Raphael threw his elegant coat over the kitchen island and followed her. She frowned at him. “I thought we already established that I'm more comfortable upstairs with you,” he said with an innocent expression.

"Don't even bother with that look,” she scoffed.

Once in her bedroom, Raphael glanced around quickly, then slouched gracefully onto her bed, his long legs stretched out, his back propped against the pillows and headboard. Cynthia kicked off her shoes without thinking, then glanced up and caught the heat in his gaze. She swallowed dryly. “I'll...” She coughed nervously. “I'll just change in the closet."

"Don't leave on my account,” Raphael purred. “I'm quite comfortable now."

Cynthia hurried into the closet and began unbuttoning her shirt. She threw the suit into the hamper for dry cleaning. It wasn't really dirty, but that was faster than hanging it up and she felt the need to get clothes on quickly. She pulled her jeans on without zipping them and yanked a turtleneck sweater over her head, fluffing her hair back up with one hand. She was bending over to pull on her shitkicker boots, when she heard Raphael call out.

"How was your trip to Mrs. Judkins, Cyn?"

Cynthia suddenly remembered why she was supposed to be pissed at the vampire. Her boots in one hand, she stormed out of the closet. “That was a dirty trick, Raphael. You could have warned me—"

He shot off the bed faster than her eyes could follow, suddenly right in front of her, his eyes sleepy with lust, his voice so deep she could feel the vibration in her chest. “Was there a problem at the Judkins, Cyn?” His fingers slipped easily into the open waistband of her jeans, sliding beneath the fabric to caress her bare hip, his thumb insinuating itself beneath the band of her thong. It was such an intimate gesture, her breath caught in her throat as she looked up and met his black eyes. No, not black. Not now. They gleamed silver in the dim light.

"Yes,” she whispered. “I mean, no. It ... it surprised me, that's all,” she managed to say.

He lowered his head and ran his lips along her jaw, nuzzling first her ear, then her neck. The line of their bodies never touched, only his fingers stroking the smooth, naked skin of her hip. His lips touched hers gently, nudging her mouth open, his tongue circling, tasting her.

Cynthia responded. How could she not? Every nerve in her body was tingling with desire, her breasts begging to be touched, her mouth welcoming him even as she fought to keep from pressing herself against his hard body.

"So little time, sweet Cyn,” he whispered, then stepped back.

Cynthia gasped as he moved away. She wanted to curse him, to scream at him to ... what? Christ, she wanted him to take her, to throw her on the big bed and fuck her brains out. She knew what he'd feel like between her legs, forcing that thick shaft deep into her and driving it in and out...?

Pull yourself together, Cyn!

"Right,” she managed. “Okay...” She looked down at the bare skin still visible beneath her unzipped denims and wondered if she'd find a handprint seared into her skin where his fingers had held her. She shook her head and went to zip up, but discovered she was still holding the boots. Dropping them to the floor, she zipped quickly and sat down to pull them on. Raphael was back on the bed, sitting there watching her as if he'd never moved. Son of a bitch.

"Okay,” she said. “Kolinsky."

"Kolinsky,” Raphael agreed.

"He's Russian Mafia, fairly high up. That's all I could find out on that score, but I'll check my office here before we leave. My guy was going to fax a picture over. I've got another friend who might be able to tell me more, but she's on assignment and I have to wait for her to call me. There's no way of knowing when that will be, which is why I want to check out this warehouse myself. Whoever's making this move on you won't wait forever."

"Certainly not. In fact, I would expect to hear from them very soon."

She spun around to look at him. “Why?"

"I'm in the midst of some ... delicate negotiations. I begin to think these events are related."

"Why?"

Raphael studied her carefully, then gave a barely discernible nod, as if deciding to trust her. “You say this Kolinsky is Russian. Let us just say, my current business also has a Russian connection."

"Makes sense."

"Unfortunately."

Cynthia stood, stomping her feet firmly into the boots. “You ready to rock and roll?"

Raphael rolled gracefully off the bed and to his feet. Slowly enough for her to watch him this time. Which she did. Anyway you looked at it, moving or standing still, he was total eye candy. “Juro has arrived with the SUV."

"I'll drive my own car,” she insisted.

"Two cars, then. I'll ride with you."

