by Hannah Jayne
We’ve got to crack this case, I told myself. I can’t take any more bodies, I can’t take any more attacks, and if I have to spend any more time with Parker Hayes—well, it might be his body being attacked.
When I padded into the living room Parker was sprawled on the couch eating a slice of leftover pizza and Nina was perched on the floor in front of her open laptop.
“Did you get all the dead guy off of you?” Parker asked with a grin.
I raised an eyebrow and took a slice of pizza from the box. “Mmm,” I said, taking a big bite. “This is the best pizza ever. I can’t remember the last time I ate.”
“Nina and I are trying to figure this thing out,” Parker said, crumpling his napkin.
I sat on the arm of the couch. “Since when did you get interested in police work?” I asked Nina.
She glared over her shoulder at me. “Number one, I’m not that interested. Number two, Coptastic over there is bonding with our couch and I’d like to have it back someday soon. The sooner this guy is caught, the sooner I can stretch out and watch The View.”
Parker glowered at her. “Don’t you have a coffin you should go sleep in?”
Nina narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you have a donut to eat?”
I jumped in between Nina and Parker, breaking their daggerlike stares. “Guys! Come on. You can deeply offend each other later. We’ve got a case to solve. Let’s get to work.”
Both Nina and Parker let out long, resigned sighs. Nina went back to scanning her laptop, and Parker snaked another slice of pizza.
“Okay.” I flopped onto the couch, tucking my legs underneath me and snagging a pepperoni from Parker’s slice of pizza. “We’re looking for a murderer who’s kidnapped Sampson.”
Parker’s eyes flashed. “Lawson …”
I narrowed my eyes at him, my words tight. “We’re looking for a murderer who’s kidnapped Sampson. What do we know?”
“We know that none of the murders have been exactly the same. Different MOs, different crime scenes, vics don’t seem to have anything in common.”
“So, random killings?” I asked.
Parker wagged his head. “I don’t think so. There’s got to be some pattern, something about the victims that we’re missing. I mean, most killers—your garden-variety sociopaths—are opportunists.”
“And there’s not much opportunity to murder a man on the twenty-third floor of his highly populated office building. And the woman from Pacific Heights—I believe the term you used was Fort Knox?” I said.
“Right. The victims must have had something the killer wanted very badly.”
I grimaced. “Like their eyeballs.”
“Let’s take the first victim—the lawyer.”
“What’s his name?” Nina piped up, her fingers flying over the keyboard.
Parker extracted his leather notebook from his jacket pocket “Um, Alfred Sherman, esquire,” he said.
I frowned. “Alfred Sherman? Doesn’t that name sound familiar?”
Parker bit the end of his pen. “Well … Alfred Pennyworth was Batman’s butler.”
“No, that’s not it….”
Parker went back to scanning his notebook. “Alfred Sherman, attorney. Worked down in the Financial District, right across from the—”
I blinked. “Transamerica building. He worked right across from the Transamerica building, right?”
Parker referred to his book and nodded. “Uh-huh, that’s right. How did you know that?”
I went to the bookshelf and slid out my grandmother’s photo album and began to thumb through it. I stopped, snapping out a yellowing photograph of Grandmother and myself standing out front of the Transamerica building when I was nine years old. I was grinning with a crooked ponytail. The sun was glaring off the plate-glass windows of the building, and there was a man standing with us, wearing a seventies-style seersucker suit. I jabbed my index finger at the man. “Is that the attorney who was murdered?”
Parker reached into a manila envelope, rifling through crime-scene photos. He slid one out, and my stomach lurched as I caught sight of the man, in Parker’s photograph, his skin purpled and pasty, laid out on a coroner’s gurney. He was older and more weathered, but he was certainly the same man.
Parker’s eyes went wide. “Alfred Sherman,” he said slowly. “How did you know him?”
