D.B.Reynolds Amerikai vámpírok sorozat

D.B.Reynolds Amerikai vámpírok sorozat angol nyelven

 

Raphael 1

 

Chapter Fourteen

SHE DREAMED OF dark eyes and cool fingers that didn’t stop at her neck, but trailed slowly over the bones of her shoulders, gliding downward to cup the fullness of her breast in one broad hand. A hand that squeezed gently, pinching her nipple between thumb and forefinger until it was a hard little pearl, flirting with a pain that made her moan with need. Need that was echoed in the pulse of pure desire that throbbed between her legs and left her wet and wanting.

Cynthia woke, gasping for air, her body aching with lust, and her heart pounding in confusion. God, she’d never felt anything like this before. And why the hell would she dream of Raphael? Is this what he meant when he said she’d remember him? Her hands slid over her naked body, cupping her breasts and letting her thumbs play with nipples still sensitive from her dream lover’s attention. One hand slipped lower, dipping into the slick wetness between her legs, rubbing slowly while she groaned with frustration, two fingers probing until they slid inside, then gliding in and out, fucking herself until she came with a cry that was half orgasm and half disappointment. She lay there, shuddering with pleasure and wanting more, wanting the hard, solid length of a cock, the weight of a man pressing her down into the sensuous embrace of her thousand thread count sheets.

Cynthia laughed, letting her fingers stroke one last time over her pulsing clitoris to a jolt of pleasure. She sat up and the sheet dropped away, exposing her naked breasts and cooling the sweat pooling between them.

She knew it was still daylight, in spite of the darkness imposed by the blackout curtains over her windows. She stood and stretched, her body still tingling with the remnant of her dream. Was this why women volunteered to be food for the vampires? Because it felt so damn good? She walked over and opened the first layer of drapes, easing light into the room before glancing at the clock. Not even eleven yet; she’d gotten maybe four hours of sleep. Her gaze fell on the computer discs where they lay next to her keys. Damn.

She pulled the rest of the curtains open. Sunlight flooded through and she opened the sliding glass door to the unmistakable scent of ocean. Her three-story condo contained far more space than she needed, but she loved the location right on the sand, two miles west of the center of Malibu. The top story was her private space, with a large master bedroom and sybaritic bathroom, including a full-size Jacuzzi tub and a shower big enough for four people to share. Not that she’d ever actually had four people in it. Two people, one of them male, was pretty much ideal for her. The master suite included a roomy sitting area with a fireplace and took up nearly two thirds of the top floor.

The only other room on that level was her home office cum entertainment center where she had the latest in computer and audio/video technology, a true geek’s dream. She’d had the initial wiring installed by a professional, but since then she pretty much kept up the equipment on her own, installing upgrades as they came out, buying the latest, greatest innovation. The room was secured with a high-end, double-keyed deadbolt with hardened cylinders and a reinforced strike plate in a four inch solid wood door. Most of her client information was kept here at home, so there was the matter of confidentiality. But she also just didn’t like anyone knowing what went on in her inner sanctum.

Below the master suite, on the second floor, was her kitchen in an open floor plan with a den/family room and fireplace of its own, and then two smaller bedrooms, one of which had its own bathroom. The ground floor was mostly devoted to parking; the garage could accommodate two full-size vehicles. There was also an uncovered guest parking space across the driveway, and rarely used. Behind the garage was a beach room with a barred and locked sliding door opening directly onto the sand. There was also a wet bar and a small bathroom. Cyn knew at least one of her neighbors rented their beach room out as a studio apartment, which was clearly against the association rules, but Cyn certainly wasn’t going to complain and nobody else had either.

Itching to get started on Raphael’s case, she strolled over to her closet, a small room in its own right, and pulled on some casual clothes—underwear, sweats and a t-shirt. Then grabbing the discs, she headed for her office.

She reviewed the gatehouse video first. There was no audio, but it was obvious what had happened, with or without sound. The abductors had clearly counted on the human guards being busy with morning routine, preoccupied with the shift change. The driver showed up in a typical small business van, claiming a delivery of some sort, pulling the attention of both gatehouse guards into the argument before his buddies came out of the back, shooting. It would never have worked with the vamps and their heightened senses, plus they moved too damn quickly to be caught out that easily. But the humans fell into it, dead before they knew what was happening. Add the fact that Raphael was out of town, which meant security was much lighter than usual, and regardless of how much he claimed to treasure Alexandra, his first rate security types all seemed to travel with him. The abductors knew all of this, of course; the traitor had seen to it.

