by Hannah Jayne
“I’m still not entirely sure about this,” Parker said, his lips pressing into my hair as we followed behind.
I looked over my shoulder, and I was nearly nose to nose with Parker, his blue eyes fierce.
“Nina wouldn’t let anything happen to us,” I told him. “And neither would Vlad … maybe.”
“That’s right,” Nina said, her voice cutting through the din of the bar. “But follow the plan. Stay close, go nowhere alone. And don’t be so liberal with the fact that I brought you here.” She smiled sweetly in the dim light, her white fangs nearly glowing.
I followed behind Nina, pressing through the throngs of clubgoers while Parker stayed behind me, a breath away. His hand brushed against mine and my heart did a little flip-flop as I felt his fingers interlace with mine and hold on tightly.
“I don’t want to lose you,” I heard him whisper in my ear.
“I knew it was just a matter of time before Sophie came for a roll with her troll.”
I wrinkled my nose while my stomach lurched.
“Hi, Steve,” I said as Steve smiled lasciviously, his gray tongue darting over his lips, his yellow troll eyes intent on the too-short hem of my skirt.
“And usually Steve only gets the pleasure of running into Sophie behind a desk.” He wiggled his caterpillar brows. “Or running around a desk.” Steve leaned back, the sharkskin weave of his tiny suit catching the metallic light of the overhead disco ball, his gold chains nestling in the pale green lichen on his chest.
I frowned. “Nina and I were just—” I blinked in the dim light, but Nina was gone. I went to tighten my grip around Parker’s hand, but he was gone, too. I scanned the bobbing heads, looking for Vlad, for Lucy. “Um, my friends are …”
“Right here,” Steve said, stepping closer, his troll stench engulfing me. “Care to dance, my breathing baby?”
“Actually—” I looked around wildly, deciding that if Nina and Parker weren’t dead already, I was going to kill them. “I should really go find my friends.”
Steve lurched toward me, and I stepped back, suddenly feeling the heat prick at the back of my neck, for the first time noticing how Nina’s borrowed corset was making it difficult for me to breathe. I thumped into a zombie, who stared at me, his cold, dead eyes milky, his stiff, purpled arm rising slowly until his cold, wrinkled fingers touched my forearm and started to dig into my flesh. I whimpered, pulling away, feeling the blood rush to my cheeks and the tears to my eyes as faces swirled around me—vampires with blood-red eyes and slick white fangs bared; zombies with their purpled, decaying flesh; all manner of demons thriving, salivating. I felt a pair of arms encircle my waist tightly, pulling me hard, and I kicked wildly, thrashing through the crowd.
“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Parker’s voice was soft and warm in my ear, his lips pressing against my lobe. I felt his arms soften around me, his palms pressing against my abdomen.
“Sorry, buddy.” Parker grinned down at Steve who looked up, dumbfounded. “Looks like my girl has had a little too much to drink.”
“Your girl?” Steve’s one eyebrow rose quizzically.
“Your girl?” I turned, craning my head to stare incredulously at Parker.
Parker didn’t miss a beat; his long eyelashes batted once and he eyed me. “Sorry, my lady.”
“Steve didn’t know you were seeing anyone,” Steve told me, skeptically. “Steve is not so sure about all this.”
Parker’s grip tightened around my waist, and the pulsing embarrassment I felt a minute ago had turned to rage. “Oh, you know Sophie.” He nuzzled my neck, and I had to work to keep angry as the shiver went down my spine and directly into the pit of my stomach. “Shy, shy, shy.”
Steve crossed his arms in front of his chest and jutted out one short leg. I saw that he was wearing tiny alligator-skin cowboy boots that skimmed his knees. “Steve thinks you might be pulling his leg. Steve doesn’t think you two are an item.”
I opened my mouth, and Parker clamped his hand over it, then stroked my face lovingly. “An item? Maybe. If you can call soul mates an item.”
“Soul mates?” I worked my way out of Parker’s grip, but he was quick, rearranging his hands so they were firmly cupping my butt and my breasts were crushed against his chest.
“She can’t keep her hands off me,” he said to Steve.
“I—” My mouth was open, and then Parker’s mouth was on mine. His lips were gentle at first, but as I tried to speak he pressed harder against me, his lips hot and insistent, his tongue darting into my mouth, effectively silencing me.