“He was my grandmother’s attorney. He took care of her will, her assets. He was the only”—I sucked in a breath—“he was the only norm who knew about what she could do.”
Parker took the photograph from me and whistled, holding the two together.
“Well, I’ll be,” he said.
“I haven’t seen him since my grandmother passed away—and that was almost ten years ago. Now I guess I never will.”
Parker stroked his chin. “He knew about your grandmother’s powers?”
I nodded.
“Did he know anything about you?”
“About my complete lack of power? I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I can’t see how it would ever come up.”
“Interesting,” Nina said from her spot on the floor. “Alfred Sherman was kind of the premier attorney for the Underworld.”
“What?” I said, standing.
“Specifically, he was a go-between for UDA and the San Francisco DA’s office.”
Parker’s eyebrows shot up. “I can’t believe the boys missed this.”
“They wouldn’t have known,” I said, chewing on my lower lip. “But I should have.”
“If he was a go-between, he would have known Sampson, right?” Parker asked.
Nina and I nodded.
Parker shrugged. “So Sampson knew the first victim.”
“A lot of people would have known Mr. Sherman. Anyone high up at UDA. Any of his clients. Any of them could have had a grudge against him.”
Parker rested his hand on my forearm, and I sat down. “Calm down, Lawson, I’m just trying to lay out the facts. We’re not accusing anyone.”
“Tell me again about each of the murders,” Nina called over her shoulder.
I must have paled because Parker put his hand on my thigh and massaged it gently. “Why don’t you go lie down? You’ve had a hell of a night. You could really use some rest.”
I wanted to protest, to help with the case, but the idea of hearing Parker detail the grisly murders again made my stomach quiver dangerously.
“Maybe lying down is a good idea,” I said, standing up. “For just a minute or two.”
I shut the door softly behind me and then opened it a crack, so I would be able to hear if Parker and Nina come up with something exciting. Or, frankly, to hear if Nina and Parker’s work conversation jumped the boundary to friendly, sexy banter. The kind that I was getting used to with Parker.
I slipped out of my robe and crawled into my bed, relishing the way the cool sheets felt against my naked skin. I was fairly sure I wouldn’t be able to sleep, what with the vortex of swirling dead-guy thoughts and the adrenaline of the evening, but before I knew it, the clock on the bedside table read 3:43 and I was cuddling up to Parker’s naked chest. I knew I wasn’t dreaming because my left foot was asleep and I was sprawled out, naked, except for a pair of faded yellow panties with cupcakes on them that I had the brilliant sense to slip on after my shower.
“Parker,” I hissed in the darkness. “Parker, what are you doing in my bed?”
He stirred and his arms tightened around me, his lips gently nuzzling my hair. “Back to sleep, Lawson,” I heard him mutter.
“I can’t sleep with you in here,” I said, wriggling out of his grasp. “Isn’t there some sort of police rule about not sleeping with your partners?”
“Only if you’re HR. Now can you turn it down? I’ve got to be up in two hours.” He nestled his dark head against my pillow, his breathing immediately going even and soft. “Besides,” he added, his voice low, “you’re awfully comfortable.”
His palm stroked my naked back and I saw stars.
; “Go back to sleep,” he murmured. “Relax. Just don’t try and get fresh with me.”
I glared over my shoulder, seeing the apple arc of his cheek as it pushed up in a smug grin.
“Parker,” I tried. But as his palm worked its gentle circles down my spine every single synapse in my brain was firing; every nerve ending was on red alert. I was completely convinced that spontaneous combustion was a very real probability lying there in my bed with Parker Hayes.
I extracted myself from Parker’s warm arms, slipped into a nightshirt, and blew out a long sigh.
“Parker,” I started, “this has to end here and now. Look, I really do like you. First of all, you’re an excellent detective and I am thrilled to be working with you. But that’s just it. I really don’t ever mix business with pleasure. It’s not that I don’t want to—to have a personal relationship with you; it’s just that I think it would be a better idea if we kept our relationship on a professional level, at least for the duration of the case. Maybe after that we can try something, you know, start with a regular date and all. Do you understand, Parker?”
