Raphael (4 page)

The headlights of some passing car flashed through the slitted blinds and almost directly into Cynthia's eyes. She winced, then walked over to snap the wooden slats closed. She was about ready to call it a night. She'd been here since early afternoon, doing the kind of work she normally would have done from her home office. A lot of her investigations involved researching old records and such, the kind of stuff the Internet had made easily accessible to those who knew where to look. But Holly seemed to be settling in for the long haul and had begun asking too many questions about Cyn's work. She was especially curious about the vampires since so little was known about them. Many people considered their existence little more than rumor.

Cyn had begun to wonder if there was anything wrong with her sister's house at all, or if maybe Holly had a private reason for wanting to know exactly what Cynthia was working on.

In any event, Cyn had decamped to her office to work. It was quiet here, only the occasional visitor next door and the steady hum of traffic on the avenue. Her office phone rang as she sat back down.

"Leighton."

"Hey, Cyn! You're there.” Speak of the devil and he'll give you a call. Not that Lonnie was a bad guy. He wasn't ... for a vampire.

"A little early for you, isn't it, Lonnie?"

"Uh, yeah.” He laughed nervously. “Listen, Cyn. I need to talk to you. Can I come by?"

Cynthia frowned. “Sure, Lonnie, you know that. What's the problem?"

"Um, it's complicated and I'd rather not discuss it on a cell phone. I'm about fifteen minutes from your office."

She didn't like the sound of Lonnie's voice. He was nervous, and a little too insistent for the normally laid back vampire. But it probably wouldn't hurt to meet with him. Whatever he wanted, she could always tell him no. “Okay, come on over. But only because I trust you. If you're bringing trouble with you, I'm gonna be pissed."

"Come on, Cyn. Think of all the business I send you. I'll be there in fifteen ... make that thirteen minutes."

Cyn hung up without saying good-bye, then saw how dark it was in her office and went around turning on lamps. She'd been working pretty much by the light of her monitor, with only a small desk lamp on. As she clicked switches, she brooded about the fact that Lonnie hadn't denied he was in trouble. By the time she had gone back to her desk and started working again, the security buzzer was sounding and there was Lonnie, staring into the camera on her security screen and mouthing the words, “Hi Cyn."

She was smiling when she hit the intercom. “Come on in, Lonnie."

She turned away, pulling open a file drawer and stashing the folders, thinking how Lonnie frequently made her smile. He had an easygoing personality and a knack for making people feel comfortable and welcome, which Cyn figured was why he'd been put in charge of managing the vamps’ personal feedlot down at the beach house. She couldn't figure out what any of that had to do with her, however.

"So, what's up?” she asked without looking as she pulled a notepad out of her desk drawer.

"Cyn—” Lonnie said uneasily.

She glanced up, then jumped to her feet, her Glock 17 out of her shoulder holster faster than thought and held before her in a standard two handed grip. Pushing her chair away without looking, she moved as far back as possible, trying to put some distance between herself and the strange vampires now standing in her office. Her finger dropped to the trigger, depressing it just enough to click off the safety.

"Lonnie, you little shit, you're dead,” she snarled.

The first vampire in the doorway had moved slightly so he blocked her view of the guy behind him, but Cyn was more than happy to focus on the one in front; she could only shoot one of them at a time anyway. He was about Cyn's own six foot height, but outweighed her by a good seventy pounds, most of it muscle. His broad chest and shoulders were encased in an elegant dark suit; his longish blond hair was combed straight back, and very human looking brown eyes watched her out of a handsome but unremarkable face. When he spoke, there was not even a hint of fang. “I'm afraid Lonnie's already dead, Ms. Leighton,” he said.

"Funny. I'm not laughing. Who the fuck are you?"

Blondie didn't like that. He gave her an unfriendly look, then glanced at Lonnie. “Lonnie,” he snapped.

"Cyn, for fuck's sake, put the gun down,” Lonnie rasped. “This is Lord Raphael.” He said the name in a breathless whisper that held as much fear as reverence.

