"Hey, Cyn! You're there.” Speak of the devil and he'll give you a call. Not that Lonnie was a bad guy. He wasn't ... for a vampire.
"A little early for you, isn't it, Lonnie?"
"Uh, yeah.” He laughed nervously. “Listen, Cyn. I need to talk to you. Can I come by?"
Cynthia frowned. “Sure, Lonnie, you know that. What's the problem?"
"Um, it's complicated and I'd rather not discuss it on a cell phone. I'm about fifteen minutes from your office."
She didn't like the sound of Lonnie's voice. He was nervous, and a little too insistent for the normally laid back vampire. But it probably wouldn't hurt to meet with him. Whatever he wanted, she could always tell him no. “Okay, come on over. But only because I trust you. If you're bringing trouble with you, I'm gonna be pissed."
"Come on, Cyn. Think of all the business I send you. I'll be there in fifteen ... make that thirteen minutes."
Cyn hung up without saying good-bye, then saw how dark it was in her office and went around turning on lamps. She'd been working pretty much by the light of her monitor, with only a small desk lamp on. As she clicked switches, she brooded about the fact that Lonnie hadn't denied he was in trouble. By the time she had gone back to her desk and started working again, the security buzzer was sounding and there was Lonnie, staring into the camera on her security screen and mouthing the words, “Hi Cyn."
She was smiling when she hit the intercom. “Come on in, Lonnie."
She turned away, pulling open a file drawer and stashing the folders, thinking how Lonnie frequently made her smile. He had an easygoing personality and a knack for making people feel comfortable and welcome, which Cyn figured was why he'd been put in charge of managing the vamps’ personal feedlot down at the beach house. She couldn't figure out what any of that had to do with her, however.
"So, what's up?” she asked without looking as she pulled a notepad out of her desk drawer.
"Cyn—” Lonnie said uneasily.
She glanced up, then jumped to her feet, her Glock 17 out of her shoulder holster faster than thought and held before her in a standard two handed grip. Pushing her chair away without looking, she moved as far back as possible, trying to put some distance between herself and the strange vampires now standing in her office. Her finger dropped to the trigger, depressing it just enough to click off the safety.
"Lonnie, you little shit, you're dead,” she snarled.
The first vampire in the doorway had moved slightly so he blocked her view of the guy behind him, but Cyn was more than happy to focus on the one in front; she could only shoot one of them at a time anyway. He was about Cyn's own six foot height, but outweighed her by a good seventy pounds, most of it muscle. His broad chest and shoulders were encased in an elegant dark suit; his longish blond hair was combed straight back, and very human looking brown eyes watched her out of a handsome but unremarkable face. When he spoke, there was not even a hint of fang. “I'm afraid Lonnie's already dead, Ms. Leighton,” he said.
"Funny. I'm not laughing. Who the f**k are you?"
Blondie didn't like that. He gave her an unfriendly look, then glanced at Lonnie. “Lonnie,” he snapped.
"Cyn, for f**k's sake, put the gun down,” Lonnie rasped. “This is Lord Raphael.” He said the name in a breathless whisper that held as much fear as reverence.
Cynthia shifted startled eyes to Lonnie, then quickly back to the blond vampire. She'd heard of Raphael. Hell, everybody had heard of Raphael. But she didn't know anyone who'd ever seen him in person. Not that they admitted, anyway. Raphael was supposedly the big man of the western territories, head of all the vamps on this side of the country. And if that was true, then he was also very old and very powerful.
"Why?” she croaked, her throat suddenly dry. She kept her eyes on the vampire in her doorway, but lowered the gun. She didn't want him to see the fear making her hands tremble, and besides if this was Raphael, her little 9 mm wouldn't do shit to him anyway.
The vampire raised his hands in a peaceful gesture. “Don't blame Lonnie, Ms. Leighton. He had no choice in this, and we mean you no harm in any event. Please,” he gestured at her chair. “Sit down."
Cynthia studied him carefully, then with slow movements clicked the safety on and slid her gun back into the shoulder rig. She pushed her chair back to the desk and sat down, keeping her hands free and unencumbered.
"You didn't answer my question,” she said.
He stepped out of the doorway and into her small office, making room for the vampire behind him to enter. Cynthia drew a sharp breath. This guy was even bigger, well over six feet, maybe six-three or four. He had short black hair and dark, dark eyes, with a soft-looking, sensuous mouth and the sharp lines and high cheekbones of a male model. His size made her think bodyguard, but his was more the hard strength of someone who worked for a living. He was studying her intently and she found herself reluctant to turn her attention away from him, some instinct warning her against letting this one out of her sight.
It was an effort to ignore him and focus on the blond vampire now seating himself in front of her desk. “Ms. Leighton, thank you for seeing us,” he said.
There was something about his voice, or was it his manner, that struck Cynthia as odd. She couldn't pick out exactly what it was, but it chimed delicately against her rusty cop instincts.
"It's not like I had a choice,” she reminded him. “Lonnie was a nice touch, though."
He nodded an acknowledgment. “I've heard good things about you,” he commented. “From Lonnie, and from others."
Cynthia tilted her head, puzzled. The earlier chime was now ringing like a cowbell. She studied the blond vampire for the space of a few more seconds, then turned to the dark vampire instead. “If we're to do business, Lord Raphael, perhaps you should speak to me directly."
In a blur of movement, Blondie was out of the chair and in front of the dark vampire. Cynthia jumped to her feet once again and had her back to the wall, her gun in her hands, feeling slightly foolish. Raphael—for there was no longer any doubt as to his identity—simply nodded to her, letting a small smile play over those sensuous lips. Cynthia stared at him, cursing the day she'd saved a vampire's life, cursing the damn vampires and their games, cursing her mother for birthing her and her father for not moving her to Belgium ... or Sweden, or anyplace that would have taken her far away from this place and this night.