Cyn snorted. She and Raphael alone in her truck on a dark night. They'd be lucky if they made it out of the driveway with their clothes on.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Cyn adjusted the angle of her rear view mirror so she couldn't see the fierce scowl Duncan was aiming at her from the backseat. She hadn't needed to worry about being alone with Raphael after all. Duncan had insisted on going with them, as if it was she who posed a threat to the vampire lord, rather than the other way around. Next to her in the front passenger seat, Raphael sat tapping his fingers rhythmically on the padded leather of the door. Oh, for God's sake, she thought. He was humming. The vampire lord was humming a cheerful, little tune. He was happy. Cyn shook her head and focused on the directions the in-dash GPS was feeding her. This was a part of L.A. she was not at all familiar with. It was heavily commercial, mostly abandoned this time of night, with few streetlights and too many dark corners. She made the final turn and drove slowly, looking for the address, noticing that very few of the buildings had signs of any kind, much less a street number.

"There,” Raphael said, pointing ahead to the left. “Odessa Imports.” He and Duncan exchanged a quick look, and Cynthia wondered what secrets the two of them were keeping from her. Okay, probably thousands, but the only ones that concerned her were anything to do with the mob hangout they were about to enter.

She pulled up to the curb outside and shut off the engine, noting the SUV with the other two vamps coasting to a stop right behind her. “I'll go in first. I'm harmless compared to you two. I'll just—"

"No,” Raphael said flatly. “We'll go in together."

"If the two of you walk through that door, the place will be empty in three minutes. You guys don't exactly give off a friendly vibe."

"And you, Cyn, are far too tempting a target. A woman alone in a place like this? I think not. Very well. The two of us, then."

"I will go with her, Master, if you will remain here with the others.” It was a futile effort, and Duncan knew it even as he spoke the words; she could hear it in his voice.

Raphael was already climbing out of the car, and Cyn hustled to follow before he stomped through the door on his own and destroyed any chance of doing this peacefully. For that matter, she couldn't even be certain this was a criminal hangout. There were probably a half dozen sweatshops within walking distance in this neighborhood. They could barge in and find nothing more than a bunch of illegals putting together toys to go under the Christmas trees of nice, middle-class homes all over America. She said as much to Raphael.

"You don't believe that,” he said simply.

"No.” She drew her gun, checked the full magazine, then reinserted it.

"Wait here with the others, Duncan,” Raphael said without looking away from her. “You will know if I need you."

Duncan didn't even bother to argue. He drew a single resigned breath, then nodded. “As you wish, Sire."

Raphael turned long enough to give his lieutenant a reassuring pat on the shoulder, then said, “Who shall we be, Cyn? I don't suppose you still have your badge?"

Cynthia rolled her eyes. Great. Just great. “You be the strong, silent muscle,” she said, checking the small of her back beneath her leather jacket, verifying the second gun tucked into her waistband. “I'll do the talking, okay?"

Raphael shrugged. “For now,” he agreed, suddenly deadly serious. He walked over and pulled open the heavy door, letting a wan light spill into the street. Cynthia looked up at him as she entered the building and shivered at the unmistakable predator lurking behind his dark eyes.

* * * *

It was a small, dismal office with flickering overhead lights that would have driven Cyn insane after the first ten minutes. The walls had probably been white at some time in the distant past, but were now so coated with grime and cigarette smoke they had a permanent yellowish cast. It made her want to go home and take a shower—a long, hot shower. There was only one window, and that appeared to lead not to anything as wholesome as fresh air, but to another room behind this one. A single inside door, metal and with an excellent lock, stood in marked contrast to the rest of the shabby office.

An older woman sat at a battered, industrial desk in front of the pass-thru window, her face as gray as her hair. She looked up at Cynthia and Raphael as they walked through the door, squinting through a permanent haze of cigarette smoke. Her gaze lingered on Raphael uneasily, then shifted to Cyn.

"You folks got the wrong address.” Her voice was a harsh rasp that told Cyn the cigarettes had already caught up with her.

Cynthia smiled and crossed over to the desk. “I don't think so,” she said in a puzzled voice. “We're looking for Mr. Kolinsky."

"No one here by that name. No one here at all. Good-bye."

Cyn opened her mouth to protest, but Raphael shifted, drawing the woman's attention. “I believe Mr. Kolinsky will want to see us, Mavis,” he said in that silky voice of his.

The woman blinked in confusion. “Of course,” she rasped. “Let me get the door for you.” She stood and hobbled over, tugging a ring of keys from her sweater pocket, and struggled to insert one of them into the heavy lock.