Authors: D. B. Reynolds
Raphael (10 page)
Cynthia laughed and popped the last of her muffin into her mouth. “Or a cop.” She glanced at the wall clock. “Look if you want a ride, let's do it. I can go into my Santa Monica office and take care of some things while I'm over there. And listen, if you want to pack your stuff up right now, we can stuff it all into the Land Rover, save you the trip back."
"Fine. I wouldn't want to intrude on you any longer."
Cynthia was sure Holly intended that last comment as some sort of a guilt trip, but it wasn't going to work, not this time. This abduction case was going to get complicated and she needed her nosy sister gone. “Great. I'll go grab a quick shower."
By the time Cyn got back to the condo, several hours had passed and the sun was well past its zenith. She pulled into the garage, leaving the door open as usual. There was a heavy door between the garage and the condo itself, and as she went through, she made certain it closed completely and the electromagnetic lock engaged. Then she made a mental note to herself to reprogram the access. If Holly was hanging around with Chuck the dough boy again, she couldn't be trusted. Chuck had some pretty weird ideas, and Cynthia didn't buy her sister's excuse for coming into her office this morning. Cyn did a lot of work with high profile people. And while she would never consider selling any of the photographs or other information she acquired through that work, she had no illusions about Holly suffering from similar compunctions. Especially if it brought her closer to the altar with Chuck and his Daddy's money.
With her sister gone, serenity seemed to settle over Cyn's home. She and Holly didn't get along well, but it was more a clash of personalities between them than anything else. Holly was compulsively neat and not a bad houseguest, as such things went. Well, except for the snooping, of course. Still, as Cyn went through the condo, pulling back drapes and opening windows, she felt a tremendous weight lifting from her spirit. Her home was her own again.
Humming peacefully, she pulled off the silk blouse and slacks she'd donned for her trip into town, kicked off her stylish heels, pulled on a t-shirt over comfortable jeans and made her way barefoot into her office and the work she'd been forced to abandon earlier. She kept the blinds down in this room; she preferred a low light when working with her various electronic gadgets. But now that she was alone in the condo, she left the office door open. Fresh air streamed in from the hallway, ruffling the papers on her desk and reminding her there was a world outside the dim confines of her workspace.
The video, when she booted it up, was still cued to the piano room and Matias’ untimely death. She watched the scene all over again in slow motion. Something nagged at her about the humans in the doorway, something inconsistent she couldn't quite put a finger on. The angle of the security camera wasn't ideal; it was focused on the center of the room, perfectly placed to capture Alexandra at her piano, which was probably the reason for its placement. But it left the doorway at an oblique angle that kept her guessing. Frowning, she flipped through the computer files Duncan had provided. There must be at least one camera, if not more, on the mezzanine outside the music room. She cued up what she thought was the right one, then swore her frustration and tried another. She finally got it on the third try, speeding through the footage until she found what she was looking for. There, two men standing in the doorway. The one she recognized as the driver was talking to someone inside the room, presumably the traitor Albin. The other remained silent. Two men. But there had been five men in the van at the gate, the driver and four gunmen. So where were the other three men?
Cyn scanned the files again, pulling up the video of the kitchen entrance. One of the abductors could be seen dragging the bodies of two human guards into the kitchen, then remaining to stand guard with the black van. She continued watching until Albin emerged through the side door, Alexandra beside him before he shoved her into the van. Cynthia frowned again. Albin climbed into the cargo compartment after Alexandra, and the driver slid the panel door closed and hurried around the front of the vehicle. The other two men—the one who'd been inside with the driver, and the one standing guard outside—piled in through the passenger door, and with all three of them in the driver's compartment, the van took off. Her heart beating wildly, she froze the image and sat back in her chair.
The two vampires went in the back of the van, three of the abductors in front. Maybe the other two gunmen had been waiting in the back of the van—but why the hell would they do that? Why not go into the house for the extraction? Sure, supposedly Albin had it all set up, but any number of things could have gone wrong. Why not have the extra muscle there, just in case? Which meant there were two gunmen unaccounted for. Right. Okay. She sighed. This was going to be really boring.