The man was a genius.
I felt his fingers travel up my back and then entangle themselves in my hair, and before I could command them otherwise, my arms were wrapped around Parker, my hands splayed on his back, feeling, caressing every chiseled inch of him.
I heard him groan, and I wanted to do the same as his fingers trailed down to my neck, his forefingers and thumbs working little circles, creating sparks all the way down my spine.
“Ahem. AHEM!”
I broke away from Parker’s incredible lips and looked at Nina, whose coal-black eyes were narrow, black brows raised, a pink drink poised in one hand. “If this is how the whole SFPD works, it’s no wonder you haven’t caught this guy.”
“Nina!” I broke out of Parker’s grip. “It’s not like that. We were—it was just for Steve’s benefit. He’s been following me. Stalking me. He was in our house! And Parker was—” I leaned in, the top of my head brushing against Parker’s chin, and I lowered my voice. “Steve wants to dance with me and Parker is pretending to be my boyfriend so we don’t get split up. We’re undercover, remember?”
Nina took a long swig from her drink, her eyes sweeping the dance floor. “You know Steve left with his brothers about ten minutes ago, right?”
I looked at Parker grinning down at me, his one hand still on my rump. “Thoroughness is the hallmark of a good undercover operation,” he told me, squeezing playfully.
I yanked Parker’s hand from my butt and stepped aside. “Pervert!” I hissed.
Parker used one finger to wipe his lips—those luscious, bee-stung lips. “Professional,” he corrected.
I went to break away from Parker, but his hand was around my waist again, his lips at my ear. “Admit it—you loved it.” His voice was all at once playful and deep and sultry. It stirred something deep inside me, and I wished my skirt were a little longer.
“I was working,” I said, my mouth wanting him. “That’s all.”
Nina rolled her eyes. “Look, can you do your he-loves-me, loves-me-not thing somewhere else? I thought you wanted to get to the bottom of this case.”
“We do.” I stepped away from Parker and crossed my arms in front of my chest. “We definitely do. Did you hear something?”
“There’s been a few interesting conversations going on over there.” Nina nodded in the direction of the bar, and we followed her, zigzagging across the dance floor.
“Sit here,” Nina said before pressing me onto a red velvet bar stool. She shook the ice in her empty glass over my head, and the bartender turned around, his yellow eyes fixed on her glass. “Another?” he asked her.
I looked up at the bartender. “Ooh.” I felt myself cringe and then go red.
The bartender narrowed his eyes at me, the green scales on his face slick, his thin-slit nostrils flaring. “Is there a problem?”
I wagged my head. “No, no. Not at all.”
The bartender shrugged, handing over Nina’s refilled drink. He narrowed his eyes at me. “Hey, we can’t all be Rob Pattinson.”
Nina took her drink and sipped slowly.
“Is that blood?” Parker wanted to know.
“It’s a Cosmo,” Nina said, annoyed.
“You can do that?”
“God, I should write a handbook. Anyway, just pay attention. Those guys over there—” Nina’s midnight-dark eyes darted toward two gentlemen, heads bent, sitting at the end of the bar. “They’re talki
ng about a murder.”
“How do you know that?” Parker asked. “I can barely hear myself think in here.”
Nina tugged at her ear.
“Vampire perk,” I told Parker. I bit my lip. “I can’t hear anything.” I looked at Nina, listening intently, at Parker, seeing the slight bulge of his gun underneath his coat. I frowned, feeling powerless—and then I thought about Mr. Sampson. He believed in me. He assigned me to this case.
I was Sophie Lawson, CSI.
“I need to get closer,” I said. “Come get me if it looks like I’m about to be drained or beheaded.” I was up before Parker—and my own good sense—had a chance to stop me. I edged my way through the bar crowd fringe and squeezed myself between the two men.
“Excuse me,” I said, batting my eyelashes and doing my best dumb-and-hot routine. “Is anyone sitting here?”
One of the men smiled down at me, and I could see one of his sharp white fangs glimmer. “No one but you, sweetheart.”
