Under Wraps

by Hannah Jayne

  I forced a smile. “Oh yeah—I mean no, I don’t want you to be mad. I’m sorry. I guess I just forgot.”

  Parker’s face broke into that half smile, and he strode toward me, slinging an arm around me. “Lighten up, Lawson—I’m not really mad at you. Sheesh, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Although I guess that would be kind of old hat to you, huh?”

  I stumbled backward, out of his grip. “No. No. No ghost. Do you want”—I snatched the plate off the dining room table and whirled around with it—“Meat loaf?”

  Parker and I both watched the grayish blob slide off the plate and ooze onto his shoe.

  “No thanks, I’m”—Parker shook off the meat—“fine.” He leaned down toward his oily shoe, and I brought the plate up over my head, cracking it hard over the back of his skull.

  He howled, his hand finding a fine cut and an ooze of blood inching through his hair. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  Parker lunged for me, and I jumped back, tumbling over a dining room chair and landing hard on my rump. “Stay away from me!” I said, wagging a shard of broken plate at him.

  “Lawson.” Parker took a step toward me.

  “Stay away!” I shouted again.

  “Okay.” Parker raised both hands, palms facing me. “I won’t come near you, but you have to tell me what is wrong with you. Lawson—Sophie, it’s me, it’s Parker. We’re friends, remember? Partners?”

  “You’re not my partner! You’re not my friend! You’re not even Parker Hayes!” I yelled, scrambling to my feet, cutting blindly at the air with my broken plate. “Parker Hayes is dead!”

  Parker’s eyes went wide, and I saw his jaw twitch. His hands dropped to his sides, tightening into fists. He took another step forward, and I dove behind the other chair, holding it like a cage in front of my body. When Parker finally spoke, his voice was low.

  “Sophie, you’ve got to let me explain.”

  “You’ve explained enough!” I shouted, wincing at the cliché.

  Parker put both fists on his hips. “I haven’t explained anything.”

  My heart was pounding in my throat. “Explain it to the police!” I spat.

  My eyes traveled to the phone on the end table a few feet away; Parker followed my gaze. “Sophie, no,” he said in a gravelly, deep voice. “You don’t want to do that.”

  I looked from the phone to Parker, his cobalt eyes gone wild and fierce. His lips were set in a tight, thin line. I remembered kissing them, and suddenly I wanted to cry.

  “Yes, I do,” I whispered hoarsely. “Get out of here or I’ll call the police.”

  “Now, Sophie, listen to me. I’ll explain everything, I will. But right now I think I have a lead on Sampson.”

  My eye twitched and I glanced up through my bangs at Parker. “Where is he?”

  Parker shook his head and held out a hand. “We have reason to believe he headed back to his house before moving on. I need you to take me to Sampson’s house, Sophie.” He beckoned for me, curling his fingers. “Come on?”

  “Is he there? Tell me. Just tell me where he is.”

  Parker’s stance was firm, the muscle in his jaw twitching again.

  I wagged my head, my voice lost in a body-wracking sob. I tried to blink back tears, but they came rushing over my cheeks in hot trails. “Just go.”

  Parker’s feet were still rooted, and he held his palm out to me again. “I just need you to promise me you won’t call the police. If you call the police, it will ruin the whole case.”

  “You mean it will ruin your little collection.”

  A smile broke the ferocity in Parker’s eyes. “Is that what this is about?” He crossed his arms in front of his broad chest and rolled back on his heels. “Come on, Sophie, you don’t really think I’m responsible for all these murders, do you?”

  “I don’t know anything about you. I don’t know what you might be responsible for. All I know is that you’re not who you say you are, and, and, everyone says you smell weird and Lorraine thinks you know something about Sampson….”

  Parker nodded slowly, savoring my answer. “Okay, truth time. I’m not Parker Hayes.”

  “I knew that.”

  “But I am a detective. Well, sort of.”

  I nodded, silently sweeping the apartment for a way to escape. Parker noticed me eyeing the phone again and stepped to the side, his body covering my access to it. I swallowed hard, watching as his hands balled into fists at his side. “I told you, Sophie, you really don’t want to do that.” His words were stiff, cold. “I don’t want to scare you, but you really do need to trust me. You trust me, right?”

