Rare Vigilance (Whitethorn Agency)

“Not really,” Cristian said. “I’m thirsty.”

He sauntered away from the railing and moved toward the stairs. The flashing lights of the dance floor below cast him differently, and gave his movements a predatory edge. Atlas tensed without meaning to.

Cristian noticed. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m going to get a drink.”

Constantin stepped in front of Cristian. He leaned close and muttered something in Cristian’s ear while showing off something on his phone screen. Whatever he said was unwelcome because the wide, bright smile Cristian had put on dimmed somewhat. Atlas was getting better at noticing his counterfeit expressions. Cristian took one last look at the phone, shook off his friend’s hand, and looked directly at his bodyguard.

“Want anything, Mr. Kinkaid?”

Atlas shook his head, too aware of Ioana rising from her seat behind Cristian, her lips twisting in a strange way. Vasilica’s breathing sped up. Even Andrei had looked away from his drink to watch the exchange.

Rather than asking Constantin to move out of his way, Cristian sidestepped into Atlas’s space. His elbow brushed against Atlas’s arm and lingered. It could have been taken as mild flirtation, if not for the way his gaze fixed on Atlas’s throat rather than lifting to meet his eyes. Atlas struggled against the instinctive urge to reach up and cover the skin—and its scars—with his hand and settled for turning a little, hiding them from Cristian’s view. His doctors had called him fortunate; the injuries had healed well enough, with minimal discoloration, that they weren’t too obvious from a distance. Up close though, the bumps and ridges of scarred flesh were more obvious. It was part of the reason he didn’t let people near enough to see the true extent of the damage.

Cristian didn’t seem to have the same sense of personal boundaries most people, or vaguely polite animals, did. He ignored Atlas’s discomfort and leaned closer to murmur, “Are you sure? I wouldn’t mind you joining me, you know?”

“I’m on shift.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Cristian said.

“All the same, I’m fine here,” Atlas said.

“Too bad.” Cristian sighed and continued on his way, his light steps down the stairs obscured swiftly by the music. The moment he left, the rest relaxed some. It was a relief to know the strange, tightening anticipation hadn’t been in Atlas’s imagination alone. If all of Cristian’s friends picked up on the tension and expected Cristian to do something regrettable, it meant there was a genuine reason for concern. He needed more information.

Atlas turned to Ioana, trusting her protective streak would win out over her desire to close ranks against him. “So, this Nell... Is Cristian safe with her, or should I be concerned?”

Ioana shot Andrei a quick look. He made a face and waved her off, returning to his drink and the entertainment below. When Constantin and Vasilica didn’t speak up, she answered, “You don’t need to worry about Nell.”

Right. Sure. Just like he didn’t need to worry about them lying to his face. He caught sight of Cristian in his periphery. The man stood by the bar, chatting with someone, and Atlas tried to keep him in sight while continuing the conversation. “Good. I got a little worried after the whole duffel bag thing.” He let it hang there, hoping one of them would take the bait.

Constantin indulged him with a flabbergasted, “What duffel bag thing?”

“Well, he brought a full duffel bag out of the clinic with him. It was empty after he visited Nell.”

Andrei swore, low and rough, before glaring at Atlas and warning, “What Cristian does is none of your business.”

Atlas offered a brilliant, fake smile and held up his hands. “I agree. But I’d like to know if I’m about to get caught in a father-son pissing contest that will leave me unemployed.”

“Trust Cristian,” Vasilica urged. “He wouldn’t do anything to hurt the family. Angelica taught him well.”

“Angelica?” Atlas wracked his brain and came up empty. “I haven’t met her yet.”

“You won’t meet her,” Ioana said bluntly. “She’s dead.”

Her statement destroyed any chance there may have been to dig for more information. Everyone’s head dropped and even the music couldn’t drown out the pained silence of the balcony. It was a line not to be crossed, so Atlas nodded and glanced over his shoulder to look for Cristian. He was no longer at the bar, instead weaving his way through the crowd toward a door marked Staff Only. Of course he was going to sneak off without telling anyone. This was the kind of shit that would have gotten Todd to quit. Atlas started to follow, but a second flash of movement gave him pause.

The man working through the crowd after Cristian was younger than Atlas expected, with broad shoulders and the expectant stride of a winner. He couldn’t slip through the dancers as easily as Cristian, but he gave good chase.

“Wait! Where are you going?”

He was halfway down the stairs by the time he heard Vasilica’s call. He ignored her and the sudden argument between the others, instead keeping his gaze fixed on Cristian’s pursuer. There was no choice but to follow him into the crowd. The bodies swallowed Atlas without mercy, buffeting him back and forth in the human current. All the scents he’d valiantly been ignoring pummeled him anew. His stomach churned, but he swallowed down the bile, kept his hands outstretched, and firmly parted the people before him. He made good time, but wasn’t fast enough to catch the other man. The sight of the door swinging shut gave him the motivation he needed to close the distance.

He paused when he finally reached the employees-only entrance, taking a quick look around for anyone else coming. Only when he was sure he wouldn’t be surprised by any newcomers did he slip past the door. The short, uncluttered hall branched off int

o a series of rooms. Most of it appeared to be storage, he noted as he peeked through cracked doors. He found what could have been a private lounge, though the antique furniture filling the space was far fancier than anything he’d seen before in similar spaces.

The music was muted here, and Atlas didn’t have to strain as much to listen for signs of his quarry as he attempted to check each room. This is taking too long, he fumed as he closed the door to a well-kept bathroom. But then, down the hall, came a thud against a wall. Atlas moved before he could think.

The refinished wooden door between him and Cristian was locked. No matter. A well placed, and likely too violent, kick granted him access. He burst into the room, prepared to defend Cristian.