Under Wraps (19 page)

I strode toward her. “Really, Lorraine? Because this could be really important. I’m worried about Sampson. Did you see anything, anything at all, when you did that scan?”

Lorraine’s eyes shone. “Yes.”

My eyebrows rose in the universal “Well?” fashion.

“I think you need to ask your detective friend.” Lorraine smiled thinly and stepped away, Costineau following after her.

“What does that mean? Ask him what?” I yelled, tailing her.

But Lorraine didn’t turn around. Costineau jumped onto Lorraine’s shoulder and hissed at me as they disappeared down the hall.

By one o’clock I had made eighteen passes in front of Lorraine’s empty desk and listened to Parker’s voice mail greeting twenty-two times. Nina was sitting on the end of my desk, swinging her long legs and sucking on a plasma pop, when I finally got Parker on the line.

“Parker, thank God! I’ve been calling you all day.”

“Sorry,” Parker said, sounding distracted, “I’ve been tied up. What’s going on?”

“Sampson’s car is here. In the UDA parking lot. But Sampson never showed up to work.”

There was a short pause, and then Parker said, “Okay, show me. Meet me in the lot.”

I tightened the belt on my sweater against the damp air while Parker reclined on a white SUV, looking all at once Abercrombie attractive and
CSI-cocky.
I showed him to Sampson’s car, and he circled it, scrutinizing it from every angle while I jumped from foot to foot, trying to keep warm.

“Well?” I asked.

“Well, it looks like the dog drives a nice BMW, while I—a perfect angel—get a 4Runner with a transmission problem.”

“Fabulous. Can you do your male comparisons on your own time? What does the car tell us about where Sampson is?”

“It tells us that Sampson is not here.” I gaped at Parker, and he grinned at me.

“Real smart,” I said.

“Ask a stupid question,” Parker said as he shook his head and sunk down to his knees. Before I could blink he had jimmied the driver’s side door lock.

“Parker!” I hissed as he slid into Mr. Sampson’s front seat. “What are you doing? Get out of there. You’re breaking and entering.”

He grinned up at me and kicked open Mr. Sampson’s glove box. “You call it breaking and entering, I call it being thorough. Besides, I’m a cop. This is totally legal.” He handed me a stack of registration papers. “Here, make yourself useful.”

I slid onto the passenger seat and looked out the front windshield nervously, holding the papers in my lap. “So, I talked to Lorraine today.”

Parker didn’t look up while he rifled. “Oh yeah? What did she have to say?”

“She said to ask you about the scan.”

“What scan?”

I put the papers down and blew out a sigh. “When she scanned the other day, looking for Sampson, remember?”

Parker paused. “Yeah. Didn’t she say she couldn’t find anything?”

“She said that yesterday. Today, she told me to ask you.”

“I have no idea what she meant by that. Look at this.” Parker extracted a glossy postcard and handed it to me. “Looks like Pete Sampson was a VIP guest at the grand opening of Dirt.”

I tucked the postcard back into the glove box. “So?” I asked.

Parker raised his eyebrows, and I rolled my eyes.

“So I guess it’s a good thing we’re headed to Dirt tonight.”

After work Nina and I had dinner together—well, I had two mini cheeseburgers and a half order of fries while Nina pouted her lips and rapped her fingers on the table, grimacing at every bite I took.

“How can you eat that stuff?” she asked me, her cute little ski-jump nose wrinkled.

“Like this,” I said, shoveling in a few more fries. “Look, when I decide to go all liquid, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Can you at least hurry up? Parker is going to be back here at eleven and I want to get to Dirt before they run out of AB neg.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“It’s the Cristal of blood.”

“Delicious,” I said, my burger churning in my stomach. “I’ll go get dressed.”

I stared into my closet, frowning at my collection of smart button-down blouses and Martha Stewart–esque knit twin sets. Not very vamp. After digging for a bit I struggled into the black sheath that I had worn for my Uncle Fernstad’s funeral six years ago.

Hm, must have shrunk in the wash.

I sucked in heavily, slid the slim dress down over my hips, kicked into a pair of Mary Janes and shrugged in the mirror. Not great, but it would do.

“Okay,” I said to Nina, doing a quick spin when I walked into the living room. “Vamp enough?”

Nina tinkled the ice in her cup and licked a drop of blood from her lip. “Not even close.” She wrinkled her nose. “Not even troll worthy.”

