Cyn didn't like to be home when Anna was working. It made her feel like an intruder in her own house. She picked up the phone and dialed Duncan's number from memory. She didn't identify herself when his voice mail answered, just said five words and hung up. “My office at eight. Tonight.” She put the phone down and went to get dressed.
Chapter Forty-nine
Down in the garage, Cyn took one look at the mess inside the Land Rover and closed the door. She'd run it through a car wash and thrown a towel over the seats before driving to Santa Barbara, but it was one thing to drive the damn truck to a rendezvous with a high probability of more mayhem, and another entirely to park it behind her office in Santa Monica. There must be someone who specialized in cleaning blood-soaked car seats. Someone like Harvey Keitel in Pulp Fiction. Come to think of it, she'd seen a special on television about a company that cleaned up after all kinds of bloody events—crime scenes, suicides, stuff like that. There had to be a company like that in L.A. She'd have to find them and give them a call. In the meantime, she arranged for the local car rental place to deliver a Lexus sedan to her office and called a taxi.
As the taxi dropped her behind the low office building, she noticed the lawyers on either side of her were both in. The therapist apparently took Wednesdays off. Did therapists golf? Or maybe they went to the spa. God knows, if Cyn had to sit and listen to other people complain for hours every day, she'd certainly need a weekly spa visit.
She let herself in the back door, automatically turning off the alarm and opening the blinds to let in some light. There were a few messages waiting for her, nothing monumental. A backup call from Nick and a couple of potential clients, referred by others. She'd call them later, or maybe not. She was thinking about a nice, long vacation. Somewhere far away from Malibu and its resident vampire lord. Cyn sighed deeply. She'd managed to avoid thinking about Raphael for the last couple of days, had managed to ignore the dull ache of emptiness beneath her heart. Duncan's phone call had brought it all roaring back to life.
She walked over to her desk and leafed through the stack of mail that had been waiting for her. It was the first of the month. There were bills to pay, rent checks to process. Life went on. She opened her banking software and set to work.
By the time she finished, the room had grown dark, with only the small desk lamp and her computer monitor to light the office. She glanced up uneasily, painfully aware that somewhere in the city Raphael was beginning his night. Without her. She pushed away from her desk with an angry kick. She would not cry. She would not.
She glanced at her watch. It was nearly eight o'clock already. Where the hell was Duncan? She cleared her desk, closing folders, shutting down her computer. No reason to stay once this meeting was over. There were no other current clients, and she didn't fancy any new ones right now, especially not the ones who came at night. When the buzzer sounded, she jumped, even though she'd been expecting it. She stared at the closed door and reached out reluctantly to click the small knob on the security screen.
Duncan stood outside, gazing directly at the camera. “Fuck.” She leaned back in her chair and realized for the first time that she'd been hoping Raphael would show up tonight, not Duncan. Her disappointment was bright and sharp, and so stupid. A knock sounded on her door and she heard the vampire's voice. “Let me in, Ms. Leighton. I know you're there."
"How do you know, you bastard?” she whispered.
"Because I can hear you,” he replied, clearly amused.
"Great.” She pushed the release.
Duncan walked into her office alone. Definitely alone.
"Why are you here?” she asked.
"I told you on the phone,” he said patiently. “I brought your final payment.” He laid an elegant, white envelope on her desk. Her name was typed—not written in a flowing hand, but typed on the front. “You did perform quite admirably, but I believe you'll find the compensation more than adequate."
"Yeah, great."
The vampire tilted his head curiously. “You disappeared the other night before I could thank you. I had my doubts about the wisdom of bringing you in, but ... you served him well. That's important to me."
Cynthia stared at the blond vampire with his so human brown eyes. So sincere, so sober Duncan. And so utterly devoted to Raphael. “Can I ask you a question?"
Duncan regarded her steadily, then tipped his head in acquiescence. “Certainly."
"I don't mean to offend, but ... how did you die? I mean what happened that made Raphael turn you?"
Duncan smiled at her. Cyn thought it was the only time she'd really seen him smile. “You're very straightforward, Ms. Leighton. I admire that. As to your question, I was dying, struck down with so many others during the war.” He caught her eye. “That would be the War of Northern Aggression, the Civil War I believe you call it."
Cyn nodded.
"It was 1863, the Battle of Stones River. Thousands died on both sides, many more were wounded. There was so little the surgeons could do for us then, and what few skills they had were given to the officers, or to the men who would live to fight again.” He stared at the wall, his eyes far away. “I was not one of those. Like so many, I was a farmer, conscripted into the army with no training and even less skill. Such a waste.” He shook his head at the memory. “In any event, I was sorely wounded, sliced across the belly, my own hands all that were keeping my intestines from spilling into the dirt. A terrible way to die, slow and painful, with the scavenger birds jostling all around, waiting until you were too weak to push them away. I can still hear the screams of the other men, even after all these years...” He was silent for a moment, then continued briskly. “Lord Raphael found me and gave me a choice. I owe him my life; my loyalty I give freely."
Tears were rolling down Cynthia's cheeks and Duncan stared at her. “Cynthia?"
She wiped her cheeks angrily. “I think that's the first time you've ever called me by my name, Duncan. Be careful; you wouldn't want anyone to think you like me.” She forced a smile. “So, how's Alexandra? She recovering okay?"
"As you saw, it was difficult for her, but under the circumstances, she's doing quite well. Raphael is taking her to one of his other estates for awhile, away from the memories. Though, he is sorry to be leaving Malibu. This is his favorite city.” He looked at her directly. “For many reasons.” When Cyn didn't respond, he continued. “Alexandra has told us how you killed Albin and freed her. Raphael was furious at first; Albin was supposed to be his.” Duncan seemed amused by that. “Alexandra has nothing but good words for you and asks almost daily if you will visit."
"Well,” Cyn laughed nervously. “That would be awkward, don't you think? I mean she and Raphael..."
Duncan stared at her. “I believe you have mistaken the nature of their relationship, Ms. Leighton. Alexandra is Raphael's sister. They were separated for centuries; he thought her dead along with their parents. He still feels guilty, I think, that he lost her for all that time, and Alexandra is not above ... Well. Let us say Alexandra can be rather demanding."
"His sister.” Cyn felt like someone had kicked her in the stomach. She fought to keep the pain from showing and knew from Duncan's expression that she wasn't succeeding. So she turned away, busying herself with taking the envelope—which was filled with cash—and shoving it into her backpack. She switched off the light before facing him again. No doubt he could see her just as well in the dark, but it made her feel less exposed.
"Thank you for bringing this, Duncan. It was kind."