"I want her home and office watched."
"It is already done."
"Inform me the moment she is found. No matter what am I doing, Duncan."
"Yes, my lord."
"Are the others here?"
"In the conference room, Sire."
"Let us begin, then."
They took the elevator from the underground level, where Raphael maintained his living quarters, to the second floor conference room. There were only a very few participants at this meeting, all of them Vampire. Raphael smiled to see that two of his visitor's party avoided the expansive windows along the one wall. An ingrained habit that was hard to break.
His visitor stood as soon as Raphael entered the room, turning to greet him with a lingering bow intended to convey deep respect. He was an average-looking man with the unruly hair and dark skin of his half-African ancestry.
Raphael studied him for a silent moment. “Pushkin,” he acknowledged finally and continued to the head of the table.
Chapter Thirty-two
The deeper they wound into the canyon, the more Cyn began to think this whole plan had been a mistake. By the time they pulled up to the rambling ranch-style house, she was ready to drop her friend off and drive away. This evening made no sense on so many levels. First of all, it had finally penetrated her thick head that it was unusual at best, and highly irresponsible at worst, for Benita to take her along to a party using her undercover identity. What if someone recognized Cyn? Or became curious enough to check her out? Benita's real ID might be carefully shielded, but Cynthia's wasn't. A simple Google search would turn up the salient facts of her life—her father, her LAPD past, her current P.I. work. So why didn't that bother Benita?
And if that weren't troubling enough, the knowledge that she shouldn't have run out on Raphael was like an itch in the back of her brain. She felt guilty, stupid, childish, and downright cowardly. You don't f**k a man's brains out, then disappear the next morning. That was a guy's trick. A sleazy guy's trick. And it wasn't as if she'd been unwilling. So what if she'd taken some of his blood. They'd both been bleeding; it would have been hard not to take a little sip. And besides, this wasn't the first time she'd taken a bite out of a lover. Cynthia had never been one for vanilla sex. Not that she wanted anyone to tie her up and beat her, but Nick rarely walked away from one of their encounters without at least a few tooth marks as a memento, and often a lot more than that. Besides, Cyn was honest enough to admit that it wasn't the blood that had her freaked out, it was the very fact that she was sitting here worrying about him, worried about how he'd react when he found her gone. He had gotten inside her defenses somehow, and that was far more troubling than a little blood.
"Yo, Cyn. You gonna sit there all night, or are we gonna do this?"
Cynthia looked up, startled, at Benita's voice. Her car door was open, and a young, buxom female valet was regarding her with a mixture of boredom and impatience. “Oh, sorry,” she said. Leaving the keys in the ignition, she started to climb out, but something made her pause. It was that bad feeling again, the sense that something wasn't quite right.
"Listen, I'd rather park it myself. Where can I do that?"
Benita groaned. She was already out of the car and heading for the front door, the headlights casting unflattering shadows on her stocky form. “Relax, chica. Give the nice girl your keys. Look around, it's in good company."
Cyn looked around. Benita was right. The yard in front of the house was packed with every model and color of Mercedes, BMW, even a Rolls or two. A lot of cars. Too many cars. The long, winding drive back to the canyon road was lined with parked vehicles and a steady stream of valets were moving cars from the yard out to the road. This was a big party. All the more reason to have her own car at hand.
She took the keys out of the ignition and walked over to her friend. “You know, Benita, I'm thinking this probably isn't a good idea, after all. It's been a long few days. I might head on home—"
"And leave me here? Thanks so much, Cyn. No way. You're staying, girl."
Cynthia frowned. The stench of this evening was becoming stronger. “You're right,” she said easily. “I wasn't thinking. Look, you go on in, I'm going to get my jacket from the car."
Benita looked like she'd argue, but then shrugged and kept walking. Cyn watched her stroll across the dirt yard, high heels exaggerating the sway of her h*ps in the tight, red sheath she'd donned for the evening's festivities. Cynthia couldn't remember ever seeing Benita in a dress before. She was more of a jeans and polo shirt kind of gal. But she was a friend, and Cyn wasn't about to abandon her on a suspicion. Circling around the Land Rover, Cyn ignored the impatient valet and opened the back hatch. Letting the door half-close over her, she pulled the duffel bag closer and rummaged inside, pulling out her boots, then quickly unsnapping the strap securing the Glock in the shoulder holster where she'd tucked it into a corner of the bag. Pushing the door open, she sat on the edge of the cargo compartment, kicked off her pretty, new heels and tossed them over her shoulder, donning her cowboy boots instead. They weren't her first choice for a party dress, but they were a hell of a lot more reliable if she had to run for it. Next, she pulled on her leather jacket. Again, with its buckles and metal detailing, it wasn't much of a party coverup, but too bad. It had nice deep pockets. With a quick check for the valet, she grabbed her weapon and jammed it into one of two inside pockets. It didn't fit, not really, but close enough, and Cyn had no intention of going into that house unarmed.
As she closed the hatch and walked around to the driver's door, the valet reappeared, raising her eyebrows at the changes in Cyn's attire. Right, like Cyn cared what a teenaged car parker thought about her wardrobe. “How much to leave it right here?” Cyn asked bluntly. These kids lived on their tips.
"I can't let you leave it right here,” the girl said meaningfully.
"Okay. How about over there?” Cyn pointed at a fence about thirty yards away. “I'll parallel park right next to the fence, out of the way.” She opened her wallet, making sure the girl saw the thick wad of crisp green money. One lesson Cyn had absorbed from her rare visits with her father ... always carry cash. Her fingers began ruffling through the money thoughtfully. She looked up at the girl. “Couple hundred?” The valet's eyes widened and she looked around carefully. None of the other attendants were in sight.
"Sure."
Cyn extracted two one hundred-dollar bills and handed them over, being careful to shield the transaction from casual observers. “I keep the keys,” she confirmed.
The girl barely nodded, already tucking the money away.
Cyn parked the car and pocketed the keys, then strolled around the outside of the house looking at doors and windows before climbing the shallow porch and joining the party.
Chapter Thirty-three