Rare Vigilance (Whitethorn Agency)

Quit contract. High risk. Need to talk in daylight. Atlas.

He took the note with him when he abandoned the car. Bea had given him a key to the office ages ago, when she’d first moved in, so it was muscle memory to unlock the door, close the lock behind him, turn off the alarm, and head for her office. She hadn’t taken her laptop home for once. A truly rare occurrence indicating she needed genuine rest, and yet another reason to not call her at this godforsaken hour. No, he wouldn’t draw Bea out of the safety of her home until the sun was high, no matter how much he didn’t want to be alone right now.

He set his note on her desk where he knew she would see it and fled the office, resetting everything on his way out. He was halfway to his car when an engine turned on from the darkness in the back of the lot. A pair of headlights flashed twice at him and went dark. Fear left his muscles cold and useless. He paused, unsure whether to bolt for his car and pray he made it in time, or to confront whoever was clearly waiting for him.

The waiting car made no move to come closer to him. Instead, it turned on its headlights, illuminating the area, and waited. No other shapes nearby. No scuffle of footsteps on dirty asphalt. It seemed that he and the mystery driver were alone.

Had Decebal already sent someone for him?

He bit the inside of his cheek and clenched his fingers tighter around his car keys. If he was smart, he’d ignore the obvious invitation to come closer, get into his car instead, and drive around Scarsdale until he knew he wasn’t followed before returning to his apartment. But Atlas wasn’t feeling very smart. His back and wrist stung with every movement. The base of his skull ached. He was itching for a fight, even though it was one he wouldn’t win. He moved toward the headlights. The night was already shot to shit; this couldn’t make things any worse than they already were.

The driver’s window slid down as he swung wide to get a better look at whoever wanted his attention. The man inside was probably Helias’s age. He looked like a transplanted European head of state, with his carefully coiffed dark blond hair, perfect smile, and tailored suit. He was careful to avoid any sudden movements, and though his expression was serious, there was an openness to him Atlas didn’t expect.

“Who the fuck are you?” Atlas asked from a safe distance away. Maybe not safe enough if the man pulled a gun on him, but, at this point, Atlas would almost prefer to die by such mundane means.

“Jasper Rhodes. And it seems you’ve had a bad night, Mr. Kinkaid,” the man said with a trace of a posh British accent. The fact that he knew Atlas’s name was troubling, but it was his accent that made Atlas hate him a little more.

“How would you know?”

“I went into the workshop after you left and saw your handiwork. Quite a bit of reconnaissance was wasted thanks to your actions tonight.” The man didn’t seem to notice Atlas’s sudden tension. He simply carried on like they were having a nice chat. “I caught up to you as you were leaving Decebal’s estate and hoped you might stop long enough to speak with me.”

“You—” Atlas bit off the rest of his question and tried to stop his mind’s whirling. “Reconnaissance?”

The man’s smile would have been warm, if not for his blatant condescension when he said, “You aren’t the only one who knows what Decebal truly is.”

He sighed when Atlas didn’t respond and tugged his sleeve higher, revealing scarred puncture marks bitten into his wrist. Atlas clutched at his own wrist, only to suck in a breath when the pain of the bite flared. Jasper nodded, as if he’d confirmed something, and then reached down, out of sight. Atlas started, breaking away toward his own car, and the man jerked his hands up. “Sorry! Should have warned you. I’m simply getting out a card.”

Atlas watched the man slowly reach into his console. He telegraphed every move as he pulled out a silver card case and removed a single card from it. He seemed amused by the drama of it all, but Atlas didn’t care. He had a better chance of telling what was coming. Jasper retrieved a pen, wrote out something on the back of the card, returned the pen to the console, and closed it. He held the card between two fingers and extended his arm out the open window.

“My employer was impressed by what I told her about your work tonight. She asked me to offer you a tête-à-tête. An exchange of information, as it were. She’s expecting your call.”

“I don’t know you. I don’t know your employer. Why the fuck would I meet with either of you?”

“Because we intend to stop Decebal.” He said nothing else. He didn’t need to, and they both knew it.

Jasper smiled. “Have a good night, Mr. Kinkaid.” The card slipped from his fingers, fluttering to the ground, and the window rolled up. Jasper flashed his headlights once more and slid away into the night. The car turned onto the main strip, taillights disappearing around the block, before Atlas crouched down and retrieved the card. He didn’t look at it. He stuffed it in his pocket and hurried back to his car, intent on returning home and securing his apartment in case Decebal or his employees came crawling over to visit. Then, once he knew he was safe, all he had to do was wait for Bea to call. She’d believe him, just as she always had, and together, they’d get through this.

Back at his apartment, he sat on his couch and waited. The last remaining hours of his shift passed without a single sound outside his front door, without any text messages or phone calls. Dawn broke. He watched the sun climbing higher through his open window shades and the moment its warm beams fell over his skin, he closed his eyes and sent up a prayer of thanks for making it through the night.

Bea called him twenty minutes later. She began talking the moment he answered.

“Are you okay?”

He chuckled, but it came out wrong, too choked with emotions and too twisted to be amusing or self-deprecating. “Not really.”

“What the hell happened last night? I got in this morning and had a message waiting from Mr. Vladislavic and then I found your note and—”

“You talked to Decebal?”

“Of course,” she said, as if his question had confused her. “He said something went wrong and that you’d quit.”

“I did. Quit, I mean,” Atlas confirmed. “Look, Bea, you can’t talk to him again. Working with him is too dangerous.”

She didn’t deny his assertion right away. He heard her desk chair creak and could imagine her settling in more comfortably, preparing for a longer conversation. “And I ask again, what happened last night?”

He scrambled for an explanation. “I drove Cristian to a meeting and we were attacked. Cristian got hurt. I got him back safely, but—” He couldn’t tell her the truth. Sure, she’d believed him when he’d woken a delirious, broken mess in the military hospital, but this was different. Bea hadn’t seen what he had in Romania, so it was easier to accept his explanations then; she’d worked with Decebal for a while now. Even if she trusted Atlas and believed his instincts, there was no way she’d accept his explanation. Desperate, he finished, “—but these issues aren’t going to stop. It’d be better to cut ties now than wait for something to go truly wrong.”

“Atlas, we’re hired to provide protection in dangerous situations. Most of our clients aren’t going to change their ways...hiring us is easier. And I have no intention of cutting ties with Mr. Vladislavic. He’s one of the most respected men in Scarsdale.”