Heart and Soul by Jackie May (interesting novels to read txt) 📕

The crowd cheers when the Jumbotron screen flashes with the Kiss Cam logo. The stadium cameras zoom in on couples from the crowd, and we all applaud when they kiss on the giant screen. Russo says something to Kirsten about practicing, in case they get on-screen. As she plants a loud, exaggerated smooch on his lips, I make eyes at Brenner, silently expressing my appreciation for his more subdued persona. He may never command the attention of large crowds, but those few of us who get to be close to him know how strong his presence can be. He gives my hand a squeeze.

“How’d you score these seats?” I ask him. “They’re incredible.”

“I know a guy who knows a guy.”

Russo butts in. “High people in high places. Law enforcement is the ultimate network. Everybody owes favors to everybody else. Your boy Brenner must have cashed in big for this one.”

Brenner deflects. “Nah. It’s a preseason promotional game, not the Super Bowl.”

A vague uneasiness flickers like a red flag in my mind. Why is Brenner so quick to downplay this? And why doesn’t his own partner know who Brenner hit up for these tickets? Feels cagey.

I have to admit, I’m a teensy bit paranoid about Brenner keeping things from me. C’mon, he was undercover for years, so he’s a trained professional at keeping to himself, playing both sides with a hidden agenda. And let’s not forget those couple of months when he secretly met with Agent Hillerman and Oliver Harrington to work the revenants case behind my back. Look, I’m not worried that he’s not who he says he is. I’m worried that because he is who he is, Brenner might jump into something without me there to help. The boy better know by now that he doesn’t have to go it alone anymore.

A buzz fills the stadium when several celebrities run out onto the field. This game not only kicks off the Tigers’ training season, but also raises money for charity. Most ticket holders are here to see famous TV stars who can’t throw a baseball to save their lives. The stadium announcer’s voice introduces various B and D-list celebrities, from a reality show contestant to a daytime soap opera star to a local news anchor. When an intro is made for the host of a totally fake ghost hunter show, Russo sits forward in his seat and exclaims, “Now that guy, I’d love to have a sit-down with. A true believer. Ghouls and ghosts, werewolves and vampires, the supernatural realm. All of it’s real.”

I notice Brenner’s knee starts bouncing.

Kirsten sucks in a breath, fascinated by the subject. “Ohhh, I stayed in a haunted hotel once, out in Arizona. I took a bunch of pictures with my sister, and when we looked at them later, I swear there was a floating orb behind us.”

With a flourish of his overactive hands, Russo ticks off items on his fingers. “Floating orbs, demon possession, occult crimes. Forget about Arizona—it’s all right here in Detroit.”

Brenner’s knee, bouncing.

“Those gangbangers from the East Side who tried to blow up the chief last year,” Russo continues, “their van was marked with an occult symbol. And just yesterday, the bloodbath that went down with the Monolith Casino family? That’s not just organized crime, that’s secret society cover-up, full-on Illuminati shit, excuse my language. And another thing, I’ll tell you where this all points to—Underworld club.”

I clamp my hand down on Brenner’s bouncing knee and dig my nails into his skin. He bolts upright in his seat, wincing as he muffles a painful grunt, while Kirsten rattles on about how she once tried to get into Underworld club but an enormous, scary bouncer denied her at the door. Russo turns to her with warnings to avoid the place, and that’s when I hiss to Brenner, “Did you tell him anything?”

“No, are you kidding?” I pinch his knee harder. He grabs my hand, but can’t budge it. “No,” he insists through clenched teeth. “I haven’t said anything about anything. He’s always been a nut for this stuff. Hell, most people are.”

I relax my grip. Sagging with relief, he says, “But sometimes I think I should tell him.” I try to pinch him again, but he jerks his knee away. “I don’t like keeping him in the dark, Shayne. He’s practically figured it out on his own, and he’s only lived here a month. You guys think you’re so sly, but people notice stuff. How much longer before the whole world figures it out?”

I don’t like having this discussion in the middle of a crowd. Leaning in, I try to sound threatening. “You’re not going to tell him, Jay.”

Locking eyes with me, he leans to within inches of my face. “Is that an order, Agent Davies?”

I’m melting. His eyes skip back and forth between mine. “It’s…I’m asking you”—his lips are right there—“to promise me.”

Russo breaks up the moment. “Look at these two. Are you not loving this?”

Kirsten giggles. “Geez, guys, get a room.” She jumps to her feet and offers me her hand. “We should go to the powder room before the game starts. Come with me?”

Leaning back in my seat, I cross one foot over the other on the roof of the Tigers’ dugout. “Nah, I’m good.” It’s a little harsh, but I have no desire for girl talk in front of the mirror. Not when the entire Tigers lineup is about to go running out of the dugout in their glorious tight-assed uniforms, all a mere ten feet from me.

Two women from the row behind us volunteer happily to accompany Kirsten to the bathroom, and off they go, arm in arm, whispering like schoolgirls. As soon as they’re gone, I lay into Russo. “Your waitress? Are you brain-dead? What happens when you’re done with her? You’ll have to change cafés.”

Brenner wags a finger at Russo. “If that happens, you’re on your own. I love that café.”

“10-4, buddy,” Russo