But it came back to the same question. Why Alexandra? Why was she so important to him? Cyn remembered the look on his face when he spoke of her last night. It was almost as if it hurt him to think about her, as if he felt . . . guilty. That was it. He felt guilty somehow about Alexandra. Was she a former lover, maybe? She tried to remember the words he’d used: “I killed her Sire and made her mine.” So, he’d torn her away from her Sire, obsessed with having her for his own. But no obsession could last forever, and immortality could probably turn love to hate after a few decades. But Alexandra still needed protection and Raphael felt responsible. So he gave her what she’d always wanted, the life of fine French lady.

A sharp beep sounded in Cyn’s headphones, jarring her back to reality. “Good imagination, Cyn,” she said out loud. “Better cut back on those romance novels.” But she couldn’t shake the feeling that some part of it was true.

She moved onto the next file, determined to leave fanciful theory behind and stick with the facts. Regardless of their relationship, whoever took Alexandra clearly planned to use her as blackmail against Raphael, but Cyn couldn’t see that working. Even if Alexandra was eventually released, Raphael already knew at least some of those involved, and the vampire lord didn’t strike her as a forgiving kind of guy. So, either the captors were incredibly stupid or they had something else in mind. Since the abduction seemed to indicate at least a minimal level of intelligence and planning, she ruled out stupidity. A trap, then. Let Raphael search high and low for his beloved Alexandra, think he’d found her and then kill him when he showed up rescue her. Again, everything she’d seen of the vampire lord seemed to rule out the possibility of him falling for such a ruse. And why not simply kill Alexandra outright? Much easier all around, and she didn’t actually have to be alive for a trap to work. She’d have to ask someone. Not Raphael; that was a little blunt even for Cyn. But maybe Duncan.

In any event, it had taken arrogance to plan a move this bold against a vampire as powerful as Raphael, to invade his private estate and snatch his favorite . . . whatever the hell she was. And why was Cyn so obsessed with it anyway? She remembered her incredibly erotic dreams and shook her head. Stupid. It was always bad news to get involved with a client, but when the client was a vampire . . . Well, that went way beyond bad news. Focus, Cyn. Just do your job.

She moved through all the video feeds quickly, seeing nothing she hadn’t expected and finding herself impressed with the level of Raphael’s security. The only part of the faux French manor house not at least partially wired for sight and sound was the basement room itself, with its nest of electronics and inexplicable bank vault which, having seen the main house, she was now pretty sure hid sleeping quarters for the vamps. She shook her head impatiently and moved on to the two angles of most interest to her, pulling on her headphones to enhance the weak audio. One was the piano room, with the images of Alexandra and the two vampires, but the other was the kitchen door on the side, the exit the abductors had used, the place where they’d parked their vehicle while they infiltrated the house itself.

She cued up the piano room and watched with fresh amazement as Matias was dusted right before her eyes. She’d half thought Duncan might delete that particular image. Those fifteen seconds of video all by themselves could net her a small fortune . . . if she was stupid enough to betray a vampire lord. But, goodness, what the television networks would pay for footage of a vampire actually being poofed!

Light from the hallway washed over her monitor, bleaching out the video image and blinding her as she spun around in the darkened room, but not before she’d hit the hot key and blanked the screen.

Schooling herself to remain calm, she removed her headphones and stared at her sister, who stood in the open doorway. “Holly,” she said slowly. “I’ve asked you before not to interrupt me when I’m working in here. It’s a matter of privacy for my clients.” She walked over to the door and maneuvered her sister out into the hallway. “Just give me a moment to close my files, and I’ll meet you downstairs.” She didn’t wait for an answer, but stepped back inside and closed the door.

Holly immediately began knocking rapidly on the door and calling her name. Cyn ignored her long enough to cross to the computer and close the video file, then yanked the door open once again.

“Jesus, Holly! I’m working. What could possibly be so important?”

