Rare Vigilance (Whitethorn Agency)

“Good boy,” Atlas whispered. And because he was a bit pissed off, he added, “I didn’t even need a whistle.”

Cristian reared back, but no insult flew. He’d shocked the man speechless.

Atlas pressed the cue against Cristian’s chest. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, Mr. Slava.”

Chapter Four

The next two weeks were an exercise in patience. Cristian seemed hell-bent on driving Atlas from the job and grew equally confused and irritated when his best efforts failed. Atlas stayed even-keeled through it all, earning him admiring comments from the others in Decebal’s employ, including Helias.

He was grateful for the consilier’s notice. Helias had Decebal’s ear and a close, almost brotherly relationship with Cristian. He was careful to leave Atlas and Cristian to work out their business, but more than once Atlas caught him in private, earnest conversation with Cristian after one of their spats. Atlas was always able to enjoy at least one relatively peaceful shift after Helias’s intervention.

Tonight, Helias was taking a more direct approach. He’d texted Atlas before his shift to provide directions to one of Decebal’s medical clinics, where Cristian would be attending a business meeting. Apparently, it was the only time everyone’s schedules aligned, so Atlas shrugged off the odd hour and focused on the truly important part of the message. The meeting was an unexpected change in the evening’s schedule, Helias warned. Atlas knew what that meant, which was why he wasn’t surprised to find a car parked outside when he arrived on shift. He went inside and quickly found Cristian and Helias in one of the studies.

They stood close together, glancing over paperwork spread out on one of the decorative desks, murmuring in Romanian. Cristian’s shoulders were loose and he nodded at whatever Helias was explaining. Seeing him without his usual prickly exterior was a pleasant surprise, and one Atlas hoped boded well for the evening. He cleared his throat and rapped his knuckles on the doorframe to declare his presence.

Like that, the atmosphere of the room changed. Cristian glanced up, already glowering at the interruption. Helias ignored Cristian’s ill humor and gave Atlas a friendly nod as he gathered up the papers. “Good evening, Mr. Kinkaid. I assume you saw the car outside?”

“Yes,” Atlas agreed. He looked toward Cristian. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

Cristian didn’t deign to speak to him again until they were outside at the car. And when he finally did, it was with an imperiousness that immediately raised Atlas’s hackles.

“You’ll wait in the car during the meeting,” he ordered.

“I’ll walk you inside and wait outside the office,” Atlas said. His irritation turned to amusement when Cristian’s scowl deepened.

“Walk me inside and wait in the car.”

“Walk you inside and wait in the lobby,” he volleyed back, settling his weight against the car’s roof.

“Are you always this irritating?” Cristian griped.

His change of subject meant Atlas had won the argument, and he relaxed. “Only when my paycheck’s at stake,” he replied.

Cristian rolled his eyes and slid into the town car. The moment his door closed, Atlas ran a hand down his face and got into the driver’s seat. At least Decebal paid well. Nights like this, when his head was already sore from the threat of an oncoming headache, he clung to the memory of his bank account for motivation.

He glanced over his shoulder and found Cristian leaning his head against the window, staring out at nothing in particular. “Do you have any plans for after the meeting?”

“Rapture,” Cristian murmured. “The others will meet us there.”

Atlas hummed in response and started them on their way. Rapture was one of Decebal’s many properties, a nightclub located in the renovated downtown district. He’d taken Cristian there a few times now. It wasn’t his scene, but the place was nice. Dinu loved showcasing it on a variety of social media accounts tied to Decebal’s firms. Its importance in the family’s empire meant Cristian tended to behave himself there.

Cautiously optimistic, he pulled away from the house. Once they were past the gate, he glanced back to his unusually taciturn passenger. The passing streetlamps cast bars of warm light over Cristian. He’d dressed up with dark slacks and polished shoes. He wore another fitted dress shirt, but left the top two buttons near the collar undone, giving Atlas glimpses of the line of his collarbone. Rolled-up sleeves added to his carefully crafted air of informality. Atlas doubted anyone at the meeting would care about Cristian’s relaxed dress. They’d likely be too distracted by his brooding expression, the tease of his chest, or his exposed forearms, which flexed when he reached up to brush his hair back. He was a living recreation of Joseph Geefs’s statue, enthralling and disturbing, arresting enough a man could lose hours studying him.

Cristian knew his allure. He used it to his advantage often enough that Atlas knew better than to fall for it. He ripped his attention back to the road.

“Do you mind music?” he asked.

“Go ahead,” Cristian replied absently.

Atlas put on one of the local stations and turned the volume down until the music was nothing more than a pleasant drone in the back of his head. It kept the busiest of his thoughts away, but didn’t distract him as he’d hoped. It was difficult to ignore Cristian when he was like this, unable to act on the annoying prattle of his friends hanging around him, encouraging him to awe them with his boasts or wit or his leveling sharp comments at Atlas. Alone together, Cristian’s silence reminded Atlas of the stillness that came after removing body armor, when the skin and muscles remember to move differently, when common sense warns to approach the surrounding world with a bit more caution. The silence left Cristian younger, vulnerable, and far more approachable. He liked this version of the man much better, which was foolish.

He remembered that shortly after their arrival at the clinic, where Cristian transformed back into the heir apparent before stepping out of the car. Gone was the introspection, replaced with an empty smile and crackling wit designed to win over anyone in his path. Atlas followed him inside the clinic, where Cristian was welcomed by a number of people. He apparently already knew them, since pleasantries flew back and forth with charm and teasing, and without any reason to involve Atlas. He waited for the group to disappear into a nearby conference room before settling himself down in an uncomfortable chair in the lobby to wait.

An hour later, his phone chimed with a text from Cristian. Bring the car around out back.

He frowned and checked the conference room. The door was still closed, the meeting still going apparently, and he had no reason to refuse Cristian’s missive.

A few minutes later, he pulled the car behind the building and found the man waiting for him on the loading bay. A black duffel bag sat at Cristian’s feet, and he continued chatting with one of the men from the lobby as Atlas pulled to a stop nearby. He barely managed to put the c