Rare Vigilance by M.A. Grant
Chapter Six
“To what do I owe this dubious pleasure?” Bea asked when the bakery bag landed on her desk.
“Wanted to pick your brain for a bit.” Atlas made himself comfortable in the chair opposite her and watched with amusement as she used a pen to delicately peer into the bag. “Pain au chocolat,” he told her. “I braved the lunch crowd for it.”
“Oof, now I know you fucked up somehow,” Bea mused. It didn’t stop her from neatly setting aside the paperwork she’d been doing to focus on the treat.
“Last shift was a bit rough,” he admitted.
Bea hummed and pulled out the pastry, eyeing it with a hunger that told Atlas she hadn’t eaten yet this morning. “Migraine?”
He tapped his sunglasses, which he still hadn’t removed, and confirmed, “Yep.”
“And you haven’t been to bed yet, have you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Trying to figure out how to deal with a situation that came up.”
She grabbed a tissue from the box in her desk drawer, kicked off her heels, drew her feet up under her in her chair, and leaned back to watch him as she ate. “Do tell.”
He did. She didn’t react as he told her what had transpired at Rapture, not even at his confused explanation of why he’d reacted so harshly, though he guessed she probably could read through the lines of his narrative to see the embarrassing confession underneath. Bea had always been good at keeping her thoughts to herself while Atlas talked through things. It had drawn them closer when they were younger and he’d vent about the kids who liked to pick on him for his secondhand clothes or the brown bag lunches the cafeteria workers served him when he couldn’t pay his hot lunch balance. When he was recovering stateside, her silence had given him the safety he needed to explain his physical symptoms or night terrors. Now, her unwavering support gave him the courage to finish speaking and await her judgment.
Bea finished the last bite of her pastry and licked a lingering spot of dark chocolate away. “Well, I’d say last night went badly.”
He winced.
She wiped her fingers clean, tossed the tissue in the trash, and leaned more comfortably against the arm of her chair. “Relax. You didn’t do enough to get fired. You can defend all your actions and show you were working in the best interest of the contract. Mr. Vladislavic may not take action against you, but I doubt you’ll be able to salvage your relationship with Mr. Slava so easily.”
“He already hates me.”
Bea shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. His feelings toward you have no bearing on this. What does is whether he’ll work with you or actively against you. Based on what I heard from other agents who walked away from the contract, he can be a prickly son of a bitch when he doesn’t get his way.”
“Don’t I know it,” Atlas muttered.
“And you said he doesn’t always obey his father,” she continued.
“No. That would make things much easier.”
“So why would the threat of taking your concerns to Mr. Vladislavic mean anything to him?” Bea asked.
“Wait... What?” Atlas asked.
“Look, I know that Mr. Vladislavic is paying us. Normally, that means we’d follow his orders to the T. But he’s giving Mr. Slava free rein and isn’t getting involved in conflicts between his son and you, or any of our other agents. So this issue isn’t something he’ll be able to solve.”
“But that means—”
“You and Mr. Slava need to figure it all out.” She rose from her chair, slipped her feet back into her heels, and grabbed a piece of paper from her desk. “Call him now. I want to know how you both intend to move forward by the time I get back.”
“Shit,” Atlas whispered when the door closed behind her. He closed his eyes and fished his phone out of his pocket. He didn’t have Cristian’s private number; the closest he had was Helias’s, and he was loath to bother the man. But he knew Bea wouldn’t accept any excuses, so he dialed anyway.
Helias picked up on the second ring. “Mr. Kinkaid, how can I assist you?”
“I’m sorry for calling so late after my shift,” he said, fumbling a little over the apology, “but I needed to speak to Mr. Slava and didn’t have a way to reach him.”
“Ah, I see. One moment, please.”
Atlas tapped his fingers on Bea’s desk while he waited. The nervous energy didn’t dissipate. If anything, it got worse when Helias returned to the line and said, “I’m putting Mr. Slava on now.”
“What do you want?” Cristian’s brusque question reset something in Atlas’s brain. He was used to dealing with this Cristian, and he found his footing much faster than he had last night when he’d been confronted by the man’s humiliation instead.
“I needed to apologize,” Atlas said.
Silence from the other end of the line.
“I reacted poorly out of my surprise by the situation,” he went on. “I would like to avoid such reactions in the future.”
