"Pushkin?" Benita run a shaky hand through her short hair before answering. "No," she said. "Never heard that one." She jumped up, suddenly hyper. "Those bolillos are sounding good, after all. You want one?" She pulled a plastic bag from the freezer.

"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 a.s.signment'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."

"f.u.c.k."

"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.u.c.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 s.e.xy 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.

"You keep telling yourself that, chica." Benita checked the time. "Look, the party's closer to your house than mine, so why don't you wait while I change, then we can go directly from your place."

"Mmm, maybe not. I'm kind of avoiding my place today. You go ahead and get ready, I'll go shopping." She stood, her muscles reminding her of how sore she was, which in turn reminded her she'd never gotten that hot bath. She sighed. "Listen, uh, before I go, can I grab a quick shower?" She stripped off her jacket without thinking. "I mean I don't want to try on clothes all-"

Benita gasped, her eyes widening as she took in the full extent of Cyn's blood and bruises. "You got boyfriend trouble, girl?"

"Yeah," Cyn mumbled. "Something like that. How about that shower?"

Benita gave her a doubtful look, shaking her head in disapproval. "Be my guest, chica. Clean towels in the hallway closet."

"Thanks."

"And don't use all the hot water!"

Three hours later, Benita was rolling through the stations on Cyn's satellite radio, muttering about finding something with a little "salsa." Cyn was only half paying attention, more worried about the dress she was wearing as it crawled up her thighs, not to mention the four inch heels that looked great with the dress, but were far higher than what she was used to. The challenge had been finding a dress that was sufficiently s.e.xy and still concealed the worst of her bruises from the night before. Not to mention that while she was willing to be a party girl in the interest of finding out more about Kolinsky, or more to point, whoever was backing him, she had no intention of being somebody's easy pickup. She wasn't that dedicated.

She'd settled on a form fitting black knit, with a high neck, long sleeves and a hemline several inches above her knee. She'd had to buy makeup as well, spending a fortune on stuff she'd never wear again, and having the girl at the counter slather it on for her. The cosmetics girl had been vastly sympathetic about Cyn's rapidly healing injuries, working hard to cover them up, while dropping hints about some crisis line for battered women. All in all, it had been a pretty humiliating trip to the mall and Cyn had been more than happy to leave it behind, pick up Benita and turn the car west once again.

The party was at a house deep in Decker Canyon, well off Pacific Coast Highway and close to the northern county border. As the crow flies, it wasn't that far from her condo or, for that matter, Raphael's estate. But for a mere human, confined to established roadways, it was a good ten miles of twisting canyon along a circuitous route that surely backtracked on itself more than once. Normally, she would have taken the 10 freeway west from Benita's house all the way to the Coast Highway north, then driven up Decker from there. It was shorter, probably faster, and certainly more scenic. But it also would have taken her right by Raphael's estate and her own condo. And she was pretty sure Tony had found his cell phone long ago. So instead, she took the long way around through the San Fernando Valley. Benita slanted Cyn a quizzical look when she made the turn that would take them to the Valley, but bought Cyn's story about construction slowing down traffic near the beach.

After a considerable distance, and the usual traffic hold ups, they reached Decker and began heading deeper into the canyon. Cyn's conscience was nagging her, urging her to call Raphael, to let him know where she was. He would probably worry if she didn't. She remembered the rage on his face when he'd seen her injured, when Kolinsky had make the mistake of holding her captive. She picked up the phone. But the signal was flat. They were already too deep into the hills.

Chapter Thirty-one.

Raphael shot the cuffs on his crisp, white shirt, then stood in front of the mirror and began knotting the length of blue silk that was his tie. The door opened behind him and Duncan walked in, already dressed in the standard gray pinstripe. Raphael had guests this evening. Complex negotiations were underway over commercial rights in Santa Barbara and northward up the coast. While the Malibu estate was Raphael's favorite residence, especially during winter, he ruled all of the western territories. The entire vampire community within the bounds of his territory was under his authority, including all commercial ventures. Being a wise ruler, and a good businessman, he shared the profits of these various ventures with the subordinates he necessarily had to trust to run them on a day-to-day basis. Moreover, while there were nowhere near as many vampires as the popular culture would have one believe, there were enough that order had to be maintained, and Raphael could not personally oversee such a large territory. He relied on his people and rewarded them generously for their loyalty.

His guest tonight was one such. One who felt, perhaps, that his loyalty deserved a bit more freedom of action than Raphael was willing to grant.

Duncan entered the room quietly, crossing to stand nearby.

Raphael eyed him in the mirror. "Where is she?"

"Ms. Leighton departed the estate a few minutes after three o'clock this afternoon and arrived at her condo almost immediately thereafter. The guards at the gate had no orders to detain her; she insisted she was only going home to change clothes."

"And the guard at the condo?"

"She shot him, my lord."

Raphael stopped tying and looked over his shoulder at Duncan.

Duncan nodded. "Painful, but not fatal. She actually made him quite comfortable before she left, even provided pain medication. Which is why it was nearly an hour before her departure was noted."

Raphael frowned and turned back to the mirror and his tie. "What is it about her, Duncan?" he said finally. "She fights me at every turn, then nearly dies defending me. She comes more than willingly to my bed, then runs the very next morning. She wants nothing to do with me, and yet I find her ... fascinating."

"She is a beautiful woman, my lord."

"Beauty is cheaply had, Duncan."

"You said it yourself, my lord. She confounds you. She is, to put it bluntly, a pain in the a.s.s. One such as you would find that irresistible."

Raphael finished his tie, smoothing it down over his deep chest. He looked up. "One such as me?"

"You are a vampire lord, Sire. Thousands of immortal lives continue by your will alone. And yet, this human woman resists you."

Raphael studied his lieutenant thoughtfully. "You surprise me, Duncan."

Duncan tilted his head in acknowledgment.

"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 partic.i.p.ants 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 ident.i.ty. 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.u.c.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 s.e.x. 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 hips 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 h.e.l.l 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.