  I nodded slowly, dumbly. “Sure, Parker,” I whispered, “I trust you. So, you’re sort of a detective?”

  Suddenly Parker was a hairsbreadth away from me, his fingers closing over my wrist, his blue eyes focused and exploding with color. “This is going to sound strange and you should know that I’ve never told another human being this before. I don’t even think I’m allowed to.”

  I raised one barely interested eyebrow. What? Now he’s a zombie? Werevamp? Shapeshifter? Wizard?

  “Sophie, I’m an angel.”

  There was an agonizingly long pause as Parker held my gaze. His lips were pulling into a calm smile, and I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed slowly. “Did you hear what I said?”

  I heard myself start to giggle, and then it was a fullblown guffaw. “An angel? You think because I live with a vampire and work for a werewolf, I’m going to buy that?”

  Parker’s eyes were set, the smile on his lips serene and unyielding. “Well, yes.”

  “Okay, brilliant. Nice halo, by the way.”

  “No halo,” Parker said, freeing my wrist and moving to the phone.

  “And no wings,” I observed. “What are you doing?”

  Parker unplugged the phone from the jack. “I need to be sure you’re not going to call the police.” He turned to face me. “And you’re right—no halo, no wings. I’m a fallen angel.”

  I snorted. “I’ll say.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “Oh no, I totally believe you. Why wouldn’t you be an angel? My roommate’s a vampire. A gargoyle cuts my hair. Hell, my great aunt was the tooth fairy.”

  “Now you’re just being silly.”

  “You’re right. I’m being silly.” I was also being held captive by a demented human-parts collector who thought he was an angel.

  “You believe me then?”

  I shrugged, and a slight smile crossed his lips.

  “Good. Let’s go get Sampson and I’ll explain the whole thing.” Again, Parker stretched out his hand to me, and this time, I pushed myself up on shaky legs and slid my hand into his.

  “See?” Parker squeezed my hand. “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

  “No,” I said, my heart thumping in my throat. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” I tried to shrug nonchalantly, but it came out as more a spastic trembling.

  I crouched down and picked up the meat loaf, and then found the fork sinking into the carpet. I slid it into my hand and followed Parker toward the door.

  “You know how to get to Sampson’s place?’ he asked me.

  “Uh-huh,” I said, gripping the fork in my palm. Angel or no, I was on the offensive.

  Parker snaked my keys from the key hook and closed the door behind us. When he leaned down to lock the door I struck, plunging the tines of the fork as hard as I could through his pants, feeling the tough strain of the fabric and the smooth plunge as the tines dipped into the flesh of his thigh. He howled, throwing my keys and pushing me backward, both of his hands diving for the fork shoved in the tender inner flesh of his thigh. I crab-walked to snatch my keys and pushed myself up to my feet. I sprinted down the stairs, Parker’s screams and footfalls thumping behind me until I pushed through the front doors, gulping in lungs full of cold, night air.

  My hands were trembling as I worked to push my key into the ignition of my rental car
; I tore my eyes from the rearview mirror long enough to careen out of my parking space and onto the street. I remembered Parker’s and my first car ride together, and I was crying as I pushed the gas pedal to the floor now, ignoring the honks and screams of angry drivers as the tears and snot rolled down my chin.

  The light turned red at the end of my street and I considered running it, but careened to a stop when the Fulton 5 bus groaned through the intersection, just inches from tearing off my rental car’s bumper. I was looking over my shoulder at the glass vestibule doors of my apartment building, hoping Parker wasn’t coming out, when I heard the pounding thump of fists on metal. My heart lurched, and when I looked out the front windshield, Lucy was there, her hands pressed into fists pounding, working the hood of my car.

  “Sophie! Sophie, please let me in, you’ve got to help me!”

  Lucy’s eyes were wide and terrified; her smoky black eye makeup was halfway down her cheeks, her tears leaving pink tracks in her white pancake makeup. “He’s going to get me!”

  She screamed, and when she looked over her shoulder, I could see that her blouse was torn around the collar, and her neck and chest were covered with fresh blood.

  I pushed open my car door and grabbed her by the wrist. “Get in!”

