Free Under Wraps by Hannah Jayne

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