Vanka parked the Audi directly behind the van and jumped out. If she missed Spiker because she’d had her head in the clouds, she wouldn’t forgive herself.
“Spiker.” She banged on the tinted windows. “Open up.”
The right door panel swung open. “What are you—” Spiker caught sight of her Audi, and his nostrils flared. “Damn it, Vanka.”
Yes, that was her car, licensed in her name, spotted by dozens of home security cameras on Alec Oliver’s street. She’d put him in a bind and didn’t care. There was only so much magic in their bag of tricks, and none of it would erase the trail of evidence that she’d left if a billionaire turned up dead.
“It doesn’t matter. We’re going home.”
“The hell we are.”
She held out her hand. “Let me in.”
The interior of the van stank of sweat and rust. Parts organizers covered both walls. Most of the labels had been worn away after years of grubby-handed use. The narrow space that led to the driver’s seat wasn’t meant for two people to have a friendly chat. It was stifling and stuffy, and Vanka had never been so glad to be trapped in an airless box with Spiker. “And we were having such a nice weekend . . .”
He scowled. “Go home, Vanka.”
“Pulling a stunt like this will land us in couple’s counseling.”
Spiker snorted. “You’ve got jokes, princess?” He shook his head. “Timing’s off.”
“I’m not leaving without you, and obviously, you’ve got to roll because I screwed your cover.”
Sweat glistened over his face, and the hard-set determination in his jaw didn’t waver. He was as emotionally compromised as she had been as she drove the neighborhood, searching for Andy’s truck and a billboard announcing the arrival of a hitman.
Vanka settled in the awkward spot on the van floor and checked her wristwatch. She’d give him a few minutes for the truth to sink in.
“Fucking hell.” He leaned against the organizer and stared at the torn ceiling fabric mended with staples and duct tape.
“That took less time than I expected.” Sweat formed on the back of her neck. She swept her loose hair into a bun. “Good thing, too. I’m baking alive.”
“Something has to give.”
“Sure,” she agreed. “But not the guy’s life.”
Spiker shrugged. “I didn’t say anything about killing Oliver.”
“I don’t think you’re here to give him a stern lecture.”
The corners of his lips quirked. “Maybe something in between.”
Perhaps that was indeed his intention. She only knew how angry he had been and what Spiker was capable of. She’d assumed the worst scenario. Either way, Spiker didn’t need to be there. “Let’s return the van, get Andy’s truck—”
Spiker chuckled. “I didn’t have a plan in mind when that happened.”
“And I don’t want to know the one you have now.”
“What’d Buck say?”
“Hmm,” Vanka hummed. “After you quit? Or after I did?”
His eyebrow arched. “You quit? For me?”
She lifted her shoulders. “For a lot of reasons.”
“I ran through several scenarios, and I didn’t think that would happen.”
“Oh, come on, after what he proposed?”
“Yeah.” Spiker nodded. “You’re a force of nature. Kinda hard to derail.”
All of the reasons she’d stayed on GSI’s payroll came to mind. “Do you trust me?”
“What kind of question is that?” he laughed. “After everything we’ve been through.”
“Come with me.”
“Don’t.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I can get myself home without a babysitter. All right?”
“I’m serious. Come on.” She crawled to the door and released the hatch. The bright, baking sunshine rolled over her like a cool breeze as she hopped from the van and beckoned him to join her.
He studied her sweaty face and then relented. “You want me to ask if you trust me?”
“You already know that answer.” She shut the van door. “We’re going for a walk.”
Spiker hesitated. “I don’t get it.”
“You will.” She held out her hand. “Perhaps the pervy billionaire does need a stern lecture.”
“Ha.” He took her hand. “I’ll let you run point.”
Disheveled and overheated from the van, they strolled down the sidewalk and stopped at the grand stone entrance that announced the Chateau de Oliver.
“The purple castle,” Spiker said.
“Now that you mention purple again?” She led them up the driveway. “I can see what you meant.” They crossed the brick courtyard and stepped onto the porch. “Ready?”
He laughed. “Sure.”
Vanka rang the doorbell, which played the tune of a gothic church organ. “That’s a little much.”
“He might not be home?”
Vanka banged on the door. “He is.” She waved at a security camera. “My, my, I bet we look like a hot mess,” she muttered, then called, “We’re here.”
The door swung open. A butler blocked the entrance. “Can I help you?”
“I thought everyone who worked here had a French accent.” She put her foot in the entryway. Casual weekend flats didn’t have the same door-breaching effect she liked to shoot for when finagling her way inside a home. Saucy high heels were an absolute necessity, but this afternoon, she wasn’t interested in a showy, surefire arrival. She wanted more of a scene. After all, if she was going to go out, it would be with a bang.
The butler reached for a panic alarm.
“Hold on.” Vanka gestured to the man’s hand. “I know what this looks like, but Alec just returned from lunch at Brielle.” She paused as the butler realized that her story matched up with his employer’s schedule. “He asked that we come over as soon as possible. If you’ll tell him Mr. and Mrs. Fagan are here for a little fun.”
The butler stepped back, scrutinizing their appearance.
A single pair of expensive shoes rushed from the curving entryway. Those weren’t the footfalls of security. “Here he comes now.”
Alec stormed into view. “What’s the meaning of this?”
The butler stepped aside. Vanka let herself in. Spiker flanked her six. Her smile broadened, and she wiggled her fingers in a wave. “Buck Baer sent us straight over.”
Alec dismissed the butler. “You must be mistaken.”
“I don’t think so.” She sauntered through the white marble space and beelined for the large hall they’d last been in.
“You need to leave,” Alec called, chasing them. “I’ll call the cops.”
“I don’t think so,” she said again.
Spiker fell in by her side and half-laughed, half-muttered, “You’ve lost your mind.”
“No, I simply want to try something new with you.” They reached the closed double doors that opened to the reception hall. “One hundred feet would put us . . .” She tapped her finger against her lips. “Mr. Fagan,” she addressed Spiker, “feel free to deliver that lecture. I’ll be back in a minute.”