I frowned, looking down at myself. “What? It’s black, tight, short …”

“Off-the-rack, dull, linen. You look like you’re going to a funeral.” Her eyes dropped to my ankles. “In sensible shoes.”

I flopped onto the couch. “This is the best I can do. Besides, I’m working, remember? I’m not exactly there for fun, and besides”—I glanced at the remains of Nina’s bloody cocktail—“do I really want to stand out?”

Nina set down her cup and stood up. “Yes, you do. That”—she eyed my ensemble dismissively—“is going to get you eaten. Come with me.” Nina’s cold hand wrapped around mine, and once again, I was shocked by her strength as she pulled me off the couch and behind her to her room.

“Never fear,” she said, kicking open the door. “Haute couture is here.”

Nina’s enormous closet was more organized than most clothing stores with all her pieces grouped by designer, color, and decade. She had an entire wall dedicated to shoes, and I lovingly fingered the butter-soft leather on a pair of high-heeled boots from the Victorian era while Nina zipped past me, draping garments over her arm, holding them up to me and tossing them aside.

“Off,” she said, pointing to my funeral dress. I wriggled out of it while she handed me a delicate slip dress, deep purple and cut on the bias.

“A little skimpy, don’t you think?” I asked, as the fabric swished a few inches below my butt.

Nina bit her lip and headed over to the portion of the room draped in the heavy, jacquard fabrics of the French royals (circa 1700) and found a complicated-looking corset.

“Put this on.”

I started to slide the straps of the dress off my shoulder and Nina rolled her eyes, grabbed the corset and smoothly wrapped it around my waist, her pale fingers moving quickly and methodically as she laced it up. I sucked in deeply, wondering if my eyes were bulging or if my ribs would implode.

“Excellent,” Nina said, her fangs exposed. She handed me a pair of black hose and a pair of killer boots. I gazed at the four-inch heels skeptically.

“I’m going to get a nosebleed wearing these.”

“Better not,” Nina said with a smile that was meant to be reassuring.

I gulped and yanked on the hose and boots. Once I was dressed, Nina looked me up and down, nodding, thrilled with her handiwork. “Perfect,” she said.

I took her word for it. Having no reflection, Nina had no need for a full-length mirror.

There was a knock at the door, and Parker was in the foyer before I had the chance to scrutinize myself in the bathroom mirror and tie a trench coat over my hooker-vamp makeover. My eyes widened as he leaned against the door frame, his jeans dark-washed and sitting low on his narrow hips, his black T-shirt stretched taut against that mouth-watering chest. His dark hair was still wet, pushed back over his forehead, a few curls snaking over the tops of his ears. I felt Parker’s cobalt eyes slide over me, then watched his pink lips press together and as he let out a low whistle. “You look hot, Lawson!”

I felt the burn in my cheeks and looked at my toes in Nina’s fancy black boots.

“It’s Nina’s,” I murmured to my shoes.

“You can thank me later,” Nina said as she brushed past us in a cool wave. “Come on. We’ll go over the ground rules in the car.”

“Ground rules?” Parker asked, his eyebrows raised.

I shrugged and stepped through the door, feeling a little shudder when Parker put his hand on the small of my back, took my keys, and locked the door behind us. His smile was sweet as he looked down at me and my legs turned against me, going all Jell-O-y and warm, setting my heart off in a series of nervous pitters.

“We should go undercover more often.” Parker’s eyes were fixed firmly on my breasts, and when I caught a glimpse of myself in the vestibule mirror, I saw why.

“Nina!” I hissed. The corset had pushed my normal, barely-B’s into voluptuous, chin-skimming C’s that seemed to jiggle appreciatively with every move I made. Although I had every intention of being indignant and Gloria Steinem–pissed, I must say my cinched-in waist looked extra slim with my new, top-heavy body, the effect being a pretty hot hourglass in a butt-length skirt. Either way, I crossed my arms in front of me and scowled.

“Pervert,” I muttered to Parker.

“Tease,” he muttered back, that devilish half grin on his face, his hand on my ass. I swatted it away and slid in next to Nina in the front seat of her black Lexus.

“Nice car,” Parker said.

“Keeping a little in the bank for one hundred and sixteen years—plus my twenty-nine real life years—can earn you a bit of interest,” Nina said, smoothly pulling into the midnight traffic.

“I’ll bet.” Parker nodded.

