“Ahem. AHEM!”
I broke away from Parker’s incredible lips and looked at Nina, whose coal-black eyes were narrow, black brows raised, a pink drink poised in one hand. “If this is how the whole SFPD works, it’s no wonder you haven’t caught this guy.”
“Nina!” I broke out of Parker’s grip. “It’s not like that. We were—it was just for Steve’s benefit. He’s been following me. Stalking me. He was in our house! And Parker was—” I leaned in, the top of my head brushing against Parker’s chin, and I lowered my voice. “Steve wants to dance with me and Parker is pretending to be my boyfriend so we don’t get split up. We’re undercover, remember?”
Nina took a long swig from her drink, her eyes sweeping the dance floor. “You know Steve left with his brothers about ten minutes ago, right?”
I looked at Parker grinning down at me, his one hand still on my rump. “Thoroughness is the hallmark of a good undercover operation,” he told me, squeezing playfully.
I yanked Parker’s hand from my butt and stepped aside. “Pervert!” I hissed.
Parker used one finger to wipe his lips—those luscious, bee-stung lips. “Professional,” he corrected.
I went to break away from Parker, but his hand was around my waist again, his lips at my ear. “Admit it—you loved it.” His voice was all at once playful and deep and sultry. It stirred something deep inside me, and I wished my skirt were a little longer.
“I was working,” I said, my mouth wanting him. “That’s all.”
Nina rolled her eyes. “Look, can you do your he-loves-me, loves-me-not thing somewhere else? I thought you wanted to get to the bottom of this case.”
“We do.” I stepped away from Parker and crossed my arms in front of my chest. “We definitely do. Did you hear something?”
“There’s been a few interesting conversations going on over there.” Nina nodded in the direction of the bar, and we followed her, zigzagging across the dance floor.
“Sit here,” Nina said before pressing me onto a red velvet bar stool. She shook the ice in her empty glass over my head, and the bartender turned around, his yellow eyes fixed on her glass. “Another?” he asked her.
I looked up at the bartender. “Ooh.” I felt myself cringe and then go red.
The bartender narrowed his eyes at me, the green scales on his face slick, his thin-slit nostrils flaring. “Is there a problem?”
I wagged my head. “No, no. Not at all.”
The bartender shrugged, handing over Nina’s refilled drink. He narrowed his eyes at me. “Hey, we can’t all be Rob Pattinson.”
Nina took her drink and sipped slowly.
“Is that blood?” Parker wanted to know.
“It’s a Cosmo,” Nina said, annoyed.
“You can do that?”
“God, I should write a handbook. Anyway, just pay attention. Those guys over there—” Nina’s midnight-dark eyes darted toward two gentlemen, heads bent, sitting at the end of the bar. “They’re talking about a murder.”
“How do you know that?” Parker asked. “I can barely hear myself think in here.”
Nina tugged at her ear.
“Vampire perk,” I told Parker. I bit my lip. “I can’t hear anything.” I looked at Nina, listening intently, at Parker, seeing the slight bulge of his gun underneath his coat. I frowned, feeling powerless—and then I thought about Mr. Sampson. He believed in me. He assigned me to this case.
I was Sophie Lawson, CSI.
“I need to get closer,” I said. “Come get me if it looks like I’m about to be drained or beheaded.” I was up before Parker—and my own good sense—had a chance to stop me. I edged my way through the bar crowd fringe and squeezed myself between the two men.
“Excuse me,” I said, batting my eyelashes and doing my best dumb-and-hot routine. “Is anyone sitting here?”
One of the men smiled down at me, and I could see one of his sharp white fangs glimmer. “No one but you, sweetheart.”
I sucked in a nervous breath but pushed ahead. “Thanks.” I jumped up onto the bar stool and settled myself, taking an extra couple of minutes to rearrange my legs so I wasn’t flashing the entire dance floor in Nina’s miniskirt. Once situated, I widened my eyes and tried to smile softly. I looked at the man to my left. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” I started.
“Oh,” the man said, shaking his dark head, “I don’t think so. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t get to know each other now. I’m Hank,” he said, offering me his cold, undead hand, “and this is Malcolm.”
I shook hands with both men and glanced back at Nina and Parker, who were sitting at the other end of the bar, agog. I’d like to think they were riveted and awed by my total control over the situation, but even from this distance I could see that muscle twitching in Parker’s jaw, and Nina gnawing on her lower lip. I smiled sweetly at them.