“I’m not going to stop finding...partners,” Cristian warned.
“You are a grown man who can make that decision for himself,” Atlas agreed. “I simply ask that we come to a compromise so that I am able to do my job properly while still allowing you to have your privacy.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, miserable and wishing the conversation were over. But it was his own damn fault he’d messed up, and he needed to fix it before his shift tonight. He wouldn’t be able to face the full force of Cristian’s displeasure with this migraine.
Again, silence. He wondered if Cristian had hung up on him. At least that would have been an answer in itself.
“What?”
He sat up a bit in his chair, surprised by Cristian’s response. The question had none of the volume or anger he expected; if anything, it was a confused, weak thing, a reaction that had slipped out before Cristian could catch it. He capitalized on the slip before Cristian could pretend it never happened.
“I don’t want you to change your day-to-day routine,” Atlas said. “I don’t need to be privy to every decision you make. I’d simply like us to come to an agreement about how to work together to ensure your safety.” He took a breath, squeezed his phone a little tighter, and decided to risk it. “I’m sorry I haven’t spoken to you about this before. That no one from Whitethorn did. But I’m asking now.”
“You actually mean that?”
“Yes.”
“I—I don’t know what you want, Mr. Kinkaid,” Cristian said. The admission sounded painful.
“I can’t allow unknown, unvetted people close to you. The risk is too great.”
Cristian made an irritated sound, but didn’t disagree. Slowly, grudgingly, he asked, “What if someone checked them before we go into a room together?”
He wanted to agree, wanted to capitulate and ensure he wasn’t removed from the contract, but he couldn’t say yes in good faith. Too much could still go wrong.
Cristian read his hesitation too easily. “Come on, Mr. Kinkaid,” he purred, “you said we were compromising. That means both of us need to communicate.”
“An individual check will help, but it won’t eliminate all other risk factors.”
“There will always be risk factors. I won’t let you keep me locked in my room like a Gothic heroine,” Cristian said flatly.
“That would be hell for both of us,” Atlas threw back. “I’m just trying to find ways to lessen the dangers we have control over.”
“I’ll use the same room at Rapture. That way it’s more familiar when it’s swept. And I’ll leave the door unlocked, on the condition I’m not interrupted.”
He doubted he’d get a better compromise. “I can work with that.”
“A check of the room and my partner then,” Cristian said. “In exchange, you keep the fuck out of my private business.”
“Fine.”
“Lovely doing business with you, Mr. Kinkaid. See you tonight.”
He blinked and looked down at his phone. The call was over. But the compromise was in place.
Bea reentered her office a moment later, and Atlas was positive she’d been waiting outside the door, likely eavesdropping. “Sounds like it went well,” she remarked as she returned to her desk.
“I think it might have,” Atlas agreed cautiously.
“Did you apologize?”
“Yes.”
“Did you decide on a compromise?”
“I think so. At least the start of one.”
Bea set down the piece of paper she’d picked up on her way out. She gave Atlas a smug smile as she settled back into her chair. “Sister knows best,” she bragged. “Now, go home. You look like shit warmed over.”
“Love you too, Bea,” Atlas mumbled. Her laughter followed him out of her office, but it didn’t bother him. His mind was finally clear enough he might be able to manage some real sleep before tonight’s shift. No matter what Cristian had agreed to, Atlas was sure he’d need to keep his wits about him.
Despite their tentative truce, low expectations for Cristian’s behavior meant he was on guard when he showed up for the next night’s shift. It was the right call because he noticed the tension in the air before ever stepping into the house. Dinu and Vasilica stood in the doorway of the billiards room with cues in hand, blatantly eavesdropping on the muffled, furious voices from the office upstairs.
“Hey,” Dinu greeted Atlas. “Did Cristian text you yet?”
“No,” Atlas said, a little confused. “Was he supposed to?”
Vasilica jabbed her elbow into Dinu’s side. “He doesn’t have Atlas’s number, remember?” She darted a quick look at Atlas, a rare decision to include him in the conversation. “We aren’t going to Rapture tonight.”
Atlas looked over his shoulder. More and more, he wondered if there was a joke going on he didn’t know about. “The car’s out front.”
