Under Wraps (8 page)

“It’s our second time out here in as many days,” the officer was telling Hayes. “The owner called it in. It seems there was an attempted break-in here yesterday.”

“Or an attempted murder,” Parker said solemnly.

The officer nodded his head slowly and then stepped aside. He looked from Detective Hayes to me, his tired eyes going a bit softer as he looked at me. “It’s pretty gruesome in there.”

“Aren’t you people supposed to be impartial at stuff like this?” I leaned up on my tiptoes to whisper into Hayes’s ear.

“Come on, Lawson,” Hayes said, ushering me inside.

My mood wasn’t helped when we were each handed a pair of latex gloves and papery booties to cover our shoes. I struggled into the gloves and slipped the booties on. Hayes already had his on when he looked over his shoulder, studying me. “You sure you’re ready?”

My deodorant went into hyper drive as a bead of sweat rolled down my back. “Yep,” I whispered, following him through the front door.

When we walked into the foyer, I sucked in a breath—not at anything crime-related, but at the sheer beauty of the place. Although the room was littered with cops unfurling yellow-and-black crime-scene tape, the opulence of the house still shone. My entire apartment could fit in the enormous, open entryway, and from the looks of it, I could park my CRV in the guest bath with room to spare.

“Whoa,” I whispered under my breath.

Despite the paper booties covering them, my heels clattered on the marble floor and echoed up to the high, vaulted ceilings.

“This place is unbelievable,” I told Hayes.

“And secured like Fort Knox,” he replied, glancing at a sophisticated-looking jumble of wires and flashing lights hung in a metal box on the wall. He shook his head. “Whoever it is that’s doing this is not the least bit fazed by modern security. This is certainly not the work of your run-of-the-mill opportunist perpetrator.” He closed a metal door over the alarm system and slid a painting back over it. “Not a single wire has been tripped or cut.”

“Is that bad?” I asked.

Hayes took me by the elbow, steering me out of earshot of the other officers as they milled about.

“You tell me. Do”—his voice dropped—“your
people
have the ability to get around technology?”

I chewed on my lower lip. “Well, not exactly. I mean I’m pretty sure there are spells to get around that kind of thing. Witches and warlocks would know, I suppose. And a vampire could certainly trance or glamour a human into turning off an alarm system. A fairy or pixie might be able to do that, too, with a glamour, but they usually wouldn’t have the patience. And I’ve heard that on occasion, certain demons can wreak havoc on an electronic field.”

Hayes’s expression was suspicious, and I hurried on. “But the bottom line is that it’s not exactly standard operating procedure. Alarms—and disarming alarms—that’s really more of a human thing, don’t you think? I mean, demons are pretty much old school.”

“Old school, huh?” He seemed to consider this and then said, “Come on,” one paper-bootied foot poised on the bottom stair. “We’re going upstairs.”

I followed Parker up the winding staircase, our booties making a soft
shoosh-shoosh
sound as we sunk into the lush ecru carpet. I glanced down, noticing fresh vacuum lines and stared behind me, seeing the lone trail of our footprints.

“Who vacuumed?”

“The maid. She told the officer who’s with her that she vacuums before she leaves each night.”

“Is there another way up?” I asked. “A back set of stairs or something?”

Hayes wagged his head. “Not that we’ve found. Why do you ask?”

“No footprints on the carpet. I mean, other than ours.”

“Good catch.” Parker grinned, chucking me on the shoulder.

I nodded, a bit proud, feeling very junior sleuth.

Maybe I could get used to this detectiving.

“The maid said she found the vic when she let herself in this afternoon. The discovering officer didn’t mention another set of footprints.” Parker glanced down, pointing at his feet. “I’ve been walking in the prints already left here.” He picked up one foot. “See? No tread. Those marks are from the booties.”

“And there were no footprints.”

Parker nodded. “So, the victim was either killed last night while the maid was in the house,” Parker paused, frowning. “Or it could fly. Are we looking for something with wings now?”

I looked around Hayes at the undisturbed carpet. “Not necessarily. Vampires have no quantifiable weight. They wouldn’t leave any tracks.” I thought of Nina, the silent way she flitted around our house. “Lots of other mythical creatures wouldn’t leave footprints, either,” I said quickly.

