He stops talking, because by now I should have said something, or done something—anything—in response. But I’m just standing there, frozen, so he nods hello to Brenner. “Hey man, you must be Detective Brenner?” He leans past me to shake Brenner’s hand.
“Thanks for stopping by,” Brenner says. “Means a lot.”
“No worries. Happy to. You guys are the real heroes. Be safe out there, yeah?” After getting a hardy shake of the hand from Russo, Ardee Todd returns his attention to me, producing a black marker from his pocket. “Can I sign something for you?”
Gathering the hem of my Tigers jersey in both hands, I lift my shirt up to my armpits, exposing my black bra on the Jumbotron. Whistles and catcalls fill the stadium. I angle my ribs toward him, showing off the tattoo of the Tigers’ letter D logo just beneath my left Pointer Sister.
Todd stammers, “Oh…right.”
As he dives down there to sign his name across my ribcage, I crane my neck toward Brenner. I’m practically breathless. “You set this up? You did this for me?”
He smiles. “Cross it off your bucket list.”
“Oh my gosh, you did this for me?” I repeat.
Now the crowd is cheering again. I look at the enormous Jumbotron, where the Kiss Cam logo has reappeared next to my grinning face. Hell, you don’t have to tell me twice. Dropping my shirt, I turn and throw myself at Jay, kissing him long and hard. The crowd’s cheering becomes a deafening roar.
Jay pulls back, chuckling. “Shayne, not me. Him.” He gestures to Ardee Todd, who, totally left hanging, throws his hands out in a big question mark to the audience.
I’m in a daze. “Him?”
“Your bucket list,” Brenner urges. “To kiss Ardee Todd. It’s now or never, babe.”
“You…” I point to Brenner, then to Ardee Todd. “Him?”
It’s too late. Women are already lining up to do what I didn’t. Ardee Todd gives each a kiss on the cheek. The whole stadium goes wild.
“You did this for me?” I ask Brenner one more time, before snatching his hand. “Boy, I need you to come with me. Now.”
I can tell he’s trying to conceal his eagerness when he says, with mock surprise, “Now?”
“Yes, now. We’re about to cross something else off my bucket list.” I pull him up the aisle.
Russo calls after me. “Who’s the badge bunny now?”
“Save our seats,” I demand.
“Take your time,” he says, beaming with pride for his partner.
I march Brenner straight to the parking garage, battling against the flow of crowds hurrying into the stadium. Pinning him against his car with a hungry kiss, I jam my hands into his pockets, searching for keys, unlocking the doors, pushing him into the back seat. Our hands are all over each other. We’re thumping against seats and doors and the ceiling. He unsnaps my pants. I push his shirt up to his chest, purring, “Let’s try this again.”
After pushing Brenner’s shirt up, I’m tracing my tongue along the deep lines between each of his rock-hard abs when both doors are suddenly jerked open, enormous hands yank Brenner out of the car, and I’m shot in the back.
The first thing I’m aware of is music—’70s disco funk with a bass line so deep it rattles my stomach. A pungent aroma assaults my nose. It smells rotten and sweet at the same time. I feel the hum and sway of a moving car. The jolt of a speed bump sends a spike of pain up my spine, reminding me of the gunshot. It dawns on me that somebody shot me in the back. How am I not dead?
My eyes snap open to a surreal scene. Slumped in a bench seat facing me is a great, big fat man with no shirt on. He is flanked by muscled henchmen, also shirtless. All three of them suck on tubes attached to a crystal hookah, bubbling with a bright blue liquid. The men bob their heads in unison to the music. The fat man bulges his eyes at me, waggling artificial eyebrows made of red ruby studs. His giant head is bald and shiny. On his vast belly is a tattoo of a red diamond, with a demon sigil inside it.
The Diamond Dog. Rubicon “Ruby” Paizo, demon master of the west side horde. Everybody’s heard of him, but nobody outside his horde ever sees him. He’s a total recluse. Now I see why. He and his shirtless menservants are rocking their shoulders back and forth with the music, their eyes staring at me. It’s such an absurd sight, I could almost laugh, if not for the Diamond Dog’s reputation for literally ripping heads off.
Brenner sits next to me with a pillowcase over his head. When I tear it away, he flinches back, expecting to be attacked. His lips and nose are bleeding. One eyebrow is split open, but there’s no swelling yet, so I couldn’t have been out long. A few minutes, maybe.
“Shayne,” he rasps, “you were…there was a shot.”
“No, I’m okay.”
Brenner sags with relief and takes my hand.
Ruby Paizo smiles, takes one last pull on the hookah pipe, then says, “You’re right; there was a shot. A tranquilizer. Put a horse down for hours, but for a shifter, it’s nothing but a tickle.” His voice is a gritty croak, yet it’s surprisingly dainty at the same time. He sounds like an old grandma who smoked all her life. “You know who I am?”
My eyes go to his sigil tattoo. “The Diamond Dog.”
He grabs his belly and jiggles it. “Well, I ain’t Santa Claus.” He laughs, elbowing the ribs of a henchman. Immediately, the thug leans forward and slugs Brenner in the jaw. Ruby pulls his guard back. “Wait, dammit, I didn’t mean it like that. Look, I was just giving you a little elbow, because I made a joke. You know, a joke?” The henchman gives no response. Ruby shakes his head at us. “So touchy.”
I try to control the tremor in my voice. “What do you want?”
The glittering rubies that make up his eyebrows raise with a kind of sadness. “Do you know, that’s the first thing everybody asks me. It’s like magic. Somehow, everybody knows that if I’m talking to them, it means I want something. Whatever happened to small talk? Chit chat? ‘How you doing, Ruby? Are you caught up on Stranger Things yet?’”
“You shot me with a tranquilizer.”
He gives a gleeful smile. “First time?”
“Last time,” Brenner growls.
“Ooooh, good answer,” Ruby says, genuinely impressed. “You hear that? Get a load of this guy, would ya?” He elbows the same henchman in the ribs. The henchman launches forward and socks Brenner in the face. Brenner blacks out, slumping onto my shoulder. I pat his face to wake him up. This time, there is no apology from Ruby. He sucks on the hookah pipe, bobbing to the music until, finally, Brenner comes to with a groan. “Enough chit chat,” Ruby announces. “Now we can talk about what I want.”
I know what he wants. “Payback.”
He bats eyelashes heavy with mascara. “Payback? Why, whatever for?”
“For breaking up your little street race, which I could have won, by the way.”
“We’ll never know, will we?”
“You had my car.”
“A 2006 Pontiac. Truly hideous.”
“I only took back what was mine.”
“Only?” For the first time, Ruby drops the smile. His eyes lose their spark, turning cold and dead, unblinking. “If you had only taken back what was yours, I wouldn’t be here.”