“That’s because Cristian is going somewhere. We aren’t.” Vasilica must have had her fill of him, because she looked back toward the stairs, head tilted in anticipation.
Andrei emerged from one of the doors leading to the kitchen. Atlas caught his attention as he headed for one of the studies—difficult to do when the man was completely focused on not spilling whatever was in his coffee mug—and asked, “What’s going on?”
Andrei grunted, spun out of Atlas’s reach, and said, “Business,” before vanishing through the other doorway.
About as helpful as a kick in the nuts, Atlas lamented. None of Cristian’s friends seemed interested in giving him any details, so he decided to follow Vasilica and Dinu’s lead and find himself a comfortable place to linger until he knew what the night’s activities were.
It didn’t take long to find out.
The voices in Decebal’s office fell silent.
“Ooo,” Vasilica whispered, “here it comes.”
Atlas’s shoulders tensed and he lowered his head without fully understanding why. A door upstairs opened, cracking into the wall a second later, and a pair of heavy footfalls pounded down the hallway.
Vasilica and Dinu retreated into the billiards room, closing the door behind. Well, almost closing the door behind them. Atlas had no doubt they were peering out through the narrow opening.
Atlas choked on a surprised breath when he spotted Cristian. He’d seen Cristian dressed up for Rapture, but those designer clothes were always worn with the relaxed indifference of someone used to such wealth. The gray suit Cristian wore now was nothing like that.
The single-breasted, modern-fit jacket made his shoulders and chest look wider than Atlas knew them to be. His skinny tie was the same color of his eyes and drew attention up to his aristocratic sneer. The careful pleat of his slacks lengthened his legs and his shined shoes would rival those of dress blues at parades. It made him look older, harder, and Atlas wondered if Cristian deliberately avoided wearing such clothes because it reminded people that he could be a responsible adult.
Armor, Atlas decided. This is Cristian in armor.
“What are you looking at?” Cristian spat when he noticed Atlas watching him.
Atlas mentally rolled his eyes before replying, “Nice tie.”
“Fuck off.”
Cristian stalked past him and out the front door before a frustrated Helias appeared on the stairs. Atlas didn’t immediately follow Cristian, instead raising a brow and looking to Helias for any kind of clues of what the hell was going on. Helias made a face and gestured for Atlas to follow Cristian instead.
Okay, so he would be going into this completely unprepared.
He took a slow, steadying breath, and abandoned the house. Cristian had already gotten into the backseat of the car. He didn’t say anything as Atlas got in and started the ignition. He didn’t say anything as Atlas drove down the drive. Atlas left him to his silence as long as he could, positive it was better to give him some time to calm down before pressing for answers. Only when they hit the end of the Vladislavic’s private road did he dare speak up.
“Tonight’s destination?” he asked.
“Sixty-one Revelator Road.”
Atlas frowned, but dutifully pulled up the GPS. “I don’t know that one,” he admitted. It stung his pride a bit; he was familiar with most of Scarsdale.
Cristian gave him a twisted grin from the backseat. “Not Scarsdale. We’re going to Hahn Lake.”
He couldn’t keep the incredulity out of his voice. “Hahn Lake? Like, almost an hour away, Hahn Lake?”
“If traffic is good and there’s no road construction. Yes.” Cristian leaned forward and pointed at the GPS. He repeated, “Sixty-one Revelator Road, Hahn Lake,” while Atlas dutifully typed it in.
“And you couldn’t have told me this sooner?” he asked as the directions popped up on screen.
“I didn’t have your number.”
“Get it from Helias.”
For some reason, that made Cristian’s poor attempt at good humor vanish, replaced with a scowl. “Give it to me yourself.”
With a sigh, Atlas recited his number and turned onto the road, resigned to the long, miserable drive. He only made it fifteen minutes before glancing back at Cristian. “Why are we going to Hahn Lake?”
“Father has a business meeting out there and decided to send me in his stead,” Cristian said with bitter cheer. “Supposedly it’s an easy transaction and even I won’t be able to mess it up.”
Atlas wasn’t sure if there was a tactful way to ask the question, but he tried anyway. “Was this planned?”
“What do you think, Mr. Kinkaid?”
He didn’t answer. It wasn’t that kind of question. Instead, he turned on the radio and, like a coward, kept his mouth shut for the rest of the drive.