We crossed the hall and I glanced through an open door where the maid, in a crisp, pale blue uniform, was sitting on a rose damask loveseat. She was sobbing loudly, working a rumpled handkerchief between her thick, stubby fingers while an officer stood by, taking notes.

At the end of the hallway, we paused in front of a set of double doors, and Hayes looked over his shoulder at me. “Ready?” he asked.

I nodded and he pushed open the doors.

The master suite was phenomenal, even in its dimmed-light state. The huge bay windows were obscured by pale gray floor-to-ceiling curtains that only let in a few meager shards of sunlight. An imposing carved-wood bed took up one whole wall, and tucked daintily into the bed a woman rested, peaceful, eyes closed, pale lips drawn, her golden hair spread out in fairy-tale swirls on her white silk pillowcase.

“She’s so young,” I said, frowning, looking around the pristine room. Delicate antique perfume bottles were lined up on a glass tray, and a vase full of tulips—not a single petal lost—arched over the nightstand. Not a thing was out of place. The calm of the room was palpable.

“Why do they think this was a murder?” I asked, stepping closer to the sleeping woman. “She looks so peaceful. Maybe it was natural causes? Heart attack, cardiac arrest, choking …” I ticked off all the causes of death I could think of from watching
Grey’s Anatomy.
“And she’s got eyeballs, right? This doesn’t look like our guy.” I clapped my hands, a prickly wave of relief washing over me. “I guess that’s it, right? Should we head back to the station? Grab a cup of coffee from the diner? I’m buying.”

Hayes ignored me and moved closer to the bed, putting one gloved hand on the bedclothes carefully folded over the woman. In one swift motion, he folded them back.

I gasped, my heart lurching, my knees buckling. The hardwood floor felt cool through my skirt as I sat down hard and my feet kicked away, trying to shove my body farther from the offensive scene.

“Oh. God,” I gasped, then clamped my mouth shut. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”

Hayes looked back at me, panicked. He crouched down next to me, his knees touching mine, his hands on my shoulders. “Lawson, are you okay?”

I wagged my head and fought to get up, one hand still clamped over my mouth. Hayes stepped out of the way, and I found the bathroom door, shoved it open, and vomited.

Chapter Six

I was splashing cold water on my face when Hayes appeared in the doorway, a combination of concern and amusement washing over his face. “I barfed at my first crime scene, too,” he said companionably.

“Good for you,” I said, swishing water in my mouth and then spitting it into the sink. “But I don’t think I’m cut out for this.” I turned off the tap and wiped my hands on a towel—
a dead woman’s towel
—and felt the urge to vomit again. It passed and I pressed my hands against my heart in an effort to keep it from thundering through my chest. “This was a bad idea. I’m an administrative assistant. I don’t do murders. I file papers. I take fingerprints.”

Hayes leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms. “Demons have fingerprints?”

“Everyone has fingerprints. Except hobgoblins because of the slime but—” I glanced up at Hayes’s amused face and frowned, fists on hips. “A woman is dead here, Parker. I’m having a severe panic attack. Can you be serious for like, one minute?”

Hayes came toward me and bundled me into an awkward, one-armed hug. His lips were right at my hairline and he whispered, “It’s okay. I’m here, Lawson. Everything is going to be okay. We’ll get this guy.”

A rush of warmth washed over me and I wasn’t sure whether it was more nausea or Parker’s proximity, but I voted for the latter, then felt immediately guilty for having sexy thoughts in a dead woman’s bathroom. I wriggled out of Parker’s arm, smoothing my hair back.

“Thanks,” I muttered. “I think I’m okay now. Sorry.”

“Are you ready to help me with this?” Hayes asked, one hand on the small of my back as he led me back into the bedroom. “Because if it’s too much for you …”

I steeled myself. “No. I’m okay. Let’s just get this over with.”

I walked into the room, my eyes immediately going to the bed, to the dead woman. The sheet was still thrown back, and I balled my hands into fists, digging my fingernails into my palms as I willed myself to walk forward, to take in the scene. The woman’s peaceful head still rested calmly on the silky pillow, but now I could see that her neck was barely attached. There were horrible-looking bite marks at her collarbone and across her chest; the skin was puckered, torn, and purpled. There were double puncture wounds on each upturned wrist, and more blood than I had ever seen in any of Nina’s blood-bank lunch deliveries.

“Who could have done this?” I whispered, unable to tear my eyes away.

