"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.

Chapter Sixteen

Still damp from the shower, Cyn wrapped a towel around herself and stepped out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. Crossing over to the fireplace, she reached down and flicked the electronic ignition, smiling when the fire immediately leapt up to dance cheerfully on the open hearth. She loved the feel of the warm air on her naked skin and let the towel drop to the floor as she went over to check her cell phone. There were no messages. She was no expert, but the sun had been down nearly an hour. How long did it take for a vampire to wake up or whatever they called it? Back in the bathroom, she began massaging moisturizer into her skin, first her legs, then the rest of her body and arms. The lotion was unscented. Cynthia didn't wear perfume of any kind. In her line of business, she frequently had to move around incognito, and it wouldn't do to have an identifiable perfume trailing along behind her.