Heart and Soul by Jackie May (reading list .TXT) 📗

and thumps against the wall from a struggle. I pull Brenner behind me, but he resists, trying to position himself in front of me.

“Get behind me,” I hiss.

He puts me in a headlock. “You get behind me.”

I bite his arm. “I can take a few bullets, and you can’t!”

“Watch me.”

As we continue to wrestle each other for the position of meat shield, the sounds of a brawl enter the doorway. In a tangle of punching fists and kicking legs, Detective Russo and Agent Hillerman crash into the room.

“Brenner, I got one!” Russo grunts as he struggles to get cuffs on Hillerman. “Resisting arrest. Just a little.”

“Russo, wait,” Brenner says, raising a palm to call off his dog.

But I clamp a hand over Brenner’s mouth. “Hush now. Just let me enjoy this.”

Hillerman throws her elbow at Russo with an angry shout. He dodges the attack and wraps his thick arms around her waist from behind. Like a trapped animal, she goes berserk, stomping his feet and whipping her hair back and forth across his face. Russo spins her around, pinning her arms behind her, smashing their chests together, bringing their faces within inches of each other.

“You have the right to remain silent,” Russo says. “Anything you say or do—”

She tries to bite his face, so Russo pulls her hair, jerking her chin back and rattling her roadkill necklace. He glances at the necklace, then, with wide eyes, makes a quick study of her face. He shoves her away with a goofy grin. “You’re Charlotte Hayes!”

To which she responds by socking him in his left eye. He staggers back with a string of painful curses, but ending with “—loving it, though. Perfect form. Expect nothing less from the Girl Who Fought Back.”

Hillerman spits blood on the carpet, then turns her wrath on us. “Does this troll belong to somebody?”

“He’s not a troll,” I say. “He’s only the size of one.”

Brenner jumps to his feet, and as he helps me up, he explains, “That’s Russo. He’s my partner. And he needs stitches.”

A deep cut on Russo’s brow gushes blood into his eye. He grins like a fool. “Stitches, are you kidding? Charlotte Hayes split my brow! I’m going to pick at the scab to make sure it scars forever. Jay, do you know who this is?”

“Special Agent Hillerman,” Brenner answers, and then with emphasis adds, “FBI.”

“Hillerman, that’s right.” As he studies the tattoos on Hillerman’s arms, Russo’s expression turns somber. “Do you know, Agent Hillerman, I followed every article about you, and I even wrote you some letters back then. I’m sure you didn’t get them, but that means I can now tell you in person. I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

I can practically see the venom building behind Hillerman’s eyes as she wipes bloody lips with the back of her hand. “The only thing I lost tonight were some of the prime suspects in the biggest case of my life! I was in pursuit of the East Side hit-and-run dirtbags who just lit up my hotel room with us inside, and because of you they got away. Great work, Detective.”

Russo nods with grave comprehension. “I see. I may have been too hasty in my assessment of the situation.”

“Hold up, Russo,” I interject. “If you’re not going to be offended, then allow me. You came, you saw, you acted. The truth is, you probably saved Special Agent Hothead from running to her own death.”

“I wasn’t going to engage,” Hillerman snaps. “But we could have followed them. Got a plate number from their car. Anything!”

“It was the big guy, right? Face full of scars?”

“Yes. The silverback.”

“Then you know who else was out there! Don’t you think it might have been exactly what they wanted—for us to follow them?”

“At least we would be doing something. Not just cowering next to a warm body.”

That one hits too close to the truth, so I decide to play bratty. To Russo, I say, “She downed three beers right before you got here.”

Brenner steps between us. “Russo, let’s call this in, have a couple black and whites tape it off, and get reports from hotel staff.”

“Staff and guests are all out front. Followed evacuation procedure soon as they heard gunfire.”

“What about you?” Brenner asks. “How’d you know we were here?”

Russo holds up his phone. “Buddy Bubble app. When the game started and you weren’t back, I knew something was wrong. Showed you way over on the west side.”

“I’ll explain later. Right now, we’re standing in a crime scene for a case we just got assigned.”

“You can’t do that,” Hillerman objects.

“Attempted hit-and-run on a Detroit detective by East Side lowlifes?”

Hillerman gestures between herself and me. “And two federal agents.”

Brenner shakes his head. “Our lowlifes, our city, our case.”

“Our bread and butter,” Russo adds with a cocky grin. “We know this city, and it knows us.”

Hillerman stabs him with her eyes. “Spare me the bullshit bravado. You just moved here a month ago.”

Russo’s face lights up. “You know me? Does the FBI have a file on me? If you’re here recruiting, I’ll tell you right now: I’m in.”

Hillerman lifts her eyes to the ceiling, as though praying for patience. Or to be struck by lightning. One of the two.

“We can’t stay here,” Brenner says. He looks at me. “We can take your statements at home.”

“What, our place?”

“Agent Hillerman should stay the night there, don’t you think? It’s got special…” Brenner’s voice trails off, and he glances quickly at Russo. I realize that he was about to say ‘special wards,’ but he can’t mention magic in front of Russo. “…special security,” he finishes.

“That’s right,” Russo says, and he jabs a thumb at his own chest. “It’s got me.”

Hillerman slides me a flat look. She doesn’t like this any more than I do. Elle Harrington warded our house when I officially moved in. Alarms will sound if any underworlder steps within a quarter mile of our front door. While a night with Hillerman is not my idea of a slumber party, Brenner is