Raphael paused and looked over at his lieutenant. “Duncan?"
The blond vampire opened his mouth, then clearly thought better of whatever he'd been about to say. He shook his head. “I'll go with you,” he said instead. “I'll tell Juro—"
"No. You may accompany us, of course, but no other.” Duncan frowned, clearly unhappy. “I'm perfectly safe here on the estate, Duncan. Or do you think me incapable of defending myself?"
The question seemed simple enough to Cynthia, but Duncan paled, if that was possible for a vampire. He seemed shocked at the question, and maybe a little frightened. “No, Sire,” he whispered. “I would never—"
"Be at ease, Duncan. It was a jest, nothing more. In any case, I think you and I are more than enough for whatever our enemies might throw against us."
"Always, my lord. I am yours."
Raphael smiled fondly, walking over and reaching out to squeeze the other vampire's shoulder. “I know that, Duncan. I value it."
Cynthia was reluctant to interrupt the vampire love fest, but her time, at least, was valuable. She coughed noisily, drawing the attention of both men. “The guest house?” she reminded them.
"Of course,” Raphael said. “Come. It's a lovely night for a walk."
Chapter Ten
"Lovely night for a walk, my ass. It's f**king freezing out here,” Cynthia muttered to herself as she stumbled along the dark pathway beneath the trees. She'd pulled on her favorite Zanotti boots this afternoon before leaving for her office; they were gorgeous and perfectly comfortable for running errands and working at her desk. But if she had known there would be late night hikes through the woods, she sure as hell would have worn something more practical.
The grounds between the two houses were much more cultivated than the dense forest outside the walls. The undergrowth had been cleared out to create a maze of elegant tree trunks of all shapes and sizes. There was room to walk among them if one chose, and if one wasn't wearing six hundred dollars boots with metal studded heels. Cyn sighed. At least there was a pathway, she thought, even if it was completely unlit and paved in gravel. Besides, the great Raphael had deigned to provide her with a flashlight to augment her meager human sight. She'd flicked it on as soon as they left the house. Much to the amusement of that bitch Elke. But Cynthia had gotten some amusement of her own when Elke discovered she wasn't invited on this little midnight stroll. Juro hadn't been too thrilled either, but he was much better at concealing his emotions than the volatile Elke. Her rage had been blatant ... and quickly cooled by a single glance from Raphael.
"It's not far now,” Raphael commented. She jumped as his silky voice seemed to come from nowhere, then sighed in irritation when he appeared from the trees on her right side. She would have sworn he was walking several feet behind with the Southern boy, but here he was gliding along next to her with an uncanny grace, his dark eyes flecked with moonlight. She looked away, wondering how anyone could ever mistake him for human. Duncan could have passed easily, but Raphael was just too ... something. Too everything. Too gorgeous, too smooth, too graceful, too predatory. That's what it was. There was a predatory quality that surrounded him like an invisible cloak. That's what her hind brain had been trying to tell her earlier, screaming at her to run, run for her life! She imagined herself running down Raphael's elegant hallways, screaming like a lunatic, and chuckled softly.
"Something amuses you, Ms. Leighton?"
It was said gently enough, but it triggered a little thrill of fear. She didn't know how to explain what she'd been laughing about without looking foolish, or maybe even insulting, so she said instead, “Call me Cynthia. Or Cyn. If we're going to be working together, you can't keep up with the Ms. Leighton. We'll both get sick of it."
"Cyn,” Raphael repeated thoughtfully. “Interesting choice."
"C. y. n,” she spelled.
"Of course,” he agreed. “Ah, here we are."
Cynthia looked up and finally saw white light filtering through the tree trunks. The path curved sharply up ahead, winding around a particularly thick stand of leafy trees before emerging into a clearing bordered by a lush privet hedge. She stopped short, uncertain how to react to the “guest house.” There was nothing about Alexandra's house, not the design, the color, or even the landscaping, that was remotely similar to Raphael's Southwestern style mansion. It was a two-story French manor house, plucked whole from the 18th century, with whitewashed walls and blue peaked roofs, dormer windows and climbing ivy. It reminded her of the old houses she'd seen in Europe during her college days, albeit a hell of a lot better kept than most of those. It was even attractive, in an old country sort of way. Except for a black and white checkered courtyard occupying the entire frontage like some sort of bizarre ice skating rink. That didn't belong in front of this house or any other to Cynthia's mind.
She blinked at it a few times, then gave Raphael a doubtful sideways glance. He caught the look. “Alexandra saw it in a magazine. Quite by chance.” He gave a minute shrug.
Cynthia let her raised eyebrows speak for her and turned back to the house, trying to see it as a crime scene. From where they stood she could tell there was a separate entrance on the far side, with a driveway running directly in front of it, probably so they wouldn't have to use the courtyard much. That made sense. Why mar the garish perfection of the black and white squares with regular wear and tear. Of course, why pave the front of the damn house with the things in the first place? But hey, not her house, not her decision. She walked to the edge of the courtyard, then hesitated before stepping onto it. “May I?” she asked formally.
"Of course, Cyn,” Raphael responded smoothly, seeming quite entertained by the whole thing.
Cynthia crossed the squares carefully, very aware of the smooth surface beneath the leather soles of her boots. There was no point in lingering here. It was a certainty the kidnappers hadn't come in this way. If they had, Alexandra would never have been kidnapped. She would have been too busy laughing as they slid around on the slippery marble. Instead, Cyn went directly to the side door, and looked up the concrete paved driveway. “This road connects to the main drive?"
"It does. In fact, this is the terminus of the main drive. It was only extended to reach this far when I built the cottage for Alexandra."
"And that was?” She didn't really need to know; she was just curious.
Raphael gave her a bemused glance. “Roughly ten years ago, wasn't it, Duncan? Shortly after we built the new main house."
"Ten years last month, Sire,” Duncan said, popping up out of nowhere, which was something vampires seemed to excel at. Although Cynthia was pretty sure she'd seen him moving around the outside of the privet hedge earlier. Raphael was much slicker about it. Great, Cyn, what are we, in junior high school now? She walked past the doorway and along the side of the house, mostly to distract herself from Raphael's disturbing presence. Trees closed in all around, coming right up to the walls of the house itself in the back. She looked up beneath the eaves and spotted the gleam of a security camera. This had to have been an inside job. There was too much security around this place for someone to have made it all the way to the guest house and back out again without getting caught.
"Video?” she asked, tilting her head to gaze at the camera. “Does it archive?"
"Digital video and audio direct to a server in the basement of the house,” Duncan answered.
"You have the night in question?"