Raphael (Vampires in America #1)

Raphael (Vampires in America #1) Page 30

"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 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

The third time someone tripped over her feet, Cyn said screw the upholstery and curled her legs up beneath her on the short leather couch. Hell, her boots probably cost more than the damn couch did anyway, which was odd because the house itself, with its acres of pasturage, hadn't come cheap. Of course, it obviously hadn't come with any taste either. A sprawl of Southwestern design, it featured every kitschy decorating element in garish abundance. Antlers of various ruminants hung on the walls, interspersed with an assortment of Southwestern art, none of it good. Black and white cow patterns graced—if such a word could be used in conjunction with cows—not only the throw rugs scattered about, but much of the furniture as well. And completing the questionable theme were chairs that looked like tractor seats, saddles and, of all things, camp stools.

She glanced at her watch. Almost nine o'clock already. She'd spent nearly two hours playing wallflower and watching the ebb and flow of the party. And there was a lot of ebb and flow going on. Russian music pounded loudly, pulsing through rooms packed almost claustrophobically with men in expensive but ill-fitting suits and women who'd clearly spent a fortune on their clothes, but who'd never met a designer they didn't love. Which meant there was way too much jewelry and not enough style involved. Not that it seemed to bother anyone but Cyn. There was an almost manic quality to the gaiety, a level of excitement that seemed unwarranted from what she'd observed. Party goers kept disappearing into the back rooms of the house and reappearing later, usually after only a few minutes, but sometimes much longer. Cyn figured there were probably drugs being handed out in the nether regions of the house, but she had no interest in finding out for sure. Drugs had never been her substance of choice. She didn't even drink that much anymore. It was, as always, a matter of control, and Cyn liked to be in control. And then there was the whole disgusting idea of actually snorting anything up one's nose. Ick.

She swung her long legs back to the floor with a thump, admiring her boots as she did so. Maybe they didn't do much for the narrow, black knit dress, but they sure as hell blended with the decor in this house. Time to blow this party, Cyn. A vice cop would have had a field day in this place, but there was nothing here for her. Time to find Benita and make like the birds. She stood and looked around with a frown; she hadn't seen her friend in some time. Damn.

She'd taken a single step toward the back of the house when a meaty arm came around her waist, nearly tugging her off her feet. “Hey!"

"Where've you been hiding, pretty thing. Come on, I pick you."

Cyn flinched at the rank breath of her captor, leaning away to glare at him. And froze in surprise. Vampire. Shit! They weren't doing drugs in the back; this was a feeding hole just like Lonnie's beach house. But...?

The truth jolted her. Raphael had said all along that Alexandra's kidnapping was the first move in an attempted takeover. Someone had gotten to Kolinsky, who'd blackmailed Judkins to get Barry on the estate and set the kidnapping plot in motion. And that someone was running a feedlot right here on the ranch, right in the middle of Raphael's territory. She had to get out of here now. And where the hell was Benita?

The vampire was all but carrying her down the dim hallways, passing closed doors on every side. It was like a teenage grope party at someone's parents’ house, or maybe a whorehouse, and Cyn had no intention of joining either activity. She grabbed a passing doorway and dug in her heels, jerking the surprised vampire to an abrupt halt. He spun around and gave her a dull-witted look of puzzlement, as if he couldn't figure out why they'd stopped moving.

"I have to find my friend,” she explained. “Benita."

A light clicked on in the blank eyes. “Benita? Sure, I know Benita. I'm not allowed to touch her though. Boss's orders."

Cyn's heart lurched sickeningly. Benita said her target was someone higher than Kolinsky. Good God, would she go so far as to let her target feed from her? And if she had, could she be trusted anymore? This kept getting worse and worse. And Cyn was a lousy actress.

"Okay, listen,” she said. “This is a mistake. I'm not supposed to be here, I didn't know it was this kind of party, so maybe I'll just turn around right now and go home.” She put action to her words, spinning on one heel, intending to go straight to her car, find a clear spot and call Raphael. She took a step and was pulled up short. The vampire was like a rooted tree holding her in place.

"But I'm hungry,” he whined. “Boss said we could take whoever we wanted here."

Cynthia took a deep breath. “Look. I bet your boss only lets you take volunteers, right? Because it's against the law to force someone, and if you break the law, your boss could get in big trouble, couldn't he? Isn't that how it works? Now, I know you're hungry, but there are lots of perfectly willing donors out there. Tell you what, why don't I go with you and we'll pick someone out. Someone pretty. Wouldn't that be fun?"

"Another girl?” He grinned eagerly.

Cyn blinked at him in confusion. “What?” she said, and then it dawned on her. Oh, geez, what was it with guys and the lesbian fantasy? “You bet,” she said. “You'd like that, wouldn't you?” Creep. But it got them moving in the right direction.

"Yeah, I—"

"And what is this, Tommy?” A new voice intruded from the now-open door they'd just passed. Tommy paused, stopping Cyn dead in her tracks yet again.

"I got a pretty one, Albin."

"I can see that."

Cyn froze when she heard the name. Albin. Raphael's traitor, the vamp who had killed Matias and kidnapped Alexandra. He grabbed Cynthia's other arm as Tommy tightened his fingers and yanked her closer. Both vamps were holding her painfully tight, and Cyn found herself hoping they'd somehow forget about her and go after each other before they turned her into a human wishbone.