“What the hell’s wrong with you? I knocked before I opened your precious office door. It’s not my fault you didn’t hear me.”

“I was working,” she repeated. “I don’t let anyone up here. Not for any reason.”

“You let your boyfriend Nick up here! Oh, I’m sorry. He’s not your boyfriend; you’re just fucking him.”

“Good God, Holly,” she said, pushed beyond family civility. “Could you be anymore crude? What did you want anyway?” Cyn decided she was hungry and gestured clearly toward the stairs. Holly huffed in disgust, but stomped down to the kitchen. Cyn followed and opened the freezer looking for something to toast.

Her housekeeper, Anna, had left several muffins for her. Giant, home-baked, fruit-filled, butter soaked muffins, each of which packed at least 1500 calories. Anna was a nice, round lady who worried about Cyn’s unmarried status and was convinced it was because she was too thin to attract a man. Who wanted a woman too skinny to breed children? She kept leaving fattening treats around, hoping to put a few pounds on Cyn and thus increase her chances. Cynthia eyed the muffins hungrily. If she jogged later, she could have a muffin now. But if she jogged later, she’d never have time to get through all of the video from Raphael’s estate and she really wanted to get some movement on this case. Plus there were a couple of other things hanging she could dispose of today, clearing her calendar to concentrate on Alexandra’s abduction. She sighed and reached for a plain English muffin instead.

“Are you listening to me?”

Cyn popped the muffin in the toaster, then blinked at her sister. “Sorry. Work problems. What were you saying?”

“I said if you worked a normal job with normal hours, you wouldn’t be so odd. You’re positively antisocial, Cyndi. It’s not healthy.”

“I like my job.” She looked up. “And I don’t like most people, so it works out fine for me.”

“Oh, right,” Holly said waspishly. “But you like hanging around those godless bloodsuckers and who knows what other abominations. Chuck says you’re damning yourself, Cynthia. He says vampires are a perversion of nature, unholy creatures who belong in hell.”

“Hmm. Let me think . . . nope, don’t care. So you’re dating Chuck again? I seem to recall you telling me he reminded you of the Pillsbury dough boy.”

“There are more important qualities in a man than his physical appearance, Cyndi,” Holly said primly.

“Yeah, right, like his bank book. Don’t go all holier than thou on me, little sister. Your interest in Chuck has more to do with his daddy’s money than any of Chuck’s finer qualities.”

“Says the trust fund baby.”

“You’ve got plenty of money, Holly,” Cyn said mildly. This was an old argument between them and one Cyn was heartily sick of. As her father’s only child, Cyn was the sole beneficiary of her grandparents’ generation-skipping trust fund, a small fortune which had become hers on her 21st birthday.

“Right.”

Cynthia shrugged as she put a stingy dab of butter on her muffin and changed the subject. “So what is it you wanted?”

“They’re finished with my house, but I need a ride to my car. I left it at a friend’s house in the Palisades,” Holly said, deliberately casual. “Chuck brought me home last night.”

Cynthia chuckled. “Too much medicine, Hol?”

“I was not drunk,” Holly objected. “Something in the dinner disagreed with me, and Chuck graciously offered to drive me home. That’s all there is to it.”

Cyn studied Holly’s crimson face and the way she avoided meeting her eyes. “You brought Chuck back here last night? How long was he here?”

“Really, Cyndi, I don’t think—”

“I’m sorry, Holly. I know you think this is unreasonable, but I’m really not comfortable with strangers being in my home when I’m not here. Besides, say what you want about Nick, at least he doesn’t slink away in the night as soon as he’s gotten his rocks off.”

“And you call me crude. You talk like a truck driver.”

Cynthia laughed and popped the last of her muffin into her mouth. “Or a cop.” She glanced at the wall clock. “Look if you want a ride, let’s do it. I can go into my Santa Monica office and take care of some things while I’m over there. And listen, if you want to pack your stuff up right now, we can stuff it all into the Land Rover, save you the trip back.”

“Fine. I wouldn’t want to intrude on you any longer.”

Cynthia was sure Holly intended that last comment as some sort of a guilt trip, but it wasn’t going to work, not this time. This abduction case was going to get complicated and she needed her nosy sister gone. “Great. I’ll go grab a quick shower.”

