"What was it?"
"You."
"What?” Cyn stepped away from the tiny vampire woman, suddenly uncomfortable.
Alexandra laughed at her reaction. “I told my brother I was lonely. With Matias dead—he died trying to defend me, but you know that, of course—I had no one left. I admired you, your strength, your courage. I wanted you as my friend, my companion."
"You could have called me on the phone,” Cyn commented.
Alexandra gave a tiny, very pleased smile. “Oh no, you don't understand. I wanted him to make you Vampire so you could be my friend forever."
Cyn froze, uncertain how to respond. But something must have shown on her face, because Alexandra laughed again, altogether pleased with her reaction. “Oh, don't worry, Cynthia,” she said breezily. “He said no.” She sobered then, gazing pensively over the marbled courtyard. “I don't think I've ever seen my brother as furious as he was that night, certainly never at me. He didn't speak to me for days, and then only to inform me that if any harm came to you because of me, he would personally stake me."
Cyn's face must have shown her doubt.
"He was quite serious, Cynthia. And he would be very unhappy if he knew you were here today; I don't think he quite trusts me yet.” Again that private little smile before she said brightly, “I'm told the contractor will be here tomorrow to rip out this ridiculous marble."
Cyn forced a laugh, relieved at the change of subject. “Well, thank God for that."
"He missed you, you know.” Alexandra said, giving Cyn a narrow look. “I've never known my brother to miss a woman, to miss anyone, as much as he did you when we were locked away up there in Colorado."
Cyn blew out a breath, frustrated. “You know, I'm getting kind of tired of everyone pretending this is my fault. Raphael's the one who walked away, not me."
"Men are fools, Cynthia. You surely know that by now."
"Tell me about it,” she muttered. A fresh round of enthusiastic piano music erupted from the music room. Both women looked up.
"Perhaps Mirabelle would enjoy some piano lessons,” Alexandra said grimly.
Cyn winced. “Good idea. Can I reach you through the estate operator?” When Alexandra nodded, Cyn said, “I'll keep in touch then. And Mirabelle has my cell number if she needs anything. Thank you for this, Alexandra."
"Yes, well. Perhaps we'll be friends then, after all."
Cyn doubted it, but hoped for Mirabelle's sake they could remain friendly. At least until they worked out something long term for the girl. She smiled at Alexandra. The vampire wasn't the only one who could fake a smile. “I'd like that,” she lied.
Alexandra's eyes gleamed with a greedy sort of joy, like a child eyeing a favorite candy. Abruptly uncomfortable, Cyn stepped away from the railing. “I'll just say good-bye to Mirabelle and be on my way."
"What's the hurry?” Alexandra said, mirroring Cyn's movement and more, coming close enough that Cyn could see the tiny creases in her carefully applied makeup.
"Cynthia!” Mirabelle's frightened voice broke the sudden tension and had both women hurrying back into the manor house.
Chapter Twenty-seven
It was a false alarm—Mirabelle reacting to the sudden appearance of one of Alexandra's many security vamps. Used to the Neanderthals who populated Jabril's lair, Mirabelle had been huddled in a corner when Cyn reentered the music room. The vampire guard had been almost as stressed by the situation as Mirabelle. It had taken only a few moments to reassure all sides, but Cyn had begrudged even that. She couldn't get out of Alexandra's presence fast enough. The old Alexandra had been a pretty anachronism. This new Alexandra made the sharks of Beverly Hills look like childish poseurs.
A short time later, Cyn left Malibu and the west side of town behind, driving aimlessly up and down Hollywood Boulevard and its side streets, stopping occasionally to flash Liz's picture. She'd always thought it must be an unpleasant shock when visitors saw that the world-famous city of Hollywood was actually a seamy, rundown part of L.A., home to more hookers and homeless than movie stars. With the exception of a trendy hotel or two, Cyn couldn't think of anyone she knew, or knew of, that actually lived in Hollywood. Hollywood Hills, maybe, high up where the dirt and crime were nothing more than twinkling lights in the distance, but not down among the seedy denizens of Hollywood itself. She cruised the known hangouts of teenage runaways, the shooting dens, the busy streets where cars slowed and sometimes a young girl or boy would take a ride to earn a few bucks.
Depressed by the whole scene, Cyn turned west once more, sticking to the side streets and alleys where a young girl might hunker down and wait out the night. She punched up Luci's number as she drove, hoping against hope that Liz had checked in. Luci sounded uncharacteristically harassed and out of patience when she came to the phone, and Cyn could hear shouts in the background.
"You need backup there, Luce?"
"What I need is a cage and some sturdy handcuffs,” Luci snapped, then drew a deep breath. “Never mind. It's been a rough night. Tomorrow will be better. Any sign of your missing girl?"
"Not a whisper, but I've barely started looking. I finally met with Eckhoff late last night and got a look at the uh ... files. I'm pretty sure the cops are on the wrong track, but no one's going to listen to me. At least not until I find something to prove it. I'm working on that too.” Cyn came to a stop sign and looked around; she was almost on top of one of the murder scenes. All the reasons for driving right on by zipped through her brain. It was late; she was tired; it wasn't her job. What the heck. “I'll get back to you, Luce."
She hung up and took a left turn, parking as close to the scene as she could get while remaining reasonably confident her truck would still be in one piece when she got back. She walked the rest of the way, very aware of the night around her, sliding a hand beneath her jacket and releasing the safety strap on her shoulder holster. She didn't expect any problems, but in this neighborhood, it was better to be sure.
She found the crime scene easily enough. It was a couple of blocks off the boulevard, a short alleyway used by low-end shops for deliveries and trash pickup. The alley was dark and smelled pretty much like alleys everywhere, eau de garbage with an undercurrent of desperation and urine. She pulled out a mini Maglite and crouched, studying the area.