“Separate them from the herd?”
“Right. So I was supposed to investigate and let Sampson know if the vampire needed to be … handled.”
“Handled?”
“Vanquished. Killed. The UDA takes their rules seriously. Anyway, I went out to the Haight where these kids were, and sure enough, the rogue vampire showed up.”
“And it was Nina?”
I nodded. “Yeah. And she was trying to separate one from the flock. It was a girl—maybe thirteen, fourteen years old. The poor thing was filthy. Her clothes were torn, her hair was matted. She was a throwaway kid; no one would have noticed if she walked the street one day and wasn’t there the next. She looked like every other kid out there.”
“So, easy prey.”
“That’s what I thought. I followed Nina out to the girl twelve nights in a row. I couldn’t get close enough to hear what they were talking about the few times they did talk, and I wasn’t sure if she were just working slowly. Sometimes a vampire will befriend a human—offer eternal life or whatever—and in return …”
“The human brings them fresh meat,” Parker finished.
“Right. One night Nina got the girl into a car with her. I followed them, and Nina drove the girl home.”
“Just home?”
I nodded. “That’s it. She was a runaway. Nina brought her home.”
Parker frowned. “That doesn’t sound very vampirey.”
I smiled. “I know. I was waiting in my car the night she did it. I followed them, and then, thinking I was being real stealthy, parked under a tree on the opposite side of the street, when suddenly Nina was sitting in my passenger seat. Vampires are rather hard to sneak up on. Ssense of smell, lightning speed, you know.”
Parker smiled.
“Nina told me if I told anyone at UDA what she did, she’d kill me. And believe me, when that much leather bustier and fang is in your passenger seat threatening death, you believe it. I asked her why though—why that girl, why bring her home. Nina just shrugged and said, ‘Little girls need their moms.’” I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat. “We both knew how it felt to lose our moms. Nina couldn’t go back to hers once she’d changed and I—well, you know about my mom. I guess we bonded over that.”
Parker patted my hand softly. “That’s really nice. And I don’t mean to be callous, but sweet-as-pie or not, how do you decide to room with a vampire?”
I shrugged, tucking the doll back to her space on the shelf. “Are you kidding? Have you seen what a two-bedroom goes for in San Francisco? I’d room with Satan himself for a view like that.”
Parker raised his eyebrows but chuckled, following my gaze to the glistening lights of the Bay Bridge outside my front window.
“I guess.”
“And vampire or not, Nina is my best friend.”
Parker grinned that cocky half smile again. “Well, okay then.”
I sat down next to him, basking in the warm fuzzy of the moment.
“So …” Parker brushed a lock of hair across my forehead, his touch and his voice gentle and sweet. “Are you going to tell me what happened here?”
Thump-thump.
I swallowed, telling myself that the beads of sweat that just pricked the back of my neck were scary-monster related and not close-to-Parker related.
“Someone was in the apartment,” I started.
Parker nodded and his hand dropped from my forehead, his fingertips casually trailing along the exposed skin on my thigh.
Thump.
“I don’t know what it was.” I was shaking my head so fiercely that I could see my red hair, in rats-nest snarls, bobbing around my cheeks. I blinked, feeling the tears start to form. “He pushed open the window—my bedroom window—but I was already out here. I heard him climb in, and he was huge—and—and—” The tears had spilled over and were mixing with snot, both dropping in big blobs on my legs.
Sophie Lawson: Badass Angel. Not.
“You said you got out your gun. Did you fire it? Are you okay?”
I pointed a shaky finger toward my bedroom door and sniffed vigorously, trying to hold back the hysterical hiccupping that always came when I cried.
Parker stood up, going toward the open door. He slid his palms along the pristine eggshell-white walls, studying them carefully. “No holes.” He turned to me, throwing a grin over his shoulder. “Did you hit him?”
“Maybe,” I said slowly.
“How many rounds did you fire?”
I tasted the salty tears on my lips. “None.”
“None?”
I wagged my head and hiccupped, then buried my head miserably in the soft folds of my bathrobe. “I … threw …”
Parker came back and knelt down in front of me, both his hands warm on my knees. “You threw up? Again? That’s okay. Lots of people barf when they’re frightened. It happens all the time.” He sat back on his haunches. “Sometimes they pee. Did you pee?”
“No!” I yelled, annoyed. “I didn’t throw up or pee. I threw the gun!”