 

Chapter Fifteen

BY THE TIME CYN got back to the condo, several hours had passed and the sun was well past its zenith. She pulled into the garage, leaving the door open as usual. There was a heavy door between the garage and the condo itself, and as she went through, she made certain it closed completely and the electromagnetic lock engaged. Then she made a mental note to herself to reprogram the access. If Holly was hanging around with Chuck the dough boy again, she couldn’t be trusted. Chuck had some pretty weird ideas, and Cynthia didn’t buy her sister’s excuse for coming into her office this morning. Cyn did a lot of work with high profile people. And while she would never consider selling any of the photographs or other information she acquired through that work, she had no illusions about Holly suffering from similar compunctions. Especially if it brought her closer to the altar with Chuck and his Daddy’s money.

With her sister gone, serenity seemed to settle over Cyn’s home. She and Holly didn’t get along well, but it was more a clash of personalities between them than anything else. Holly was compulsively neat and not a bad houseguest, as such things went. Well, except for the snooping, of course. Still, as Cyn went through the condo, pulling back drapes and opening windows, she felt a tremendous weight lifting from her spirit. Her home was her own again.

Humming peacefully, she pulled off the silk blouse and slacks she’d donned for her trip into town, kicked off her stylish heels, pulled on a t-shirt over comfortable jeans and made her way barefoot into her office and the work she’d been forced to abandon earlier. She kept the blinds down in this room; she preferred a low light when working with her various electronic gadgets. But now that she was alone in the condo, she left the office door open. Fresh air streamed in from the hallway, ruffling the papers on her desk and reminding her there was a world outside the dim confines of her workspace.

The video, when she booted it up, was still cued to the piano room and Matias’ untimely death. She watched the scene all over again in slow motion. Something nagged at her about the humans in the doorway, something inconsistent she couldn’t quite put a finger on. The angle of the security camera wasn’t ideal; it was focused on the center of the room, perfectly placed to capture Alexandra at her piano, which was probably the reason for its placement. But it left the doorway at an oblique angle that kept her guessing. Frowning, she flipped through the computer files Duncan had provided. There must be at least one camera, if not more, on the mezzanine outside the music room. She cued up what she thought was the right one, then swore her frustration and tried another. She finally got it on the third try, speeding through the footage until she found what she was looking for. There, two men standing in the doorway. The one she recognized as the driver was talking to someone inside the room, presumably the traitor Albin. The other remained silent. Two men. But there had been five men in the van at the gate, the driver and four gunmen. So where were the other three men?

Cyn scanned the files again, pulling up the video of the kitchen entrance. One of the abductors could be seen dragging the bodies of two human guards into the kitchen, then remaining to stand guard with the black van. She continued watching until Albin emerged through the side door, Alexandra beside him before he shoved her into the van. Cynthia frowned again. Albin climbed into the cargo compartment after Alexandra, and the driver slid the panel door closed and hurried around the front of the vehicle. The other two men—the one who’d been inside with the driver, and the one standing guard outside—piled in through the passenger door, and with all three of them in the driver’s compartment, the van took off. Her heart beating wildly, she froze the image and sat back in her chair.

The two vampires went in the back of the van, three of the abductors in front. Maybe the other two gunmen had been waiting in the back of the van—but why the hell would they do that? Why not go into the house for the extraction? Sure, supposedly Albin had it all set up, but any number of things could have gone wrong. Why not have the extra muscle there, just in case? Which meant there were two gunmen unaccounted for. Right. Okay. She sighed. This was going to be really boring.

Five hours later, the sun was down, the wind blowing through the windows had taken a decidedly cold turn, and Cynthia had fast forwarded through twenty-four hours of every camera angle Duncan had provided. She stood and stretched her chilled muscles, then walked into her bedroom and closed the door to the deck, watching as the sun dipped below the horizon in a glory of smog-tinted color. As it disappeared, she dialed the number on the elegant business card Raphael had provided. Voice mail picked up and an impersonal female voice asked her to leave a message.

“Lord Raphael, this is Cynthia Leighton. I need to talk with you. It’s urgent.”

Then she stripped off her comfortable clothes and took another shower. She had a feeling it was going to be a long night.