green, witches; pink, other. We’re not too sure what we’re looking for, so I brought the most likely candidates. Vampires, obviously. But the zombies and hobgoblins can cause similar destruction and the witches—well, you generally want to stay on their good sides.”
Hayes licked his lips and grinned. “What about mermaids? Do mermaids exist?”
I raised one annoyed eyebrow. “Why don’t you jump into the ocean and find out?”
Hayes stifled a grin, taking the files. “Note to self,” he said under his breath, “Lawson is anti-mermaid.”
I shifted my eyes to Hayes, who ignored me. He was shuffling through the first set of documents. “I can’t believe that demons adhere to this kind of structure.”
“Well, vampires are very rule oriented,” I said, rolling my hair into a loose bun.
Hayes looked skeptical. “I find that hard to believe. Soulless bloodsuckers, rule oriented?”
“Soulless bloodsuckers who won’t come into your home unless invited. They are also compulsive counters, obsessively neat, and very polite.” I rearranged my files, feeling a heat creep up the back of my neck as Hayes’s knee brushed mine. “That kind of adherence to etiquette is quite endearing.”
Hayes didn’t look at me. “I suppose,” he muttered.
I frowned at the UDA files. “If we don’t find what we’re looking for in here, I can send out a satellite request for files from the other offices.”
Hayes blinked. “There are other UDA offices?”
“Of course. UDA is worldwide. You should see our Transylvania office.”
“And are all the other offices”—Hayes’s eyes shifted—“underground?”
“No. The one in Spokane is in the back of a Wal-Mart.” I grinned when Hayes raised his dark brows. “Most of the offices are underground. It just makes our clientele feel more … comfortable. More able to be themselves, I guess. They don’t have to worry about keeping up veils or shielding when they’re underground. Not a lot of breather counterparts stumbling into the underground offices, asking to use the restroom.” I offered a reassuring look.
Hayes shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand the Underworld.”
I picked at another donut, popping a bit of pink frosting into my mouth. “You know all you need to. Demons exist in every aspect of your daily life—”
“And I should stay away from fairies.” He grinned.
“Everyone,” I said, breaking off another piece of donut, “should stay away from fairies.” I smiled back at Hayes, my resolve softening as I studied the warm, pale blue flecks of color in his eyes.
Our moment was broken when there was the sound of shuffling papers, then a chirp from Hayes’s cell phone, and then Chief Oliver was standing in the doorway, his lips set in a hard, thin line. He knocked on the door frame and looked in at us.
“There’s been another murder,” the chief said solemnly.
My mouth went dry and my palms started to sweat. Hayes stood up and grabbed his coat. He glanced over his shoulder at me while I began collecting my files.
“We don’t have time for that,” he said. “Come on.”
“Don’t worry. I don’t have to be down at work for the rest of the day so I can stay around and clean up —”
Hayes cut me off. “You
“We’re going to the crime scene,” he told me.
“Crime scene?” I mumbled. “You mean, the scene of the crime?” My stomach dropped into my knees.
Hayes roughly put his arm across my shoulders and pulled me toward him, a hint of a smile on his moist lips. “Lawson, you’re a natural.”
My hands were gripping the seat as Hayes squealed the squad car out of his parking space and roared out of the lot.
“Shouldn’t you put your sirens on?” I asked, trying to keep my voice an octave below hysterical.
“The guy’s dead. He’s not going anywhere.”
I must have paled considerably—or gone completely green—because Hayes blew out a resigned sigh and clicked on the lights and sirens. Then he sunk the accelerator to the floor and we jerked through an intersection, cars screeching around us, action-movie style.
“He’s dead, remember? Not going anywhere? This is not a chase scene from Cops!”
“If only,” Hayes muttered as we reached the commute gridlock on Market Street. I saw heads swinging in our direction, tourists hugging their GAP purchases to their chests, civilian cars peeling to the sides to let us through as our police sirens howled.
I started to feel Hayes’s adrenaline, and as we sliced through town, I tried to hold back a grin.
“Can I get a set of these lights and sirens for my Honda?” I asked, poking at the ceiling. “It would seriously cut my commute time in half.”
Hayes chuckled and took a corner at record speed and I rolled into him, my seat belt cutting off my circulation, my head thumping against his chest. His firm, soap-smelling chest. I breathed deeply, hoping my olfactory ogling wasn’t completely obvious.
“You women are always turned on by danger,” he said, staring down at me with a seductive grin.
I struggled to sit up, to keep myself from getting too comfortable, nestled against his chest. “As if,” I managed to mutter, letting my heartbeat slow to a normal rate.
After a few minutes, Hayes slowed the car down and pulled into the driveway of a swanky Pacific Heights Victorian. As he pushed the gearshift into park I noticed the crime-scene tape, the swarm of cops and onlookers, and then it hit me: there’s probably a dead person inside that house. I clamped my mouth shut, feeling my teeth begin to chatter. My heart started to speed up again.
He killed the engine, pulling the key out of the ignition. Hayes kicked open the car door and stepped out, then dipped his head back inside and looked at me. My feet were bolted to the floor, my eyes boring through the windshield at the one-car garage door in front of me. My palms were damp, and I held them firm against my thighs.
“You coming, Lawson?”
I tried to lick my lips, but I had no saliva. I prayed to God, Buddha, Oprah—whoever might be listening—then forced my lips to move. “Is it still in there?” My voice came out raspy and low.
Hayes’s dark eyebrows shot up, almost lost in the soft brown curls that tousled against his forehead. “It? You mean the perp? No, he’s not still inside.”
Hayes sat down again in the driver’s seat and looked at me, his blue eyes warm and concerned. “The place was clean when the guys got in here. From what I hear, the vic may have been dead awhile.” He reached out and touched my arm softly, his fingertips soft and trailing up my forearm.
“You’re fine. You’ve got practically every cop in the area looking out for you.” He grinned. “Plus one very adequate detective.”
My stomach flip-flopped, but not in the delighted, hot-guy-touching-me sort of way. It was just that I had never seen a dead person who was actually … dead.
“The body,” I whispered, “will it still be in there?”
Hayes looked confused, his dark eyebrows knitting together. “Of course. This is a crime scene. They won’t have moved anything—or anyone—until we go through. Is that what you’re afraid of? Seeing the body?”
I bit my lip. “Um, no.” I forced a nonchalant lilt into my voice, not wanting to appear the meek, freaked-out little girly girl that I actually was. “I was just checking.”
Hayes blinked, a small smile playing on his lips. His voice went soft and I was touched by the kind warmth in it. “It’s never easy walking into a crime scene, Lawson, but we really need you here to help with this. You’ll be okay, I promise.”
I nodded, certain that if I opened my mouth to answer properly, my thundering heart would fall out onto the car floor.
Stepping out of the car, I followed behind Hayes, who stopped to talk to an officer guarding the door.
“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.
