Under Wraps

Chapter Twelve

I opened my front door timidly, just an inch, and my eyes settled on Parker’s. His were deep and intense, but that cocky half smile was still playing on his lips.

“See? I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

I threw open the door, and Hayes sauntered in.

“Look, if I weren’t feeling so”—I glanced nervously toward my open bedroom door—“violated, and if I weren’t so concerned about the safety of all the other tenants in the building, you wouldn’t be here.” I tried to stand tall, look fierce, hide the fact that my heart was thumping in my throat and that I’d paced a bald spot in my carpet, jumping at every little sound over the last half hour.

Parker was unfazed and dropped onto the couch, grinning at my pink rubber-ducky pajamas. “Nice jammies,” he said.

“Thanks,” I said, pulling my bathrobe tighter across my chest.

Parker looked around the apartment. “This place is really nice. I didn’t really get a chance to look around earlier….”

I pursed my lips as he stood up again, looking at my books, scrutinizing the photos in frames on my mantle, on the wall. “I guess demon paper pushing pays pretty well.”

“Well,” I started, “it does. But I’ve also got a roommate.”

Hayes straightened and looked at me, startled. “A roommate? You never mentioned …” His eyes wandered to my bedroom door standing open. “I didn’t notice another bedroom.”

“There really isn’t one.”

“Oh,” he said, his blue eyes wide and apologetic. “I didn’t realize you were—that you were living with someone.”

“Oh. Oh! No, not like that.” I fought the smug smile on my lips. He thinks I’m sleeping with someone! Well of course. I straightened up, brushing a lock of red hair from my shoulder. Why wouldn’t he think that? I’m cute, I’m … standing here having a conversation in my head while Parker Hayes stands there staring at me. “She’s a vampire,” I blurted. “Nina, remember? She’s a vampire so she doesn’t sleep. So”—I shrugged—“no bedroom.”

Hayes looked around. “Then what does she need a place for?”

I strode across the room and pushed open the guest room door, revealing the room that had been completely converted to a walk-in closet, housing the rows and heaps of Nina’s couture, collected during the generations of her afterlife.

Hayes let out a low whistle. “Holy crap. That woman can shop!”

I shrugged. “Wait until you’ve been alive one hundred and forty-odd years. See what you accumulate.” I kicked Hayes’s bag off the couch and sat down, Indian style. Hayes followed me and sunk down into the pale yellow cushions, looking tense. “Isn’t it kind of weird living with a vampire? I mean, aren’t you afraid she’s going to bite you?”

“Nah.” I kicked my legs out in front of me, crossed my ankles on the coffee table. “They’re not all monsters.”

Parker nodded slowly, and in the few minutes since he’d been in my apartment my heart had slowed to its regular, calm thump-thump. I followed his eyes as they swept over my cheap IKEA furniture, the array of celebrity magazines on the coffee table, the books on my shelves. He blinked at a well-worn porcelain doll high up on the bookshelf.

“She’s Nina’s,” I said, rolling up onto my tiptoes and gingerly pulling down the doll. Her pale, perfect skin mirrored Nina’s flawless complexion, right down to the color and cool, slick feel. Her eyes were painted a cornflower blue and wide open in a constant wonder. Her hair was slick and black like Nina’s, but she had the corkscrew curls of a little Victorian girl, and they were gathered at the nape of her neck with a limp satin bow. She was dressed in a threadbare white gown, its hem woven through with a satin ribbon. The pale yellow hue of the once-white garment betrayed its age.

I looked down at the doll. “It was hers from—from before.”

“From before she became a vampire.”

I nodded. “It’s the only thing she keeps from then—from her human life. You know, when I first met Nina—we started at the UDA the same week—she was this tough-as-nails vamp chick. You know, black leather bustier, blood-red nails, the works. I was terrified of her.”

“Because you thought she was going to eat you?”

“No.” I sat down on the couch, the doll resting on my knees. “I never worried about that.”

Parker raised his eyebrows, and I hurried on.

“She was terrifying because she didn’t seem to care about anything. Most vampires live in nests or families. Nina didn’t. She was always alone. And then one day Sampson gave me an assignment. There was a vampire they suspected was about to go rogue. Going rogue in this case means street hunting. The UDA clientele is strictly forbidden to street hunt—to take their prey from the general population.”

Parker gulped. “Well, that’s refreshing. I guess.”

“This suspected rogue was on the street all night, frequenting a particular spot where a group of runaway kids hung out. Word was the vampire kept trying to get one of the kids alone.”

“Separate them from the herd?”

