Under Wraps by Hannah Jayne Page B

wildly, his strawberry-blond hair bobbing against his forehead. “Gangbangers, definitely. We didn’t see ‘em, but that’s what they were. Definitely,” he said.
    The chief stepped away from me and eyed Officer Opie. “Franks, why don’t you help Miss Lawson to her feet?”
    “I think I’m good.” My legs were a little shaky, but I opted to steady myself against a cold metal file cabinet rather than risk my chances with Opie’s awkwardly outstretched stick arms.
    “Thank you, gentlemen,” I said, “but I’m feeling much better now. I just need to get home and rest.”
    “I’ll drive you,” Opie said, dangling a chain full of keys in front of me. “We can take my squad car.”
    I looked from Opie to the chief and realized that I’d be lucky to walk out of this station under my own volition (rather than be thrown over the shoulder and carried out by Opie), let alone be allowed to drive my own car home, so I agreed to let Opie drive me.
    “But I need to stop by my car first,” I said quickly, “just to grab a few things.”
    The chief nodded, and Opie led me out of the office and into the cold night air. We walked in awkward silence across the parking lot, and I sucked in a tortured breath when I saw my car in its space on the street.
    My car, my little green baby, my first big-girl purchase, was a complete mess of crumpled steel and scratched-up paint. The driver’s side door was smashed in like a tin can, and the cut on my forehead throbbed when I examined the forehead-sized crack in the passenger-side window. The driver’s seat was shredded, and cotton stuffing bloomed from tears in the passenger seat, too.
    “Those gangbangers,” Opie said, clucking his tongue, “they can really do some damage.”
    I nodded solemnly and stuck my head into the car, feeling around on the carpet for my keys. I remembered the sound they made as they fell onto the floor, right before I felt the wind get knocked out of me. I shuddered, then closed my fingers around the keys.
    “Okay,” I said to Opie. “I’m ready.” I cocked my head, swallowing over the lump that rose in my throat when I took a last look at my shredded interior. I blinked.
    “Wait.” I slid back into the cab of the car and leaned down to where a long, jagged gash had been made in the center console. There was a spray of cotton from the shredded seat, a sprinkling of broken glass, and a tuft of dark fur.
    I picked up the fur and stuffed it in my pocket.
    After an uneventful—and quiet—drive home in the squad car, Opie pulled up to my apartment building. I plastered a smile on my face and turned toward him, wincing softly as the new bruises on my shoulder and rib cage protested.
     
    “Thanks for the ride, Officer Franks. I can make it from here.”
    He looked skeptically at the clean, well-lit sidewalk in front of my Nob Hill building and wagged his head, his eyes wide and ominous.
    “I don’t think so, Sophie. There’s a bad element out there.”
    I squinted out the window at the deserted street, fairly certain a lone tumbleweed would roll by at any minute.
    “Gangbangers?” I asked, unable to keep the annoyance out of my voice.
    Opie didn’t answer, and before he could go for the door handle, I rested my hand on top of his.
    “Officer Franks, what really happened tonight?”
    Opie stared out the windshield, and I watched as he gnawed on his bottom lip, deep in thought.
    I took a chance. “I really don’t think it was gangbangers.” I touched the broken skin above my eye, fresh pain blooming at the slightest touch. “I don’t think they do this kind of damage. This almost seemed … personal. Don’t you think?”
    “We got to you just in time,” was all Opie said.
    “Well, when you got to me, what did you see?”
    A full thirty seconds of silence passed, and then Opie looked me full in the face and said, “We should get you upstairs.”
    He insisted on walking me to my front door and standing far too close to me while I