"No, I'm good, thanks. So, how's the job?"
"Sucks, but it's gotta be better than doing dirty work for vampires, right?"
"Okay.” Cyn stood, hurt and insulted. “Clearly I've made a mistake here. You go back to sleep, maybe wake up sweeter, and I'll get my information somewhere else."
She was halfway to the front door when Benita called her back. “Look, I'm sorry, Cyn. Come back. This assignment's gone on too long and it's getting to me, that's all. Come back. Please."
Cyn turned around and studied her doubtfully. Then she shrugged. “All right. Let's start over. So, what's up, Benita?"
"They've got me working the Russians is what. It's not my territory; it's not what I'm used to. I don't know these people, I don't know their culture, their customs, and it's stringing me out like crazy."
"Why you? I mean, you're a great cop, but...” Cyn gestured. “You don't exactly blend.” Benita was a pretty Latina with dark eyes and curly black hair that she kept painfully short.
Benita blew out an exasperated breath. “Tell me about it. Unfortunately, one of the targets likes his meat nicely browned, so here I am."
"No accounting for taste, huh?"
She laughed. “That's what I keep telling him.” Her face sobered before she turned to pour the coffee. She walked over and handed Cyn one of two mugs, gesturing at the sugar on the bar behind Cyn. Opening the refrigerator, she poured half and half right from the carton into her own cup. Cynthia shook her head at the raised carton and spooned some sugar into her coffee while Benita put the cream away and joined her on the bar stools.
"So, where'd you get Kolinsky?” Benita asked.
"From a dying man."
"Who was he and how'd he die?"
"I didn't know him, and as for how ... too young and unexpectedly."
"How do you know his information's any good?"
"Let's say this guy was motivated to tell the truth."
"Fuck."
"Yeah."
"Bad luck about that hit last night,” Benita said too casually, taking a sip of her coffee. “Might be bad luck for me, too."
"Wait, he wasn't your guy, was he?"
"What? Oh. No. No, my guy's a lot higher than that.” She lifted her gaze, taking inventory of Cyn's battered face. “You look like you've hit some bad luck, too."
"What, this?” Cyn waved away her friend's concern with one hand. “A stake out gone bad. Guy cheating on his wife didn't want his picture taken."
"Imagine that."
"Yeah. Listen, Benita, you be careful with this Russian. Eckhoff tells me those are some bad people."
"Yeah.” She looked away, then back. “You know, I think it might be too late for careful. Look,” she continued, suddenly full of enthusiasm. “If you really want to know what's going on with these guys, why don't you come with me tonight? There's a big to-do, some f**king Russian thing, I don't know. But they're all going to be there. It's a crown performance. Should be a good party if nothing else.” She reached out and tugged the ends of Cynthia's stylishly ragged hair over the cut on her forehead. “They'll love you, girl. A little makeup and you'll be fine as always."
Cynthia thought it over. Something odd was going on. Benita was acting strangely, full of secrets one minute, then all happy and “Hey come to the party” the next. On the other hand, if Cyn could get inside even for a night, chat up a few of the bad guys, flirt a little. She didn't think much about her own looks, but that didn't mean she wasn't aware of them. Men generally liked her, at least until they found out she had a brain.
One thing she knew for sure after seeing last night's operation, Kolinsky wasn't the end game of Alexandra's kidnapping. She'd bet money his involvement ended with blackmailing Judkins and inserting the unlamented Barry onto the estate. He probably had nothing at all to do with the actual kidnapping. Of course, what she should do, instead of haring off on her own investigation, was wait until after dark, and call Raphael to find out if they'd questioned Kolinsky yet, and what, if anything, he'd told them. But then, Cyn had never been one to do what she should.
"Okay,” she agreed. “Sounds good.” She glanced down at what she was wearing. “I have to get some different clothes."
Benita ran her gaze over Cyn's worn denims and leather jacket. “Yeah, you do. These guys are really big on dressing up. Wear something sexy and short, something that shows off those long, skinny legs of yours."
"My legs are not skinny, you midget.” It was an old, familiar argument between them.