Five hours later, the sun was down, the wind blowing through the windows had taken a decidedly cold turn, and Cynthia had fast forwarded through twenty-four hours of every camera angle Duncan had provided. She stood and stretched her chilled muscles, then walked into her bedroom and closed the door to the deck, watching as the sun dipped below the horizon in a glory of smog-tinted color. As it disappeared, she dialed the number on the elegant business card Raphael had provided. Voice mail picked up and an impersonal female voice asked her to leave a message.
"Lord Raphael, this is Cynthia Leighton. I need to talk with you. It's urgent."
Then she stripped off her comfortable clothes and took another shower. She had a feeling it was going to be a long night.
Still damp from the shower, Cyn wrapped a towel around herself and stepped out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. Crossing over to the fireplace, she reached down and flicked the electronic ignition, smiling when the fire immediately leapt up to dance cheerfully on the open hearth. She loved the feel of the warm air on her naked skin and let the towel drop to the floor as she went over to check her cell phone. There were no messages. She was no expert, but the sun had been down nearly an hour. How long did it take for a vampire to wake up or whatever they called it? Back in the bathroom, she began massaging moisturizer into her skin, first her legs, then the rest of her body and arms. The lotion was unscented. Cynthia didn't wear perfume of any kind. In her line of business, she frequently had to move around incognito, and it wouldn't do to have an identifiable perfume trailing along behind her.
She snapped the front clasp on a particularly fetching champagne lace bra and was pulling on a fresh pair of jeans when the security intercom sounded its discordant buzz. Someone was at the door downstairs in the garage. Cynthia stared at the offending intercom for a few seconds, then grabbed a sweater, pulling it over her head while she walked down the hall to her office. The security setup here at home was very much like the one at her Santa Monica office, except this one actually had a wider angle lens. That was a flaw in her Santa Monica security she intended to remedy very soon. She was still spooked over the ease with which Raphael and Duncan had slipped in after Lonnie. If it had been someone else, someone who meant her harm, things could have gotten really ugly really fast.
She brought up the display, muttering under her breath, “If that's you, Holly, you can turn right around and go back to Chuck, because this hotel is closed for the duration.” What she found instead stopped her cold.
Duncan turned and looked directly at the camera as she turned on the monitor, as if he heard the tiny click from two stories above. His blond hair was freshly slicked back and he wore what she now recognized was a uniform of sorts for Raphael's security people—charcoal gray suit, but with a black shirt and pewter tie this evening. He looked quite good, actually, and on anyone else she would have appreciated the view. She took in the scene behind him and saw at least two other vamps standing near an open limo door. She pressed the intercom button with an audible sigh.
"Duncan. Why am I not surprised?"
"Ms. Leighton,” he answered with a short nod. “You did say it was urgent."
"So I did. You could have called, you know. I have my own car."
"My master insisted."
"Doesn't he always. Okay, look. I'll buzz you in, but you'll have to wait downstairs for a minute. I'm not ready—"
"Don't be coy, Ms. Leighton.” The vampire's expression tightened in irritation. “You have to invite us in."
Cynthia's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and she was glad the vampire couldn't see her expression. So that part was true. But wait...?
"You didn't have a problem barging into my office the other night."
"Your office is a business, Ms. Leighton. Many people come and go. This is your home, and Lord Raphael's patience is limited. Invite us in immediately."
"Are you saying Raphael is down there waiting? He's in the limo?” And what a terrible thought that was.
Duncan was positively glowering. “You will invite us in now, Ms. Leighton."
Cynthia stared at the monitor. She really didn't want a bunch of vampires traipsing around her home. On the other hand, she could hardly refuse the local vampire lord, who also happened to be her client. She smiled. “You know, I don't think so, Duncan.” She raised her voice. “Lord Raphael, you are invited into my home."
She heard male laughter just before Raphael unfolded his studly self from the limo with sinuous grace. He walked up behind Duncan and she could see the flashes of silver in his eyes even over the fibre optic connection of her security camera.
"Sire, you cannot!"
"Of course, I can, Duncan. Ms. Leighton doesn't mean me any harm.” His gaze pierced her soul, even through the camera. “Do you, Cyn?"