Parker answered me with a long, low snore, his eyelashes fluttering softly.
“Christ,” I said, flopping back down on the bed.
The sun was streaming through my curtains, and I blinked, yawning, stretching my arms across my empty bed. I sat up with a start.
Had I imagined Parker here last night?
“Hey,” Nina padded into my room and sat daintily on the edge of my bed, handing me a steaming mug of coffee. “So, you’re welcome,” she said, grinning.
I took the mug and eyed Nina. “I’m welcome for what? The coffee? Thanks.” I took a big swig.
Nina shook her dark hair toward the empty side of the bed. “No, silly, for your roll in the hay with Coptastic. Though I must say—you two were very quiet. Didn’t hear a word.” She narrowed her eyes. “Or a squeal.”
“Ugh, Nina!”
Nina’s pale face fell. “Oh, was it not good? I really thought he’d be good.”
“He was fine,” I said, then, holding up my palm, “not that anything happened.” I took another sip of coffee.
“Boo,” Nina said, frowning.
“I can’t believe you forced him in here!”
“Give me some credit,” Nina said, tucking her thin legs underneath her. “I don’t force. I’m not scary. Okay, well, yeah, I’m a little scary. But let me tell you—Officer Hot Stuff did not need to be asked twice to come in here with you. Besides”—she stretched—“I needed a little alone time. You norms can be exhausting. So it was all for naught?”
I rifled through my drawers, collecting my clothes for the day. “I’m not answering that. Sex is just not my priority right now. Finding this killer is.”
“Sex is always a priority. Especially when you’ve got a tasty delicacy like Parker Hayes to snack on.”
I eyed Nina. She rolled her eyes. “All I’m saying is that if I can’t have sex with Parker someone should.” Nina stood up. “You coming into work today?”
I showered and dressed quickly, then met Nina in the living room. I looked around. “Where’s Vlad?”
Nina shrugged. “With Lucy, I think.”
“Is that … safe?”
Nina looked up at me. “I was just asking,” I said quickly. “You’re the one who said he was kind of troubled.”
“Troubled, like he dresses like a Halloween store bargain bag. Not troubled like he’s going to feed on a teenaged glampire. He’s smarter than that. Pickier.”
“Great.” I grimaced.
“I’ll be sure to check on him when we get into work.” I glanced at Nina and she sighed. “And I’ll check on Lucy, too.”
We drove to work in silence until Nina pulled up at a red light and looked at me, exasperated. “Really, you’re not going to tell me anything?”
I grinned. “That’s why you were so quiet this whole ride?”
Nina frowned. “I was giving you space. Space over. Really, nothing happened?”
“Really.”
“But you love him,” she moaned. “You’re attracted to him, right?”
“Okay, yeah, I’m attracted to him. But who wouldn’t be? He’s a warm body—a warm, delicious body with chiseled muscles and a head of hair just screaming for your fingers to run through it….”
Nina snapped her fingers in front of my face.
“Oh.” I grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. What I meant was, yes, Parker Hayes is attractive in a hot-model kind of way. But I know nothing about him.”
“You know he’s a cop, so that’s good.”
I frowned. “I’m starting to have a real hard time figuring out who the good guys and who the bad guys are lately. Being a cop doesn’t prove anything.”
“You know”—Nina pressed her foot on the gas and gnawed on her lower lip—“I wouldn’t expect you to know this—I mean, I’ve been around a lot longer than you have—but there is a way you can find out a few things about ol’ Parker Hayes.”
My eyes lit up. Another spy mission? Ages-old romantic insight? Sometimes it paid to have a roommate who’d been around the proverbial block seven or eight hundred times.
“Really? How?” I asked.
“Try talking to him. I find the classic question-answer approach works wonders in this kind of situation.”