“Right. So I was supposed to investigate and let Sampson know if the vampire needed to be … handled.”

“Handled?”

“Vanquished. Killed. The UDA takes their rules seriously. Anyway, I went out to the Haight where these kids were, and sure enough, the rogue vampire showed up.”

“And it was Nina?”

I nodded. “Yeah. And she was trying to separate one from the flock. It was a girl—maybe thirteen, fourteen years old. The poor thing was filthy. Her clothes were torn, her hair was matted. She was a throwaway kid; no one would have noticed if she walked the street one day and wasn’t there the next. She looked like every other kid out there.”

“So, easy prey.”

“That’s what I thought. I followed Nina out to the girl twelve nights in a row. I couldn’t get close enough to hear what they were talking about the few times they did talk, and I wasn’t sure if she were just working slowly. Sometimes a vampire will befriend a human—offer eternal life or whatever—and in return …”

“The human brings them fresh meat,” Parker finished.

“Right. One night Nina got the girl into a car with her. I followed them, and Nina drove the girl home.”

“Just home?”

I nodded. “That’s it. She was a runaway. Nina brought her home.”

Parker frowned. “That doesn’t sound very vampirey.”

I smiled. “I know. I was waiting in my car the night she did it. I followed them, and then, thinking I was being real stealthy, parked under a tree on the opposite side of the street, when suddenly Nina was sitting in my passenger seat. Vampires are rather hard to sneak up on. Ssense of smell, lightning speed, you know.”

Parker smiled.

“Nina told me if I told anyone at UDA what she did, she’d kill me. And believe me, when that much leather bustier and fang is in your passenger seat threatening death, you believe it. I asked her why though—why that girl, why bring her home. Nina just shrugged and said, ‘Little girls need their moms.’” I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat. “We both knew how it felt to lose our moms. Nina couldn’t go back to hers once she’d changed and I—well, you know about my mom. I guess we bonded over that.”

Parker patted my hand softly. “That’s really nice. And I don’t mean to be callous, but sweet-as-pie or not, how do you decide to room with a vampire?”

I shrugged, tucking the doll back to her space on the shelf. “Are you kidding? Have you seen what a two-bedroom goes for in San Francisco? I’d room with Satan himself for a view like that.”

Parker raised his eyebrows but chuckled, following my gaze to the glistening lights of the Bay Bridge outside my front window.

“I guess.”

“And vampire or not, Nina is my best friend.”

Parker grinned that cocky half smile again. “Well, okay then.”

I sat down next to him, basking in the warm fuzzy of the moment.

“So …” Parker brushed a lock of hair across my forehead, his touch and his voice gentle and sweet. “Are you going to tell me what happened here?”

Thump-thump.

I swallowed, telling myself that the beads of sweat that just pricked the back of my neck were scary-monster related and not close-to-Parker related.

“Someone was in the apartment,” I started.

Parker nodded and his hand dropped from my forehead, his fingertips casually trailing along the exposed skin on my thigh.

Thump.

“I don’t know what it was.” I was shaking my head so fiercely that I could see my red hair, in rats-nest snarls, bobbing around my cheeks. I blinked, feeling the tears start to form. “He pushed open the window—my bedroom window—but I was already out here. I heard him climb in, and he was huge—and—and—” The tears had spilled over and were mixing with snot, both dropping in big blobs on my legs.

Sophie Lawson: Badass Angel. Not.

“You said you got out your gun. Did you fire it? Are you okay?”

I pointed a shaky finger toward my bedroom door and sniffed vigorously, trying to hold back the hysterical hiccupping that always came when I cried.

Parker stood up, going toward the open door. He slid his palms along the pristine eggshell-white walls, studying them carefully. “No holes.” He turned to me, throwing a grin over his shoulder. “Did you hit him?”

“Maybe,” I said slowly.

“How many rounds did you fire?”

I tasted the salty tears on my lips. “None.”

“None?”

I wagged my head and hiccupped, then buried my head miserably in the soft folds of my bathrobe. “I … threw …”

Parker came back and knelt down in front of me, both his hands warm on my knees. “You threw up? Again? That’s okay. Lots of people barf when they’re frightened. It happens all the time.” He sat back on his haunches. “Sometimes they pee. Did you pee?”

“No!” I yelled, annoyed. “I didn’t throw up or pee. I threw the gun!”

Hayes stood up, his eyes intense and narrowed. He bit his lip and cocked his head. “Come again?”

“I was scared. I was going to shoot. But then … I threw my gun at the guy.”

