Under Wraps

“Your Parker Hayes—or this one—isn’t dead. He’s very much alive.”

I flashed back to the day Parker and I first met, to our meal at the diner. I thought about how he took my hand, slid my palm into his shirt so I could feel the warm beat of his heart—very much alive.

“Yeah.” My voice came out as little more than a whisper.

“And he’s telling us that he’s a detective. He’s lying to you, Sophie. He’s been lying all along. Detective Parker Hayes isn’t who he says he is.”

“No.” I wagged my head. “That’s wrong. I saw him at the police department. I saw his name on the door. I even saw the police chief in there talking to him. Don’t you think they would know if Parker isn’t … Parker? Or if he isn’t even a detective?”

Nina shrugged. “I don’t know. But I do know that we need to find out who he is and why he’s here.”

I nodded, fear pulsing through my body, a cold sweat breaking out on my upper lip. I sucked in a shaky breath. “Parker is looking for Sampson.”

Nina looked at me, her dark eyes cold. “We need to find him before Parker does.”

She didn’t say it—didn’t need to—because we were both thinking the same thing: Could Parker Hayes really be the collector?

Nina put her hand on mine, and her cold touch ran all the way up my arm. I looked at her, at her pale, milky skin, at the tiny white triangles pressing at the corners of her lips. Nina and I both stared out the bedroom window, watching the city lights press through the thick San Francisco fog.

“Okay, then. Where do we start?”

Chapter Nineteen

Nina fished around in her Birken bag and pulled out a file folder, pressing it close to her chest. “Are you sure you want to see this?”

I nodded, and a warm heat roiled through my body. “I’m sure. I want to see it.”

I took the folder with shaking hands, opening it slowly. Looking up at me was a four-by-six-inch head shot of a smiling man with spiky blond hair and a tight smile. His narrow shoulders barely seemed to fill out his navy blue police uniform, and printed in clear, careful scrawl across the bottom of the photograph were the words Officer Parker Hayes, Buffalo, NY.

“That’s Parker Hayes,” I whispered.

Nina nodded, her eyes warm.

“But it’s not Parker Hayes.”

There was no doubt about it. This man was not the man I knew. I gingerly put aside the photo and scanned the dossier about Officer Hayes—eye color: blue; hair color: blond. I noted his birth date, hometown, and then, with unsteady breath—the date he died.

“I don’t get it. Why is Parker pretending to be a dead guy?”

Nina took the file from me and thumbed through it. “It says that this Parker died while investigating …” Her voice trailed off, and when I looked up, she was gnawing on her lower lip.

“Died investigating what?” I asked.

Nina closed the folder. “Parker Hayes died while investigating a string of strange murders in Buffalo. Two victims. One completely drained of blood.”

I gulped, my saliva tasting metallic. “The other missing his eyeballs?”

“Remember the other night at Dirt, when we were trying to figure out what all these victims had in common?”

“Yeah,” I said, “and we really couldn’t come up with anything.”

“We couldn’t, but I found something interesting when I was looking for Parker’s info. Alfred Sherman filed a police report two days before he died—reporting a stolen wallet.”

“Okay, so?”

“There was a break-in at Dirt a few days before Dauber went missing. He called the police, and they came out, but they couldn’t find anything. Just came around to take a report.”

I frowned. “And the woman in Pacific Heights—the officer there said the police had been there just the day before investigating an attempted break-in. So all the victims had petty theft issues just before their murders? What does that mean? Security was compromised, information could be missing….”

Nina’s eyes were hard and I gulped. “Or that in every instance, the police had been called.”

“Kind of convenient that Parker didn’t bring that up in your investigation, isn’t it?”

My stomach dropped to my knees. “Yeah,” I whispered. “I guess it is.”

“He was probably setting them up. Checking to make sure all these people had what it is he needed to open the portal.”

I stared hard at the carpet. “Oh. But we went to the Crystal Ball. We were looking for the Sword of Bethesda and they said a woman bought it.”

“You don’t think Parker could know a woman?”

I bit my lip. “He did say he goes out with his niece about once a month.”

“Maybe Parker’s niece is the type who occasionally does his shopping. Did whomever you talked to know who bought the knife? I mean, other than it was a woman? Did they tell you anything else?”

I looked at Nina, at her blue-black hair hanging over one shoulder. “No,” I said simply. “Nothing else.”

Nina began gathering up the files and slid them to me. “I’m going to lurk around, see what more I can find out. Vlad should be back in a little while. Until then, are you going to be okay here alone?”

I nodded, barely feeling the file under my fingertips. “Do you think Parker—this Parker—is really after Mr. Sampson now”—I sucked in a breath—“for his skin?”

Nina crossed her thin arms in front of her chest. “I don’t know, but it certainly would explain why he’s here— and why he wanted to hook up with you.”

A lump formed in my throat. “I led him right to Mr. Sampson.”

Nina wagged her head definitively. “We don’t know that, Sophie.”

My eyes went wide. “Parker might already have Mr. Sampson. Then all he’d need—all he’d need is—me.” A crossbreed. My voice was barely a whisper.

“No. Stop talking like that. No one is going to open any kind of portal or hell hole or whatever.” Nina’s eyes were fierce, and she knelt down in front of me, her palms cold as she gripped my thighs. “Do you hear me? We’re going to be fine—you’re going to be fine. We’re going to stop this guy, whoever he is, and go on our merry ways, maybe do a little shopping, hit the white sale at Macy’s. You got that?”

The light glimmered off of one of Nina’s fangs and I nodded. “Yeah,” I said.

But I wasn’t entirely convinced.

I was poking at a nuked blob of meat loaf when I heard the front door open. I stood up quickly, my stomach knotted.

“Vlad? Nina? Is that you? Did you find him? Did you find some—” I sucked in a breath so sharp I felt the ache in my rib cage. “Oh. Parker. Hi.”

“You know,” Parker said, tapping on the door frame with his index finger. “We had a deal. You’re supposed to keep this door locked at all times. It seems like you want me to be mad at you.”

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.