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“Who the hell is this?” the male on the other end barked.
“You’re not really in the position to be asking questions,” I retorted. “Do you want to leave a message, or don’t you?”
“No—yes!” He drew in a shaking breath. “My son, Cleave, is missing.”
I tensed.
“I think my ex has him, and she’s on the junk again. Atlas needs to go find Junior.”
My fingers laced around a pen, and I started to write by rote before I could stop myself, hands scrawling the words he spoke despite the tremor in my hands. Gone was the euphoric feeling that had captured me only minutes before, when I lay spread-eagle on the ground beneath my feet as Atlas devoured me whole, claiming me entirely.
I refocused my attention on the man.
“Any idea where she went?”
“One of the crack houses, probably,” he grumbled. “Atlas will know where to look.”
I pursed my lips together and nodded, even though I knew he couldn’t see me.
“I’ll deliver the message,” I promised, a shudder trickling down my spine.
Would Atlas help this man? Obviously, he helped lots of others who weren’t me. They wouldn’t keep calling by the dozens, making the phones ring off the hook as they were, if he weren’t constantly assisting anyone else.
“What’s your name?”
“George Franklin.”
I jotted down the name under the “Accept” heading, which I hadn’t even realized I’d made, and hung up without saying goodbye. Another line was already going off, and I answered that one, too. I kept my mind occupied until Atlas returned. Almost half an hour later, he appeared with an envelope in his hand.
He watched me from the doorway as I remained on my latest call.
“No,” I said firmly into the phone. “Atlas doesn’t care about your stash of drugs. How dare you call about something like this? If you call again, I’ll trace it, haul you into rehab myself, and handcuff you to a chair.”
Indignantly, I slammed the phone down, and he offered me a bemused smile.
“You’d think you’d been doing this for years,” he said brightly.
I jumped out of the swivel chair and stalked toward him, snatching the paper out of his hand.
“Is there money in here for tonight?”
His grin faded, and he exhaled. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay and finish your shift?”
I balked and tore open the envelope. Blinking, I stifled a gasp of surprise. There were more bills inside than I’d ever seen in one place before, but I shook my head. I couldn’t stand the idea of being in his house, being his plaything, while he laughed at my expense. I already had one man doing that, and I couldn’t stand the idea of another doing the same.
No, I had enough dragons to slay without bringing more into my world.
“Is that enough?” he asked, his tone even and tender. “Or were you expecting more?”
I said nothing, tucking the money into my back pocket as I turned away. The ringing in the room was starting to grind on my nerves.
“There are messages for you,” I mumbled, reaching for the door.
I half-expected him to grab my arm, to make some effort to stop me, but he didn’t. Instead, he dug his hands deep into his own pockets, like he was deliberately trying to stop himself from physically touching me again. He smelled of soap as I drifted past him, and I realized he’d washed me off him. The understanding made my heart sink more.
He's already trying to forget about what happened between us. I’ll make this easier on him.
Doing my best to keep my head up, I sailed out of the basement office.