Cyn caught her breath, suddenly reliving the erotic dreams that had jolted her out of sleep this morning. He smiled and she felt her skin shiver with desire. “Shit,” she whispered.
"Cyn?"
"Yes, sorry. I mean, no, of course I won't harm, I mean I don't intend to...” She shut up and pushed the button, hearing a loud thunk over the intercom as the magnetic lock released.
Raphael's dark bulk blocked the camera as he moved past, then Duncan was glaring up at her fiercely. “If any harm comes to my master, I will make your torment and that of all your family my personal mission, Cynthia Leighton."
"Geez, Duncan,” she said, enjoying the chance to breathe normally again. “Overdramatize much? This wasn't my idea, remember. You're the ones who showed up uninvited. Besides, I hardly think Raphael needs protection from me. More like the other way around,” she added to herself.
"You've been warned,” he intoned.
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” She released the intercom button with a shake of her head and realized her hair was still wet from the shower. Damn. She raced out of her office, intending to do a quick blow dry and pull on some shoes, and nearly ran into Raphael in the hallway. A little shriek of surprise came out before she could stop it.
Raphael caught her with both hands, his cool fingers curling over her arms and gliding down to stroke her palms before finally letting go.
"Raphael!” she blurted out. “I mean, Lord Raphael ... I thought you'd wait—"
"I did wait, Cyn. I grew tired of waiting.” He turned and walked into her bedroom, past the jumble of sheets on her unmade bed, strolling over to the window to pull back the curtains and let in the night sky.
She hurried after him. “I still have to ... I mean you would probably be more comfortable—"
"I'm comfortable here.” He turned to study her, his lids dropping over black eyes in a long, slow blink before he leaned forward, nearly touching her as he drew in a long breath. He smiled slightly. “It's your shampoo."
"What?"
"Your shampoo. I detected a very faint scent the other night. You don't wear perfume. It's your shampoo."
"Oh. Yes, I guess so.” Cynthia tried to focus, but it was so hard with this incredibly sexy man—okay, vampire—standing there smelling her hair and smiling like he'd like to do a great deal more.
He's a vampire, Cynthia!
She sucked in a stabilizing breath and took two steps away from him, reminding herself she was a professional and this was her client. “Give me a moment.” She managed another step. “I need to put on some shoes."
He glanced down at her bare feet with their brightly polished toes, and then let his gaze travel lazily over her body and back to her face. She almost got down on her knees and begged him to fuck her right there. Just get it over with so she could become a rational human being again, a woman who ran her own affairs and her own life and didn't throw herself at the feet of any man. She felt the words pressing against the back of her throat and ran.
When she returned, her hair was—almost—dry and she was wearing a pair of no-nonsense Frye boots with a sensible, solid heel that made her feel tough and in control. She faltered for the space of a breath when she came out of her walk-in closet to find Raphael still standing at the window. His broad shoulders were outlined in black against the moon spangled ocean beyond the glass, and she knew exactly how his eyes would look if he turned. She steeled herself against his natural seduction. He probably wasn't even aware of it, it was so much a part of who and what he was.
"Lord Raphael,” she said firmly, and then she tried again. “I do think you'd be more comfortable downstairs."
"No. I like it here.” He turned his head then, his eyes lingering over the tumbled bed before giving her a sidelong gaze. “Don't you? Downstairs is your public space, Cyn. It is not you. This—” He gestured around him. “This is your nest."
She frowned. He was right, dammit. “I didn't call you here—well, I didn't call you here at all—but it wasn't to discuss my housing arrangements, my lord,” she began as she crossed to the window where he stood. “I reviewed all of the footage from the day of the abduction. Based on what I found, I was either much more thorough than whoever you had doing it, or you have another mole in your organization."
Raphael spun around gracefully, like a dancer on a stage. “And what did you find, Cyn?” he inquired.
"Five bad guys came through the main gate that morning, my lord, but only three went out. If I'm right, you have two intruders who are no doubt infiltrated among your security staff. Most probably, they were already working for you and simply slipped away after helping their buddies get through the security at the gate. They were wearing masks, of course, so we can't identify them from the video, but I'd like to schedule the rest of the interviews with your human employees and try to weed them out. They're probably still feeding information to whoever paid them in the first place. As far as the abduction goes, they would know security was light with only Alexandra in residence. They would know all of the routines—when the vamps went down for the day, how many human guards would be on duty and where. Not to mention any ... relaxation of performance that might have occurred in your absence."
