Page 122 of Detectives in Love
“You think you’re the smartest person in the room?” he growls through clenched teeth, face flushed and trembling with rage as he glares Xavier down.
“Yes,” Xavier says, rising to his feet. He calmly slips off his coat and folds it over his arm like we’re leaving a dinner party. “It was actually a pretty dull case. Bit of a letdown. I expected something more elaborate…but I guess it is what it is.” He pauses, glancing at Willand, then adds, almost as an afterthought, “Just FYI—Wakefield was frozen postmortem. Most likely with cryogenic fluid.”
Willand raises his eyebrows, clearly impressed by the sheer number of lies this case has managed to pile on.
“Say one more word—” Rishetor snarls, pushing past me and jabbing a finger into Xavier’s chest.
Before I even register what I’m doing, my hand snaps out—I grab his wrist and shove it down. Firm enough to stop him, controlled enough that he can’t call it assault.
“Keep your hands to yourself,” I say, jaw tight.
“Let’s go, Newt,” Xavier says quietly, his hand skimming my lower back—a subtle warning more than anything. “Willand can take it from here.”
“Alright,” I say, still staring Rishetor down. “Let’s go.”
He steps aside—reluctant, glaring—like a dog barely held on a leash. We head for the doors. For a second, I half expect Willand to stop us. But he doesn’t. It’s Xavier who pauses in the doorway and glances back.
“Oh, by the way,” he says, turning to Willand, “Mrs. Bridge called this morning. Said she found something on her husband’s laptop—something important. Might shed some light on how he died. I’m seeing her tonight.”
Willand blinks, taking that in. “No need—I’ll send Crowley.”
Xavier raises a brow. “Pretty sure she doesn’t trust your squad. Otherwise, she would’ve called you, not me. I’ll talk to her and let you know what I find. You did ask me to handle the case, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Willand says, nodding. “Alright. But call me the second you learn anything.”
“I will,” Xavier says, and turns to leave.
I follow him into the corridor. “When did Mrs. Bridge call?” I ask, raising my voice a little as I catch up.
He doesn’t answer—but he slows. At first, I think he’s just waiting for me, but then I notice his hand trailing along the wall, fingers brushing it like he’s searching for balance.
“Xavier.” I catch his elbow, trying to steady him, trying to get him to look at me. But when he does, the words catch in my throat.
He’s pale—really pale—except for the fever-flushed patches on his cheeks, like he just sprinted a marathon.
“You need to rest,” I murmur, my voice catching low.
I glance around, hoping for somewhere to sit him down—but there’s nothing. Just the hallway stretching ahead, the men’s room a few steps away. I reach for his forehead. He’s burning up. My hands move instinctively to his neck, and when I pull back, my palms are damp—his skin slick with sweat.
Xavier stares back at me, eyes unfocused, blinking like it takes effort. “I want to lie down,” he murmurs, lips moving slow, like they’re not quite listening to him.
“Alright, I’m taking you to the hospital,” I say, already reaching for my phone—but Xavier shakes his head and brushes past me, heading for the men’s room.
I move to follow, but a voice cuts through behind me.
“Newt.”
I turn.
Katie Fairfax stands just outside Willand’s office, her expression hard.
“Can I have a word?” she asks. There’s a slight shake in her voice.
“Not now,” I say, already half turned away, desperate to leave.
But she doesn’t back off. She steps closer and says, “You used me.” Her voice is calm, but her face is tight, twitching with barely contained indignation. “You distracted me so Ormond could sneak into the center. And the article about us getting engaged—was that part of the plan too?”
I sigh. “I didn’t know he was there. And I had nothing to do with the article.”