Cynthia shifted startled eyes to Lonnie, then quickly back to the blond vampire. She'd heard of Raphael. Hell, everybody had
heard
of Raphael. But she didn't know anyone who'd ever seen him in person. Not that they admitted, anyway. Raphael was supposedly the big man of the western territories, head of all the vamps on this side of the country. And if that was true, then he was also very old and very powerful.

"Why?” she croaked, her throat suddenly dry. She kept her eyes on the vampire in her doorway, but lowered the gun. She didn't want him to see the fear making her hands tremble, and besides if this was Raphael, her little 9 mm wouldn't do shit to him anyway.

The vampire raised his hands in a peaceful gesture. “Don't blame Lonnie, Ms. Leighton. He had no choice in this, and we mean you no harm in any event. Please,” he gestured at her chair. “Sit down."

Cynthia studied him carefully, then with slow movements clicked the safety on and slid her gun back into the shoulder rig. She pushed her chair back to the desk and sat down, keeping her hands free and unencumbered.

"You didn't answer my question,” she said.

He stepped out of the doorway and into her small office, making room for the vampire behind him to enter. Cynthia drew a sharp breath. This guy was even bigger, well over six feet, maybe six-three or four. He had short black hair and dark, dark eyes, with a soft-looking, sensuous mouth and the sharp lines and high cheekbones of a male model. His size made her think bodyguard, but his was more the hard strength of someone who worked for a living. He was studying her intently and she found herself reluctant to turn her attention away from him, some instinct warning her against letting this one out of her sight.

It was an effort to ignore him and focus on the blond vampire now seating himself in front of her desk. “Ms. Leighton, thank you for seeing us,” he said.

There was something about his voice, or was it his manner, that struck Cynthia as odd. She couldn't pick out exactly what it was, but it chimed delicately against her rusty cop instincts.

"It's not like I had a choice,” she reminded him. “Lonnie was a nice touch, though."

He nodded an acknowledgment. “I've heard good things about you,” he commented. “From Lonnie, and from others."

Cynthia tilted her head, puzzled. The earlier chime was now ringing like a cowbell. She studied the blond vampire for the space of a few more seconds, then turned to the dark vampire instead. “If we're to do business, Lord Raphael, perhaps you should speak to me directly."

In a blur of movement, Blondie was out of the chair and in front of the dark vampire. Cynthia jumped to her feet once again and had her back to the wall, her gun in her hands, feeling slightly foolish. Raphael—for there was no longer any doubt as to his identity—simply nodded to her, letting a small smile play over those sensuous lips. Cynthia stared at him, cursing the day she'd saved a vampire's life, cursing the damn vampires and their games, cursing her mother for birthing her and her father for not moving her to Belgium ... or Sweden, or anyplace that would have taken her far away from this place and this night.

Raphael's smile widened. He touched the blond's shoulder. The other vampire gave her a single threatening glare and stepped aside. “My lieutenant, Duncan,” Raphael said to Cynthia by way of introduction.

"Why?” Cynthia asked.

He gave an elegant little shrug. “A test, if you will.” He sat in the recently vacated chair in front of her desk, while Duncan took up position behind his left shoulder. Raphael looked up at her, and in the brighter light, she could see his eyes were not simply dark, but truly black.

"Please,” he gestured. “Sit, Ms. Leighton."

Cynthia regarded the pair of them suspiciously, then gave Lonnie a poisonous stare before once again pulling her chair over and sitting down.

"How did you know?” Raphael asked. He had a warm, rich voice that flowed like sweet honey, a voice she could not only hear with her ears, but taste with her tongue, feel its heat against her lips. She licked those lips self-consciously and wondered if he was using some sort of magical vampire influence on her.
Focus, Cynthia.

"Two things,” she said finally, clearing her throat to speak more clearly. “When you first came through the door and I pulled my gun ... he moved in front of you. And you let him. If you were his bodyguard, and if you were any good, he would never have been in my sights, which he most definitely was. For all the good it would have done,” she muttered to herself.