Hayes looked sideways at me, his jaw set, that muscle twitching again. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

I found myself stepping closer, examining the corpse. I pushed aside a crumple of torn, blood-soaked nightie and gasped.

There was a yawning, bloody hole just under the woman’s left breastbone—and her heart had been completely removed.

I wretched and clamped my hand over my mouth again, but the vomit didn’t come this time. My knees weakened, and before I knew it, Hayes was holding me up, his calm chest pressed against my heaving one, my head buried in the crook between his neck and shoulder. I felt his hands pressing against the small of my back, massaging in small circles softly, as I was sobbing, gasping, hiccupping. He led me into the hallway, shutting the door gently behind us. It didn’t help. The image of the woman’s bloodied nightgown and her naked, hollow chest burned in my pinched, closed eyes.

“Oh,” I mumbled, sinking down onto the top stair. “Oh, my God.” I leaned forward, my head between my knees. I tried to breathe deeply.

Hayes hunched down beside me and brushed a few stray locks of hair behind my ear, his fingertips lingering gently on my skin. The movement was so tender that I wanted to cry.

“I’m sorry,” I sniffled, looking up at him. “I guess I’m not a very good detective.”

“No one is supposed to be good at this, Lawson. No one should ever be good at this.” He stood up. “You stay here. Catch your breath. I’m going to go in and finalize things, and then we’ll head back to the station.”

I smiled weakly, and Hayes disappeared back into the bedroom.

Once the door clicked shut, I steadied myself enough to stand up and shakily followed Hayes through the bedroom door. Hayes had his back toward me, was hunched over, taking pictures of the body and writing in his little black leather notebook. He glanced over one shoulder at me, his blue eyes clear and focused.

“I think it’s vampires,” he said.

“No,” I said, my eyes following an arc around the body. “Do you see that?” I pointed, and Hayes’s eyes followed my finger. He frowned and shrugged.

“What am I looking at?”

I crouched down to the hardwood floor, my fingers brushing a smooth white powder. “There’s a pentagram drawn around the bed.”

Hayes wagged his head, eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t see anything.”

“Veil,” I said, showing him my chalked fingers. “Someone was trying to cover their tracks—magically speaking.”

Hayes swallowed thickly. “So, pentagrams? That’s demonic, right? So, vampires.”

I looked at the destruction of the body, the dark red splatters of blood on the bottom sheet, the pool of red seeping into the mattress. “I don’t think so,” I said.

Hayes pointed to the woman’s pale arms lying palm up, the delicate skin on each wrist punctured by two tiny, perfect holes spaced equidistantly apart, the skin puckered as though it had been violently sucked.

“Aren’t those teeth marks? Fangs?”

I shook my head. “Vampires don’t leave this kind of destruction. They generally aren’t interested in being caught, in leaving any traces. And the blood—” I swallowed hard against a fresh wave of nausea. “That’s a lot of blood to leave behind. Human blood is a life force to a vampire. They aren’t going to leave that much—they can’t. It’s a survival instinct. And the heart …” I couldn’t finish, and Hayes wagged his head.

“Maybe the vamp was angry, sloppy. Maybe he wasn’t doing this to feed. Or maybe he didn’t care if he was found out. He certainly didn’t care the last time.”

“We don’t know that it was a vampire last time. Besides, there is no reason that a vampire would gouge out someone’s eyes. And if he didn’t care whether or not he was found out, why would he bother to put her back in her bed? To veil the pentagram? Why would he bother to make it look like nothing happened?” I found myself whispering the last part: “And why would a vampire take out her heart?”

Hayes blew out a long sigh. “I don’t know. But I know it’s a vampire. I know you’ve got a soft spot for whatever reason for the pointy-toothed bloodsuckers, but let’s face it: when you hear hoofbeats, you don’t go looking for zebras.”

I put my hands on my hips. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that if there are teeth marks, I’m going to go looking for vampires.”

“Vampires. Crap!” I slapped my palm on my forehead and glanced at my watch.

“What?”

“I was supposed to pick up Nina’s nephew from the Caltrain station. He comes in in eight minutes.”

Hayes shrugged. “We’re done here and we’re not too far.”

“Yeah, but I need to get my car. It’s going to take at least forty-five minutes to get back across town now—it’s rush hour. And then to get back to the train station. I can’t let him just sit there on the platform waiting all alone—he’s just a kid.”