I sucked in a nervous breath but pushed ahead. “Thanks.” I jumped up onto the bar stool and settled myself, taking an extra couple of minutes to rearrange my legs so I wasn’t flashing the entire dance floor in Nina’s miniskirt. Once situated, I widened my eyes and tried to smile softly. I looked at the man to my left. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” I started.
“Oh,” the man said, shaking his dark head, “I don’t think so. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t get to know each other now. I’m Hank,” he said, offering me his cold, undead hand, “and this is Malcolm.”
I shook hands with both men and glanced back at Nina and Parker, who were sitting at the other end of the bar, agog. I’d like to think they were riveted and awed by my total control over the situation, but even from this distance I could see that muscle twitching in Parker’s jaw, and Nina gnawing on her lower lip. I smiled sweetly at them.
“So, does anything interesting ever happen around here? You know, anything fun?”
Hank and Malcolm exchanged a look over my head. “Sometimes you’ve got to make your own fun.”
“Like, pummeling the occasional norm?” I said casually.
“Funny thing for a norm to say, don’t you think, Malcolm?”
I felt the heat prick at the base of my neck. “Norm?”
Malcolm had leaned into me, and I felt the tip of his nose, his cold marble lips brush against my neck, sending terrified shivers down my spine.
“You smell nice,” he growled at me. “Real nice. I bet we could have a lot of fun together.”
And that’s where my plan went awry.
I hopped off my bar stool and stepped back, my stomach playing the accordion, my heart pumping so much blood into my cheeks that I probably went from “tasty” to “irresistible” on the vampire delicious-food meter in less than a second. “It’s getting awfully late, fellows. I think I should be going.”
Hank narrowed his eyes at me, and I could see Parker standing up on the other side of the bar, Nina in tow, both looking a combination of frightened and exasperated. They were trying to make their way toward me, slowly edging between a throng of hobgoblins who were doing body shots.
“You can’t leave now. It’s still early, and we were just about to get to the fun part. Weren’t we, Malcolm?” Hank’s bloodless hand closed around my wrist, and he squeezed, the motion making my veins bulge blue in my arm. He licked his lips, and Malcolm chuckled.
“Thanks, but I really think it’s about time I go. It’s been really fun….” I tried to struggle away, tried to fight Hank’s grip, but Malcolm took my other arm and my hands went cold as both men stopped the blood flow. “Guys, I’ve really got to—” But my protest was lost in the chorus of shouts and growls that started on the dance floor.
“Damn zombies! You’re nothing but hangers-on! Freeloaders!”
“Who are you calling a freeloader?”
“You, freeloader!”
Malcolm and Hank let go of me to watch the commotion just as the dance floor exploded into pushing, pulling, punching chaos. Blood bags were punctured, and drinks were splattering everywhere. I saw a Heat demon blow a mouthful of fire, incinerating the DJ stand. A vampire crumbled and turned to dust when an irate, six-inch pixie drove a wooden chair rail through his heart. Malcolm and Hank stood up, and I used the opportunity to drop down to hands and knees and crawl toward the back hall. Once I was sure the vamps weren’t missing their snack, I began yanking on doors in the hallway, looking for a way out. After three locked doors in a row, finally, a knob turned.
“Thank God!” I breathed.
I yanked open the door and was immediately pummeled. I heard the unmistakable crack of bone on bone and felt the searing pain of a head butt. Whoever had thrown himself at me had done so with all their strength, and I was pinned to the floor under his weight—his solid, dead weight.
I struggled underneath the body, and the skull that bonked mine lolled over my chest and gazed up at me with milky, sightless eyes. I howled and started kicking, skittering—anything to get the dead guy off of me.
“My God, my God!” I was panting when Parker and Nina ran down the hall and found me on the floor, my eyes wide.
“What in the hell is going on here?” Parker shouted.
“Get him off of me! Get him off of me!”
Parker rolled the body over, and I scrambled to my feet, rubbing my arms to get the dead off of me. “Don’t touch it!” I screamed at Parker.
Parker was kneeling next to the body, his fingers pressed against the guy’s neck. “Yup.” He nodded. “Definitely dead.”
“Of course he’s dead!” I said, exasperated. “Live people don’t fall out of closets and pummel … other live people!”
Nina sniffed at the air. “And he’s fresh, too.”
Parker grimaced. “Well … that’s handy.”
