Page 10 of Atlas and the Traitor

“And witnesses reported seeing a man fitting Evan’s description on or about the time the giant died,” Robin added.

Atlas sipped from his glass, the only thing keeping him from throwing it. “And what description was that?”

“White, short, fit, clean-cut, blond hair, dressed in a suit.”

Atlas gestured at himself. “Yes, that was me, killing said giant.”

Robin cocked a bushy brow, then after an up-and-down sweep of him, finally registered the change in attire since the last time he’d seen him. “What happened to the kilt?”

“I put on a suit when I need someone to think I’m Evan.” The other brow rose to match, and Atlas hung back his head on another pained sigh. When he righted it, he set his sights on the biggest liar in the room. “You didn’t tell him?” he said to Mary.

Robin shot off the couch. “Tell me what?”

“Atlas, don’t?—”

Whatever argument she was going to make was moot at this point; Robin was so close to the truth that he’d put it together any second now. No use wasting valuable time when Atlas needed answers and needed the stinky, attractive dog out of his presence. He grabbed the single framed picture off the fireplace mantel and shoved it in Robin’s direction. “That’s me and my brothers, including Evan.”

“Brother?” He looked down at the picture, then back up at him. “He’s your twin?”

“Yes, my older brother.” He lowered the hammer. “By seven minutes.” Robin’s eyes rounded into saucers, the connection made. “Same as you and Deborah.” He and Evan weren’t accidentally in their lives; they never had been. Balance and a hefty dose of fate had conspired to put the four of them in this hellscape together. But that was a conversation for a different day. He needed answers, and with Mary on her heels, she was the one to press. “That couldn’t have been all there was for you to risk the South.”

“Someone saw him in LP last month.”

Right around the time Evan would have met with Niall. “He used Cole’s death as a pretense.”

“Is that one of your other brothers?”

“The youngest,” he said, voice rough, words scraping over the knives in his throat as he set the frame back on the mantel.

“And the last one in the picture?”

“Canton.”

A low growl rumbled from deep in Robin’s chest, familiar betrayal made audible.

“Yes, it’s all a very tangled web.” Atlas tossed back the rest of his vodka, refilled the glass, and handed it to Robin. “Welcome to the party.” Unbeknownst to the coyote, he’d been a part of it his whole life, same as his late sister, same as Atlas and Evan.

Robin didn’t hesitate to gulp the shot down before turning for the stairs. “I’m gonna go change so I don’t rip her head off.”

“Now you’re catching on.” Though Atlas rather liked the view of Robin from behind, his backside as firm as the front.

“Eyes over here, sugar,” Mary parroted, and Atlas jutted a finger at her. “Don’t you start too.” He ducked into the compact kitchen under the loft and began pulling together something to eat for himself and his unexpected visitors.

Mary drifted his direction, then veered onto the couch, putting a knee to the cushions and leaning over the back to look out the window. “Where are we?”

“Safe house.”

“Who owns these vineyards?”

“Me. Or, more accurately, a shell company that owns a shell company that?—”

“I get it.” She pushed off the couch and took the plate of cheese, nuts, and grapes he held out to her. “Hacker, remember?”

“So, tell me, then...” He tossed a stale baguette on the coffee table next to the cheeseboard. “What did you hack that led you home, besides Evan’s maybe whereabouts?”

“Who works these vineyards?” came a question from the opposite direction, Robin loping down the stairs in a pair of sweats he’d ripped off at the knees, probably with his claws.

Atlas forced himself not to rise, in any fashion, to the bait. “The family of humans I rent it to,” he said, as he grabbed a knife to cut the baguette. “They live in the main house down by the road. I keep the cottage here.”

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