyone else? The ridiculous thing was, Vanka was probably the only person on her block without a video doorbell, talking doormat, or whatever the bloody hell the latest civilian tech was.
She braked at a four-way stop and considered calling Andy. Spiker could’ve returned the truck. He might’ve been locked out on her back deck that very second.
Hope trumpeted the possibility, and she checked the Audi’s mirrors, ready to pull a U-turn—and caught a glimpse of herself, unrecognizable. She yanked the car to the curb, pulled down the sun visor, and flipped open the interior mirror. She didn’t like the reflection, and unlike her reflection from the hanging mirror at her house, Vanka wasn’t in need of focus or a pep talk. She needed him.
Worry and fear sullied her skin. Panic dilated her pupils. An unhealthy flush had made her sweaty. Reactive wishful thinking had been in charge of her search plans. She’d been more like a stricken woman hunting for a cheating partner than a professional locating a highly skilled target.
She flipped the visor up and reversed course. Two long, rolling blocks later, she spotted a landscaping van and kicked herself for missing this earlier. It was Sunday. Families were home, and in enclaves like this neighborhood, they didn’t appreciate petrol-guzzling lawnmowers obscuring their multi-million-dollar view.
The van had Virginia plates and vaguely familiar branding. She had no doubt that Andy’s truck was parked somewhere near an industrial lot belonging to this landscaping company. So long as Spiker returned the van to the same parking spot, in the same condition, no one would be the wiser.