Nina knelt down next to Parker. “Do you know how he died?” she asked.
Parker slid the sleeves up the man’s arms, and I wanted to barf. He checked the man’s neck for bites, and my knees started to quiver. “You guys, I need to get out of here.”
“No bite marks,” Parker told Nina, both of them ignoring me.
Nina gave the man’s veins a once-over. “He’s bleeding though.”
I looked at my own heaving chest. “Oh, God, so am I.”
Nina and Parker stood up and rushed to my side, examining the heart-shaped smear of blood on my chest. Nina dragged her index finger through it and then sucked heartily. “Not yours though,” she said finally.
My heart skipped a delighted beat, and then my mouth went dry. “Should I be concerned that you know what my blood tastes like?”
Parker fell back on his knees, pushing the dead man’s leather jacket aside. “Here. He’s been shot. Looks like through the back with a small-caliber rifle.”
“So what does that mean?” I asked. “A dead man, shot, stuffed in the closet of a demon bar?”
“It means that this isn’t the work of a demon,” Nina said, hugging her elbows.
Parker sat back on his haunches. “It means this is probably not our guy.”
“Because we’re dealing with a demon,” I said slowly. “Right?”
Parker’s eyes flashed, locked on mine.
“Maybe,” Nina said.
“So far we know that our killer drinks blood,” Parker said.
“Takes blood,” Nina corrected. “We don’t know what he did with it.”
“Okay,” Parker continued, “a killer who takes blood, tears one of his victims to shreds, removes the heart of a third. A shooting victim for number four just doesn’t add up.”
“And the eyeballs,” I said solemnly. “Don’t forget the eyeballs.”
“So, blood, eyeballs, heart, gunshot wound? No. Definitely doesn’t make sense.”
I sat back. “It certainly seems like we’re dealing with more than one killer. And our dead guy …” I glanced down at him, sprawled on the floor, mouth gaping open and I blinked.
I knew those
vacant eyes. The pale skin, the meager attempt at a mustache.
“That’s Officer Franks!” I said, pointing. “From the front desk at the PD! Don’t you recognize him, Parker?”
Parker crouched down, studying. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”
Nina stooped over, feeling for Officer Franks’s wallet and badge. “Yeah,” she said, once she retrieved them, showing them off. “Officer Kevin Franks. Kind of cute.”
Parker felt around the body, and I winced. “But he’s not carrying,” he said finally.
“So we’re pretty sure it’s not our killer. The MO is totally different, right? Maybe it was just a case of the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Nina wagged her head. “No, the clientele at Dirt is too smart for that. No one kills in a public place like this, and even if they did, with a gun?” She looked disgusted. “Wouldn’t happen.”
“All the other murders have been demon-human, right? Or at least seeming that way.” Nina and Parker both nodded. “So I guess the real question is, what’s a norm doing hanging out at Dirt?”
“No,” Parker said, handing me Opie’s wallet. “The real question is, what’s a police officer doing hanging out at Dirt?”
Chapter Fifteen
“I need a shower. Stat,” I moaned the second I sunk my key into the lock. By this time the blood had dried on my chest and flaked off in a brown shower every time I moved. Also, though I was doing my best not to think about the dead guy who was rolling on me less than an hour ago; my skin still crawled and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had dead-guy cooties seeping into my pores.
“Need help?” Parker asked.
“Charming,” I said, slamming the bathroom door in his face.
I melted into the hot water, starting to lather up, but every time I closed my eyes Opie’s milky, vacant eyes floated into my mind. When I tried to blink the image away, it was replaced by the heartless dead woman from the day before. I shuddered, my skin prickling with goose bumps in spite of the hot water.
And then I remembered that I had kissed Parker Hayes.
The goose bumps prickled again, but this time the feeling could only be described as effervescent—or maybe delicious—and my mouth started to water. I blew out a long, exasperated sigh and decided that Parker’s kiss—his tasty, pressing, passionate kiss—was the lesser of the two evils to think about, and I savored the memory of his lips crushing against mine, of the way his chest felt pressed up against mine, of the way his hands found the perfect spot at the base of my neck, the spot that made the erotic touch of his fingers send shivers from my neck to my head, right down to my toes and back again.