“Okay,” Nina said, her dark purple fingernails drumming on the steering wheel. “First things first: you’re going to stick out like sore thumbs.”

I frowned down at my vamp makeover. “Then what was all this for?”

Nina pulled the car onto a dark, slick street, headlights cutting yellow rifts through the fog. “I might be traveling with breathers, but I do have an image to maintain.”

“What do you mean we’re going to stick out?” Parker was leaning over the front seat, his eyes wide, a bead of perspiration forming on his upper lip. “Is that safe? Don’t we not want to stick out? Like, really not want to?”

“Well.” Nina’s eyes found Parker’s in the rearview mirror. “You’re obviously not vampires.”

“Because we’re not dressed right?” I asked.

“Because you’re breathing. That’s a hard one to miss amongst my crowd. That and your overwhelming stench of first-life.”

Parker wrinkled his nose. “Okay …”

“And your lack of horns, fangs, uncontrolled slobber, slime trails, or lichen sets you apart from the general demon population.”

“So what does that mean for us?” Parker asked.

Nina shrugged. “It means you don’t make a scene. Don’t ruffle any feathers, don’t get on anyone’s radar and don’t go anywhere alone. Generally no one will bother you—certainly not the vampire set.”

“See?” I told Parker. “I told you. Vampires are very rule oriented.”

“Well, when the options are follow the rules or spend eternity running for your life—being hunted by pithy little blondes or mocked by the high school goth set—the decision becomes quite simple, really.” Nina looked up into the rearview mirror, but there was no return reflection.

“So we should be okay?” Parker asked.

“Should be. But you will be recognized.”

I shuddered. “Is it really that bad?”

“Not usually, but sometimes the service at the bar can be so slow and”—Nina rolled her eyes—“some demons have no self-control. Either way, most vamps will just dismiss you guys as fanpires.”

“Fanpires?”

“Breathers who pretend to be vampires. Anytime a new vampire movie comes out, they’re out in droves. Thanks a lot,
Twilight.”

Chapter Fourteen

Dirt was located in an old church just off the Haight on a dark side street. The high ceilings and large, Gothic windows of the old structure made for one heck of a bar. Which would have been incredibly swanky if it weren’t for the bloodless clientele and the occasional three-horned Asimian demons delivering drinks.

We strolled up to the front door and my breath caught in my throat when Vlad—dressed entirely in black, as usual—stepped out of the shadows, a pale-faced young woman curled around him. The girl blinked at me, her crimson contacts barely obscuring her blue eyes. Her hair had been dyed Crayola black, the blunt-cut ends streaked with deep red. Her white pancake makeup made her pretty face look flawless; the heavy coal eyeliner made her large eyes swim under her pointed bangs and long false eyelashes. She looked me, Parker, and Nina over slowly, her matte, deep purple lips pursed, then rested her head against Vlad’s chest, exposing a thick, red, satin ribbon tied around her neck.

“This is Lucy,” Vlad said by way of explanation.

“Oh, please,” Nina groaned. “And I’m Van Helsing.”

“Hi there, Ms. Helsing.”

We all turned to look in the direction of the sultry voice and I looked at my shoes, hiding my smile when Nina’s eyes went big.

“It is Ms., I hope.” Standing directly in front of Nina, staring her down with his beady hazel eyes was a “breather,” dressed to kill in a stretchy red velvet T-shirt pulled over a pair of black skinny jeans leaden with chains. He may have been Nina’s height originally, but his feet were stuffed into boots with a four-inch stacked heel.

“Oh my gosh,” I whispered.

“Is he hitting on her?” Parker muttered into my ear.

Nina’s breather friend propped his elbow against the wall and fiddled with his shoulder-length black hair, grinning the whole time, his eyes boring into Nina’s. He scanned our group quickly and then went back to staring Nina down.

“The name is Reggie, and you know, you and I seem to have a lot in common.”

Nina crossed her arms, jutted out one hip. “Is that right, Reggie? You think so? Now why would you think that?”

“Well, it looks like you and I are both the odd men out in our respective groups.”

Nina peered over Reggie’s shoulder. “I don’t see any group with you.”

He just shrugged, an arrogant smile playing on his thin lips. “So, what’s say we make this foursome a six-some?”

I tried to fight the bubble of laughter that started in my stomach. I leaned against Parker and could feel his body shaking with silent laughter. I gripped his hand, willed us both to remain silent.