Rare Vigilance (Whitethorn Agency)

“M-maybe I should drive Mr. Slava back. That way Mr. Vladislavic can meet me in person,” he said.

Cristian shook his head and tsked gently. “I wouldn’t bother him right now,” he said. “But we appreciate your help, Leroy. I promise Mr. Kinkaid will be very careful with your bike and will return it as soon as he is able.”

Damn, this shift was going to run long. It would be so much easier to hunker down in Rapture, but he wasn’t in the mood to argue with Cristian. Not on this grim anniversary. Atlas bit the inside of his cheek and nodded, silently agreeing to deal with the vehicle situation later.

Cristian leaned in and plucked the bills from Atlas’s fingers. He dropped them into Leroy’s hand and scooped the keys up in exchange, smiling prettily all the while. “He’ll be back soon.”

They left the poor, bewildered man to make his way back inside the club and quickly found his bike. It wasn’t anything fancy, an older, well-used model. It must have been picked up for cheap. “You want to drive?” Atlas asked.

Cristian looked at the keys, then up toward the lightening sky above them. He swallowed hard and shook his head. “I think I’ll let you. I’m a little...distracted.”

“Fine.” Atlas swung himself in place and groaned a moment later after a fruitless search. “No helmet?”

“Drive safely then.”

“Stupid kid,” Atlas grumbled. The bike came to life with a spat before settling into a comfortable purr. “Sure you don’t want to stay here?”

Cristian hummed and wrapped his arms around Atlas’s waist. The weight of the embrace shocked him into silence. “Hurry, Mr. Kinkaid,” Cristian murmured. “I have no desire to meet my mother this morning.”

They raced the dawn out of town. The roads were undisturbed except for the few odd cars moving about before the rest of the world had woken. The muted colors of night grew brighter every minute the sun crept closer. Cristian clung tighter to Atlas, as if they could somehow escape morning. Atlas mentally cursed Cristian’s stubborn refusal to stay at Rapture as he pushed the bike faster. Cristian’s tension leached into him with each press of the man’s body against his back. They leaned into the turn for the road to Decebal’s house and Atlas barely avoided wobbling when Cristian hissed and buried his face against Atlas’s back. He wasn’t hurt, but his obvious fear left him hiding himself from the sunlight threatening to break through the canopy of trees lining the road.

Atlas punched in the code for the main gate and drove Cristian up to the front door. He didn’t wait for Atlas to turn off the bike before lurching free and rushing to get inside. No thanks. No goodbye. The door closed with a heavy thud, leaving Atlas with a borrowed bike and the task of returning it to its owner. His sense of foreboding only grew worse the closer he got back to Rapture. He pulled into the small employee parking lot, parked Leroy’s bike in its original spot, and returned to Decebal’s car.

The tires looked worse in the light. Atlas knelt and dragged his finger along the flap cut into the thick rubber. A check of the second tire confirmed similar treatment. They’d both been slashed. Someone had been waiting in the shadows. Leroy’s arrival had been a blessing in more ways than one.

Atlas phoned Helias and left a message for him about the car. He figured the consilier would know who to call to get it fixed. And since it was Decebal’s club, it made sense to leave the keys with one of the employees inside. He ended up banging on the door for a while before it finally opened. It wasn’t Leroy peering out at him though.

The young woman fixed Atlas with a strange look. He’d seen her before, serving drinks at the bar, though he didn’t know her name. “I know you,” she said, opening the door a little wider. “You’re Mr. Slava’s bodyguard.”

He nodded. “Atlas Kinkaid. Our car had some trouble. I’m supposed to leave the keys here so Mr. Casimir can get it taken care of.” He held them out to her. When she took them, he held up Leroy’s keys. “And I needed to return these to Leroy. I appreciate him loaning his bike.”

Her nose scrunched and she laughed. “Leroy? Who’s that?”

The back of his neck prickled. “Leroy. Skinny, average looking. He rides that bike over there.” He pointed.

The woman dutifully looked, but shook her head as she withdrew back into the safety of the doorway. “I don’t know who’s that is. No one here rides a motorcycle. And we don’t have anyone named Leroy on staff. Oh, Mr. Kinkaid, are you okay? You don’t look too good.”

The swooping in his stomach didn’t ease, even when he tried to smile at her. “I’m fine. Sorry. Long night. I’ll find him later then.” She didn’t look convinced, so he went another direction. “I appreciate all your help. Thanks. Have a good day.”

He checked the door after she closed it. Solidly locked. Good. One of the few good things he could think of at the moment.

Leroy didn’t work at Rapture. Yet he’d followed them out to the employee lot, where he’d parked his bike without the staff knowing. Atlas’s eyes burned without his sunglasses. He knew he was running out of time to get home before a new migraine took hold, but there were more important things to worry about now.

They’d been set up. He’d expected there to be fallout after the call with Bryony. Between his behavior and Cristian’s refusal to obey her, there was no way she’d let them get away unscathed. He just hadn’t expected her retribution to come so quickly. Worse, he couldn’t decide who she was targeting. Did she suspect his doubts about working with her? Or was this an attempt to move against Cristian, to test whether Atlas would be able to fend her off? Perhaps that’s how Leroy fit into it all. He’d offered to drive Cristian back on his own. He could have been tasked with kidnapping Decebal’s heir. His timing was shit though...this close to dawn, there was a real chance Cristian wouldn’t have made it far. Atlas pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to breathe. Bryony must have had a place to stash Cristian somewhere nearby. At least, that’s what Atlas had to hope, because the thought that she’d willingly risk her nephew’s life just to prove a point meant she wouldn’t hesitate to do worse to anyone else.

Until he and Cristian were able to stop the creatures hunting in Scarsdale, he couldn’t allow Bryony to overthrow Decebal. That meant he needed to warn Decebal of her machinations, which would require proof. Preferably proof that would keep his own involvement out of the conversation.

He pocketed the bike’s keys and examined the plates. Maybe Bea could help him.

* * *

She picked up on the third ring. “Atlas?” she croaked, still groggy and grumpy. “Why are you calling me?”

“Got a bit of a situation. You still have someone who can help us run plates?”

“Hold on.” He heard rustling. Bea loved soft things and had a tendency to fall asleep in nests of blankets when she stayed up too late working. The laptop must have been close by, judging from her quick keystrokes. She mumbled under her breath to herself for a bit, but eventually said, “I’ve got someone. Can you text me what you need?”

“Yep. I’ll even send some pictures.”