“You threw it?” Parker seemed to savor the words. “Where?”

I gestured toward the bedroom. “There.”

I dropped my head in my hands again and waited for Parker’s lecture on gun safety, but it didn’t come. I looked up, and Parker was doubled over, his hands on his bent knees. He was wheezing, and the redness from his face was seeping all the way to his scalp.

“You threw your gun at him?” He was blinking furiously now, using his palms to wipe his eyes. “You threw it at him?” he repeated.

I felt the anger roil in my chest, and my hands went into fists so tightly that I could feel my fingernails digging half moons into my palms. “I panicked!”

“Obviously!” Parker snorted. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said, holding up his hands and sniffling. “This really isn’t funny. This is serious. There was someone in your apartment and your gun could have gone off. This”—he stifled a girlish giggle—“is no laughing matter.”

I stamped my foot. “If I had it to do over again I’d shoot you!” I said, feeling indignant and embarrassed.

“Well,” Parker started, growing more serious, “being willing to actually shoot the gun is a step up from throwing it.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I hate you.”

Hayes disappeared into my bedroom and returned with the gun. He frowned. “It’s freezing.” I kept my mouth shut while he unloaded the magazine, handing me the bullets. “Next time you’re in a throwing mood, try tossing just the bullets. They’re cheaper.”

I slipped the bullets into my robe pocket, and he handed me the gun. I snatched it from him and threw it into the freezer, slamming the door.

Parker was incredulous. “Seriously?”

“Oh.” I dug into my pocket and emptied the handful of bullets into a box of Skinny Cow Mint Dippers.

Parker pointed at the freezer. “You know, you shouldn’t—” He sucked in a sigh and shrugged, gathering his jacket. “Never mind. You going to be okay?”

I swallowed thickly, looking over my shoulder at my bedroom. “I’m pretty freaked out,” I admitted.

Parker leaned against the doorjamb. “Can I take you somewhere? Friend? Boyfriend?” He grinned. “Steve’s place?”

I shook my head. “No.”

Parker’s left cheek pushed up into one of his trademark half smiles. “Oh, I get it. Fine.” He stepped back into my apartment, pushing the door shut behind him. “I’ll stay.” He slinked out of his jacket and tossed it onto a chair. “You know, you could have just asked.”

“What?”

“You didn’t have to concoct the story. But the gun throwing”—he wagged a finger—“good effect.” He disappeared into my bedroom. “Coming?”

I rammed my fists against my hips and stomped after him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Parker’s eyebrows shot up in innocent arcs. He jerked a thumb over his finger toward the bed—my bed—and yawned. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow … er”—he glanced at his watch—“today.” He looked back at my bed. “Looks comfy,” he said with a big, goofy-guy grin.

“It is. For me.”

Then Parker Hayes dropped his pants.

I sucked in a shocked breath and clamped my hands over my eyes, making sure to spread my fingers just wide enough to peek at Parker’s tight quad muscles flexing underneath his SpongeBob SquarePants boxer shorts.

He peeled off his socks and snuggled into my bed, a big, satisfied grin on his face. “Mm, comfy.”

I gaped at him. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Parker pursed his lips and then sat up. “Right.” He whipped his T-shirt over his head and dropped it onto my floor. “It’s going to be hot tonight.”

I stepped onto the bed and planted my heel firmly against Parker’s butt cheek—his very, very firm butt cheek—and started to push.

“Get. Out. Of. My. Bed!”

Parker opened one eye. “Shh, Lawson, I’m trying to sleep. And can you get the light, please?”

I flopped down beside him. “Parker, you are not sleeping here.”

Parker rolled over, looking deliciously comfortable framed by my fluffy down comforter, his head cradled on my baby-blue pillow. “Didn’t you want me to be here for your protection?” he asked.

I blew out a resigned sigh, eyeing the silky skin on Parker’s naked shoulder, ripe for nuzzling. But who’s going to protect you from me?

I pulled an extra pillow and a blanket from the foot of the bed, then gestured toward the open bedroom door. “I think it’d be better if you protected me from out there.”

Parker kicked off my blankets and stood up, brushing past me, grabbing the blanket and pillow as he went.

“Fine,” he said, yawning. “Call me when the creepy crawlies show up. Better yet”—he reached down, picking up a sneaker—“throw that at them.”

Parker slammed the door behind him, leaving me standing alone in my darkened bedroom. It’s better this way, I told myself as I climbed into bed. There was a murderer on the loose, my boss was missing, and someone just broke into my house. The last thing I needed was a hot, half-naked detective lying in my bed.

Right?