“Wow. One hundred and forty-five years and that’s all you’ve got for me?”
Nina rolled her eyes. “Fine then. You just leave it to me. I’ll pin down Parker Hayes.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“Metaphorically! God, you breathers take everything so literally.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Are you freakin’ kidding me?” Nina had her small hands on her hips, her black eyes wide.
“My God.”
I was staring at the chaotic remains of the UDA offices. The glass partitions that separated staff from clients were cracked and in some places, caked with yellow goo mingled with drying blood. The velvet ropes that demons so patiently waited behind were shredded, and someone had tossed a potted ficus so hard it was sticking like a spear out of one wall.
“What happened here?” I asked, my feet crackling against the spray of plaster on the floor.
“Oh, Sophie, Nina, it’s you two.” Lorraine crawled out from underneath one of the half-crushed desks, and Costineau curled around my legs. I reached down and scratched him, then helped Lorraine to her feet.
“Hello, ladies,” Lorraine said sweetly, picking bits of drywall off of her blouse. “Did you get your invitations to my Tupperware party? There’s a whole new line of product. It’s called Calypso Cool.”
“Yeah, thanks,” I said, my brow furrowed. “Lorraine, what happened here?”
Lorraine pulled a Post-it note from her hair and bit her lip. “Well, things got a little out of hand last night.”
“I’ll say,” Nina snorted. “Look at this place! Who did this? Zombies, right? I knew we should have barred them from the Underworld. Let them stay up top where they belong. They have no manners.”
“It wasn’t zombies. Well, it was … zombies, witches, a centaur family, a couple of trolls. Basically, our whole clientele went a little”—Lorraine’s eyes raked the destruction—“batty.”
“Why, though? Why now?” I wanted to know.
“Well.” Lorraine wringed her hands. “It seems that someone let on that Mr. Sampson is no longer in control of UDA.”
“That’s not true!” I protested. “He’s still in charge. He’s just …”
“Indisposed,” Nina finished for me.
“Who would say that?” I asked.
Lorraine smiled thinly. “Vlad.”
“Vlad?” I groaned.
“What, exactly, did Vlad say?” Nina asked.
“Well, it seems he was holding a Vampire Empowerment meeting in the lunchroom. Something about taking back the Underworld, laying our stake to what rightfully belongs to demonkind up top …”
“Oh, hell.”
/> “It was rather interesting, actually.”
My eyes bulged.
“From an historical angle,” Lorraine quipped. “I don’t believe in all his separation-of-demon-species propaganda or anything like that, but it did seem to rouse the masses—some of them.”
“I’ll say,” I said, scanning the room.
“But anyway”—Lorraine leaned in, lowering her voice—“then word got out that Sampson has gone missing and that he did so right about the time that the murders in San Francisco went supernatural. After being a bit incensed by Vlad and the Movement, well, I guess our clients and staff started to think that if the head of the UDA doesn’t have to keep order, why should they? I mean, the rule is you go rogue and the Underground sets you straight. But if the leader of the Underground has gone rogue …”
Nina’s coal-black eyes were wide. “Whoa.”
“And the demons started to get anxious.”
Nina and I nodded.
“And then we were so short-staffed …”
I swallowed guiltily.
“It was like a powder keg, and Mr. Sampson going rogue, well …” Lorraine smiled weakly. “I guess that was just the spark that they needed.”
“What happened to Vlad? Where is he now?” Nina asked.
Lorraine shrugged, gesturing to the half-crushed desk from which she had climbed out. “You’ll understand when I say that keeping an eye on your rabble-rouser nephew wasn’t high on my priority list while demonkind was tearing apart our offices, screaming about Sampson going rogue.”
I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. Was I the only one who had any faith in Mr. Sampson at all?
“So everyone in the Underworld thinks Sampson is responsible for the murders, too?” I could hear the hysteria rising in my voice, yet again.