  Lucy dove through the open driver’s side door and scrambled across my lap, panting, crying, trembling. “Close the door, close the door, close the door,” she was mumbling. I slammed the door, locked it, and hit the gas, hearing the squeal of my tires as we raced through the intersection.

  “Lucy, what happened to you?”

  Lucy had curled herself against the passenger side door, her bird legs pressed up against her chest, her arms cradling them. She was whimpering and shaking uncontrollably.

  “It’s Vlad,” she said finally. “He’s gone crazy. He tried to bite me. Sophie, he thinks he’s a real vampire.”

  I looked sideways at the terrified girl who looked like a tiny child curled up on the seat. “Lucy,” I started softly, “Vlad is a real vampire.”

  She took the news better than I expected, staring blankly out the windshield. “Where are we going?” she asked finally.

  “My boss’s house. I have to find him. I’d drop you off, but there’s no time. I think he’s in danger.”

  “More vampires?” Lucy whispered.

  I swallowed, my eyes on the road. “Worse.”

  By that time I gathered my composure enough to maintain a nonlethal speed, but when I glanced down and noticed the line of fresh blood smeared on my steering wheel, I wanted to cry again. Instead I took a deep breath, resigning myself to be strong for Lucy.

  “Is it bad?” I asked her.

  She looked at me, blinked. “What?”

  “Your neck. Is it bad, do you need to go to the hospital?”

  Lucy shook her head, her long black hair dancing around her shoulder. “Uh-uh. He didn’t really bite me, bite me, just sort of nicked me.” She produced a Kleenex and dabbed gingerly at the blood.

  “Even so, I need to call my roommate and warn her about Vlad—and Parker—and maybe we should call you an ambulance.”

  I looked around for my purse and remembered it hanging on its little hook by the kitchen counter, my cell phone comfortably charging in its cradle. “Damn it! My cell phone is at home.”

  Lucy smiled weakly at me. “That’s okay, Sophie. I’ll be fine. I was just really scared is all.”

  I nodded, thinking of Parker, of Mr. Sampson. I’ve got to warn him, I thought. If only I could contact him … When we pulled up to the next red light I clamped my eyes shut and tried.

  “Mr. Sampson! Mr. Sampson!” I said in my head, hoping that my power would kick in. “Mr. Sampson, I’m so sorry. It’s Parker, Parker Hayes is the killer and I—I—I stabbed him with a fork!”

  “What are you doing?” Lucy wanted to know.

  I looked at her, rested my hand on her knee reassuringly. “Lucy, there is a lot about this town that you don’t know. Vampires are real, demons are real, and me—well, I’m a seer. I can contact people with my mind. That’s what I was doing just now. Although”—I bit my lip—“it didn’t really work.”

  Lucy smiled warmly at me and snuggled back into her seat.

  The lights of the Golden Gate Bridge swirled in front of my eyes, and I pushed the gas pedal down once more, hearing the angry groan of the car as it reached higher speeds. I sucked in my breath and focused hard on the road in front of me.

  “I’m coming for you, Mr. Sampson. I’m coming for you, I promise,” I whispered.

  Chapter Twenty

  I had managed to get my breathing under control as Lucy and I crossed the bridge, heading toward Mr. Sampson’s ritzy, hilltop house in Marin. I’d spent many a UDA Christmas party running dishes under the kitchen faucet, imagining a brood of half-werewolf kids with shocking green eyes running under foot as I stared over the twinkling lights of the city. It wasn’t exactly that I was obsessed with my boss; it’s just that I’d never lived anywhere with a view.

  I pulled my car to a jerking stop in Mr. Sampson’s super-sloped driveway. I saw Lucy’s eyes widen as she took in the house. “Is this where your boss lives?” she asked.

  “Yeah. I’m just going to go inside and get him. Do you want to wait here? I’ll lock the doors for you.”

  Lucy wagged her head. “No, I can help you inside. Besides, I’m way too creeped out to stay here. Vlad said he would get me.” She shuddered, and I stroked her arm.

  “It’s going to be okay, Lucy. I’m really sorry you had to get involved with that. Come on.”