Raphael's eyes flashed and she hurried on. “It happens in every organization, my lord. At least among humans. When weeks and months go by with no threat, there's a tendency to relax, to be less vigilant. And with the big boss—that would be you—gone, it would have been even more lax. These two men would have known this, would have known whom to count on to be particularly slow, especially in the morning."
Raphael whipped a small cell phone from his pocket and hit a speed dial number. Cyn could hear it ringing downstairs below the deck. She stepped outside and found Duncan on the beach, staring up at the condo, cell phone to his ear. He stared at her unblinkingly as he spoke to Raphael, then disconnected and immediately dialed another number, giving her his back before speaking. Cyn went back inside.
"Duncan will take care of it,” Raphael assured her. “I should know by morning who these spies are. No one has been permitted to leave the estate since the abduction. Whoever they are, they're still there."
"Well, that's good. Now what about the guy who reviewed the footage in the first place, or was supposed to? Either he did a bad job, or he intentionally left out that little detail. I don't remember talking to anyone like that the other night, so we should talk to him too."
"Ah. That would be Gregoire. He was lately in charge of Alexandra's security detail."
"Lately?” she repeated with a sinking stomach.
"Gregoire is no longer ... a concern."
Cyn opened her mouth to say something, sucked in a breath instead and let it out. “Okay. What about these two other guys? What will you do with them?"
"I will get answers from them, Cyn,” he said coldly. “Answers which will take me one step closer to my enemy."
She swallowed hard. “I'd, uh ... I'd like to be there when you talk with them, my lord. There are some questions I'd like answered and it's possible,” she hurried on when he gave her a forbidding look. “It's possible I might notice something the rest of you would overlook.” It was a gentle reminder, but a reminder nonetheless, that it had been she who discovered the presence of the infiltrators in the first place.
Raphael glided across the room toward her, his footsteps silent on the thick carpet, the soft wool of his suit seeming to caress his long, lean body. He walked right up to her, not stopping until only a few inches separated them. Cynthia froze, her heart pounding so hard it was visible beneath the fine knit of her sweater. “You're quite right, Cyn,” he said softly. “I am in your debt."
"It's—” She started to lick her suddenly dry lips, then stopped, aware of his eyes following the movement of her tongue. “It's part of my job, my lord. It's what you hired me to do."
"So it is.” He tilted forward slightly, bringing his body a little closer to hers, his breath brushing her skin. “It will take some time, Cyn, to find these men. And the entire night lies ahead."
Cynthia struggled to think clearly. He was so close. Her entire body was screaming at her to touch him, just touch him, just once ...
please.
She clenched her fists hard enough to draw blood with her nails, and saw Raphael's nostrils flare with the scent. It was like a cold slap in the face. She drew a single deep breath and then another and stepped away. “I've got work to do. If they've overlooked this, there might be something else. And I want to enhance the audio. The kidnappers might have said something to each other, something the main pickup wouldn't have caught, or even something your boy Greg didn't want you to hear."
Raphael's eyes shuttered. “Of course. You will keep me informed."
"Yes. Absolutely. And you'll let me in on the interrogation, right? You won't do it without me?"
Raphael's eyes gleamed. “Oh no, Cyn. I won't do it without you.” He strolled over to the stairs and started downward, pausing before taking the second step. Cynthia, following on his heels, pulled up short when he stopped. “Tell me, Cyn,” he said softly, their faces almost even. “Did you dream last night?"
She blinked, her heart thudding with fear instead of desire. “What do you mean?” she whispered.
He gave her a knowing smile. “I'll be in touch."
She sank to the stairs as he disappeared around the corner, moving far faster than a human could have. The door to the garage slammed loudly and she leaned against the railing, listening until she heard the distant thud of car doors followed by the smooth growl of the limo as it made its way up the hill to the highway.
She stared down at the tiny, blood-filled crescents on her palms. “Well, Holly,” she whispered. “Chuck might have a point this time."