Holly shrieked loud enough to hurt Cyn's ears before dropping the flashlight she'd been holding. It rolled around on the floor, casting a haphazard light on the two shocked burglars. The male half of the duo, a youngish surfer-looking type whose name was apparently Billy, simply stood there staring at her with his mouth hanging open. He didn't even try to conceal the lock picks dangling from the keyhole to her office.
"Geez, Cyndi, way to scare a person to death!"
Cynthia kept her gun trained on the two of them as she stepped over and flipped on the hall light. “What's going on, Holly?"
"Well, it's obvious isn't it? You caught us. Boo hoo. So put the gun down and we'll leave quietly."
Cyn stared. “Just like that? No, ‘Gee, Cynthia, sorry for trying to break into your private office, but aren't you glad we're a couple of incompetent boobs?’ Not even an insincere apology, Holly?"
"You're such a bitch sometimes. Really. I shouldn't even have to break in. You should do the right thing and give me the disc, out these bloodsuckers once and for all. It's your duty to the human race."
Cynthia shook her head in disgust and slipped her gun back into its holster. “You're unbelievable. Get the f**k out of my house and take Einstein here with you."
Holly huffed indignantly and grabbed Billy's arm, but he jerked away, stopping to gather his lock picking tools under Cyn's scornful gaze. Following them through the kitchen, she shook her head in amazement as her sister scanned the countertop casually, even going so far as to do a quick check of the floor around the island.
"You looking for this, Holly?” She held up the key card her sister had left sitting on the kitchen counter after her skulking entry.
Holly made a grab for the card. “You've got to be kidding me,” Cyn said, pulling it out of her reach. “You should count yourself lucky I'm not calling the cops on you and your boyfriend here. By the way, does Chuck know about this one?"
"Who's Chuck?” Billy said with a frown.
Holly tightened her mouth angrily, but Cyn laughed in disbelief. She followed them down the stairs and through the door, all the way out of the garage until they climbed into a battered Toyota sedan, presumably Billy's. Leaning against the wall, she watched the car chug up the short incline to the highway and make its turn. Straightening tiredly, she had turned to walk back into the garage when a soft scrape of sound spun her around. A footstep? She scanned the surrounding area, straining to see. It was still dark, that sharp edge of time between night and sunrise, when the light was too dim to see clearly, and yet her brain was telling her the sun was coming, that she should be able to see. Shadows clung to the scrubby bushes on the hillside and around corners of the building. Her gaze swept over the dark garages and small parking lot and up to the highway, still mostly empty this late, or this early. A smudge of black moved in the distance, a long, low vehicle coming towards her. Something big, like...?
Oh, no. Her heart began to pound once again. No more vampires! She jogged into the garage and hit the button, closing the big roll-down door, one more barrier between her and whoever was in that limo. Hurrying into the house, she slammed the security door and threw the locks, vowing not to answer, no matter who knocked. It's too late for vampires! a voice cried plaintively inside her head. Go home!
Chapter Twenty-three
Cyn luxuriated beneath the touch of clever hands, the stroke of cool fingers down her back and over the curve of her hip, dipping between her legs to ... What? She jolted awake, cursing. That damn vampire again. She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, feeling like shit. A glance at the clock told her it was nearly noon. She'd taken an Ambien to get to sleep that morning, pissed off at Holly and totally stressed about a certain sexy vampire who was determined to ruin her life. Five hours of restless sleep and nothing to show for it but vague memories of a honeyed voice and an ache between her legs that wouldn't go away.
After downing a suitably strong cup of coffee and indulging in one of the housekeeper's sinful muffins, she reprogrammed the magnetic lock on the lower door. Even if Holly had somehow managed to make a copy of Cyn's key card, it would no longer work. She made a couple of new cards for herself, tucking one in her wallet and the other in her bedside table right next to her spare Glock .9 mm.
That done, she made some calls to her old department. From what Judkins had been able to tell her, she was pretty sure this Kolinsky guy was Russian Mafia. L.A. had a large East European emigre community and since the collapse of communism in the old Soviet Union, the mob presence had grown exponentially. Cyn had a couple of friends in the department. Casual friends, work-type friends. The kind she could tap for information. Like Benita Carballo who worked mostly Latin and Black gangs, but might have heard something around the office. They'd gone to the Academy together and had been pretty close for awhile. Until Cyn left LAPD. Then they'd drifted apart, exchanging phone calls two or three times a year. Benita was one of those petite Latinas who was constantly trying to prove she was every bit as tough as the guys.
Then there was Dean Eckhoff. He'd been her training officer during her rookie year and had made detective right after that, eventually assigned to Homicide. Dean had twenty years in the department, and he was probably her best bet for information on a possible Kolinsky mob connection.
A phone call to Benita got a receptionist who took a message, but would give no further information. That meant her friend was on assignment, possibly undercover, and it could be anywhere from an hour to a month before Cyn heard back from her. On the other hand, Eckhoff was in his office when she called and told her to come on by.
Before stepping into the shower, she called Raphael. She didn't want him going off on his own before she'd tapped her sources who were sure to be more discreet and less extreme than his. Thankful for the impersonal greeting on his voice mail, she waited for the beep. “Raphael, this is Cynthia Leighton. I'm checking with some people I know about Kolinsky, and I'd really appreciate it if you didn't make any moves until you hear back from me. I'll call you as soon as I have something. Probably later tonight. Um, okay. Talk to you later."
What a lame ass message, Cynthia. Professional? No. Clever? Not. Christ, you sound like a fifteen-year-old. She sighed and hung up. Apparently the vampire's system didn't have the option of deleting embarrassing messages. Too bad.
She had stripped off her clothes and turned on the water when her door bell rang. Her door bell. On the front door. It took her a moment to figure out what the noise was. No one ever used the front door. Most people didn't even think there was a front door, since it was on the second level and around the side of her building. And besides, the door through the garage was so much more convenient. But she'd closed the garage door, hadn't she? Damn. Well, with the sun in the sky, at least she knew it wasn't a vampire.
Cyn threw on some sweats, then edged quietly onto her balcony and peered around the side of the building. She didn't have a camera on the front door; that's how little it was used. It was a sturdy, solid wood door with a deadbolt on a reinforced frame, and it was tied into the alarm system, but that was it. A local delivery guy stood on the small landing, looking bored and clearly wondering if anyone was home. She slipped silently back into her house, then hurried downstairs to pull open the door. He brightened immediately.
"I have a delivery for Cynthia Leighton?"
All sorts of snappy comebacks came to mind, but, hell, the guy was only trying to do his job. “I'm Cynthia. What is it?"
He indicated a brown, sixteen inch square carton sitting at his feet, then handed her one of those handheld computers for her signature. Cyn eyed the carton uncertainly. “Who's it from?"
The driver took his computer back and pushed a couple of buttons. “Raphael Enterprises? Right here in Malibu. Call came in, wow, way early this morning!"
"Really."
He gave her a cheerful nod.
Cynthia sighed. “Okay.” She took the proffered device and signed her name, then dug into her sweats for the twenty bucks she kept in a zippered pocket for when she went jogging. Poor guy deserved a tip. He probably had no idea he'd ventured into a bloodsucker's nest this morning. And she didn't even want to think what might be in that innocent looking carton.