Raphael nodded, his eyes lit with humor. “And the other?"

"He has a Southern accent. From the American South. It's hardly there, but if you listen, you can hear it. That makes him no more than three hundred years old, and probably quite a bit less. From everything I've heard about the lot of you, age equals power and that's not old enough to run an empire the size of which I'm told you control."

All humor gone, his eyes were cold, onyx pits in an emotionless face. “And what have you heard about my so-called empire?"

Cynthia forced herself to relax, scoot back in her chair and cross her legs casually. “Nothing, really. Hints here and there. I put them together. It's what I do."

"Indeed.” He studied her quietly, then lifted his head slightly to the left. “Duncan?"

"Yes, my lord.” He said it in answer to an unvoiced question.

"Ms. Leighton, I have a job for you."

Cynthia gave a short nod. She'd assumed as much from Lonnie's cryptic comments. Why else would he have come here, after all? She only waited for the bloodsucker to get on with it so she could get him out of her office and hopefully never see him again. Hell, she might even sell the whole damn building and move somewhere far away.

Raphael's lips twitched in brief amusement, and Cynthia wondered again about the vampire's extraordinary powers. Could he read her mind? Or maybe he was just good at reading people's faces.

His expression hardened. “Someone,” he said. “Someone important to me, has been kidnapped. I want you to help me find her."

Cynthia sat up, suddenly very interested in what this particular bloodsucker had to say. “Kidnapped? Are you certain? I mean she didn't—"

"Run away?” Raphael laughed out loud. His laugh had a harsh, artificial quality. It was especially jarring in contrast to his mellow voice. “No, Ms. Leighton. You can be assured Alexandra did not run away. She would never willingly leave me,” he finished softly.

Cynthia took his word for it, although she'd heard the same thing from the family of virtually every runaway she'd ever investigated on the job. “How do you know it was a kidnapping, then? Have they contacted you? Wait, when was this?” she asked abruptly, remembering Sergeant Linville and the report about “machine gun” fire.

"Before sunrise on Sunday, more than two days now."

"You didn't call the police?"

"No, nor will I be doing so. Tell me, Ms. Leighton, why did you save Lonnie's life?"

Cynthia did a little double take at the sudden switch in conversation, but she answered without hesitation. “I don't understand the question. He hadn't done anything wrong. I wasn't going to stand there and let him be murdered because some asshole was a bigot."

"But he isn't one of your own, not human. Why did he matter to you?"

Cynthia snorted indelicately. “I don't consider a lot of humans to be my own, either, but I'm not going to stand by and watch them die."

Raphael gave her a curious look. “Indeed. Well. Nonetheless we try to ... minimize our contacts with human law enforcement. Given your rather unique history with Lonnie, I'm sure you can understand our reasons."

"Unfortunately,” she agreed, although she felt compelled to add, “Not all cops are like that. Most of them aren't."

"I'm sure that's true,” Raphael said absently, then looked directly at her. “As to how I know my Alexandra was taken, I have quite convincing evidence which you will see for yourself should you agree to work for me."

Cynthia knew she should decline the job. Just walk away from this one and go back to tracking down wayward spouses and old bank accounts. Kidnapping was out of her league, out of any PI's league. Standard procedure in a kidnapping of any kind was a round the clock watch on the family, with phones tapped and all contacts vetted. Alone, she couldn't come anywhere close to that kind of operation, and she had no one to call for help, especially not in a case like this. On the other hand, there was nothing standard or conventional about this case. And who was this Alexandra anyway? Did she want to be found? Was she his lover maybe? His wife? Did vampires marry? Talk about ‘til death do us part. Fifty years was one thing, five hundred was a whole new level of commitment.

"All right,” she heard herself say. “I'll need everything you have, or think you have. I want to see where she was taken from, and I want to interview everyone who was in the house or on the property at the time."