  Lucy followed me out of the car and looked on while I fished around for the outdoor key that I knew Mr. Sampson left for his housekeeper, Fortuna. After turning over a slew of damp, mossy stones and sinking three inches into the front lawn, I found the spare key on the porch, under the Wipe Your Paws! welcome mat.

  “Provincial werewolf,” I muttered, plugging it into the lock.

  I inched the door open, poking my head in first. “Mr. Sampson?” I whispered. And then, louder, “Mr. Sampson, it’s me, Sophie. I’m here to rescue you!” I bit my lip. “From your house.”

  When nothing but silence answered me, I stepped in, ushering Lucy behind me, and kicked the door shut behind us both. I walked a snaking trail of grass and mud across Fortuna’s sparkling handiwork on the marble entry floor before kicking off my shoes, even though walking barefoot in someone else’s home didn’t seem very detective-like.

  I gestured toward the hallway. “Lucy, why don’t you go on down the hall. The bathroom is the first door on the left.” I pulled a half roll of paper towels from the kitchen counter and handed them to her. “You can clean up your neck, and then we’ll see if we need to take you to the hospital.”

  “Thanks, Sophie,” Lucy said, taking the paper towels from me. “You’re really sweet.”

  Once I heard the water running in the bathroom, I crept back into the kitchen, hoping that Mr. Sampson had pinned an I am at … note to the refrigerator. No such luck. I opened the fridge, impressed by his stash of highbrow groceries. It wasn’t that I expected Alpo and Milk-Bones; it was more that I didn’t expect thin-sliced prosciutto, a selection of fine cheeses, and a filet mignon nearing its expiration date. Mr. Sampson certainly did not plan on vacating the house for any period of time. I poked at the steak, grimacing as a blob of purple-red blood rushed around the raw meat.

  “Okay,” I said, slamming the fridge door shut, “Mr. Sampson is definitely not in the fridge.” I went into the home office and started opening drawers and file folders, finding a detailed and organized collection of check stubs, timely payments, and platinum plus cards just waiting to be activated, but no giant map with a flag on it, directing an amateur sleuth where to find Mr. Sampson should he ever go missing.

  “Crap!” I muttered, fists on hips.

  I padded down the hall and popped my head into the last room on the right: Mr. Sampson’s bedroom. Before I realized it I was in the room, my toes disappe
aring into the lush, mocha-colored carpet. I tiptoed to the bedside, palming the soft fabric of the bedspread: Calvin Klein Home Collection. Egyptian combed cotton. One thousand thread count—if I had to guess. I was very accurate because by that time I was lying on my back, making snow angels in Mr. Sampson’s silky sheets. Sinking my head in his luscious, down-filled pillows. All the tension was seeping out of me and I felt the heaviness in my limbs, the dull ache of my bruised skin and healing muscles. It was while I was reveling, rolling around in my Goldilocks moment that I looked up, seeing Lucy standing in the doorway.

  I rolled over onto my stomach and grinned sheepishly. “I was just looking for clues.”

  Lucy crossed her arms in front of her chest, her expression unreadable. “So, where’s the wolf?”

  I sat up. “What?”

  “Your boss. The wolf. Where is he?”

  “Uh … how did you know about Mr. Sampson?”

  Lucy crossed the room, and we were eye to eye, hers set and hard. “Get up,” she said.

  I swallowed, my eyes dropping to her neck. Clean. Scrubbed pink. No puncture. No cuts.

  “I thought you said Vlad—”

  “Shut up!” Lucy shouted.

  “Lucy—” I went to reach out to her, but suddenly my teeth were rattling in my head, my whole body receiving a ridiculous surge of electricity. I felt my blood boil, every hair on my body standing up on edge.

  When my teeth stopped chattering, I looked up at Lucy, incredulous. “You Tased me?”

  She smiled, giggled girlishly, and pressed one hand against her mouth. “That was neat.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Lucy’s hand dropped to her side. She was still smiling at me, and for the first time, I noticed her two pointed incisors. They were longer and thinner than the fangs every other vampire I knew sported, and a weird, pale yellow.

  “Caps,” she said, her tongue darting out of her mouth and licking the pointed edge of her left fang. “For now.”

  “Vlad wouldn’t change you, would he?”