Page 138 of Detectives in Love
“I’m in Fulton…” he says, breath catching. “At Mrs. Bridge’s house. I’m not hurt…but she’s dead.”
“What?” I breathe, my tongue going numb. For a second, panic slams into me—my mind jumping to the worst possible scenario: that he killed her. But I force myself tobreathe. No. That can’t be it. “Is there someone else in the house? Did you call the police?”
“N-no.” I’m not even sure which question he’s answering, but it doesn’t matter.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know,” he says, his breathing uneven, like he can’t catch a full breath. “Someone attacked her.”
“I’m calling Willand,” I say quickly. “And an ambulance. Just stay there—I’m really close. I’ll be there soon, okay?”
“Yeah…okay…” he says, and then the line goes dead.
CHAPTER 14. LURED
Even though Bolton Gardens is only a few blocks from Hill’s apartment, I know it’ll take at least ten minutes if I run. I don’t have time to wait for a taxi either, so I rush out onto the street and flag down a cab by hand, calling Willand at the same time.
He doesn’t fully understand what’s happening, but the urgency in my voice must be enough—he says he’ll head to the Bridges’ house right away and promises to call an ambulance and the crime-scene unit. I’m grateful he doesn’t waste time asking questions.
As the taxi speeds through the streets, I clutch my phone, my heart hammering against my ribs, adrenaline burning through my chest. My mind keeps racing through possible explanations for what happened, but none of them make any sense. Why did Xavier even go to Mrs. Bridge’s house? How did she end up dead? And what the hell is going on?
The time drags unbearably slow, but when we pull up to Bolton Gardens, it’s only been five minutes. I throw a quick thanks at the driver and jump out, sprinting toward the Bridges’ house. No police cars yet, no ambulance.
The front gate’s open. I rush through the yard, which feels eerily still. When I reach the front door, I see it’s ajar too. I nudge it open carefully with my elbow, not wanting to leave any prints.
As I step inside, the sharp, metallic smell of blood hits me like a punch, and my stomach twists into a knot. My breath catches, panic crashing over me again. I move into the living room, eyes darting around.
“Xav—” I call out—but his name catches halfway up my throat.
He’s sitting on the couch, frozen like a statue carved out of marble, his arms held stiffly away from his sides, hands stained red. Across his chest, a huge, vivid stain bleeds through his shirt and parts of his coat.
My lungs seize. I lunge toward him—only to catch a glimpse of the motionless body sprawled across the floor, blood pooling thick around it. I stop mid-step, heart hammering, the realization crashing over me: this is still an active crime scene.
Xavier stands up from the couch the second he sees me, his face deathly pale, his eyes glassy.
“Newt,” he says, his voice cracking. “Are the police coming?”
“Yes,” I manage, barely holding myself back from rushing over to check him head to toe. “Are you hurt?”
My voice trembles—I can hear it, but I can’t get it under control. Panic clamps around my chest and won’t let go. I was never like this before, not even when my own life was on the line. Now it feels like something in me has shifted. Maybe it’s Xavier. Maybe caring about him has stripped away the armor I used to have. Made me softer. Weaker.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I tried to stop her bleeding, but I couldn’t.”
Some of the fear gripping my chest loosens, but I still can’t help scanning him for any injuries he might have missed. He looks unhurt, so I finally let myself turn to Mrs. Bridge.
She’s lying flat on her back in the center of the room, eyes wide open, a deep, ugly gash slashed across her neck. There’s so much blood, I already know there’s no point checking for a pulse. She’s gone.
“God…” My throat tightens, a thick lump rising. “What happened?”
Xavier blinks hard, like he’s still trying to make sense of it.
“I took a cab here,” he says, his voice unsteady. “I was walking up to the door, and then—I heard a scream. I tried to open it, and he—he was already running out—he knocked me down.”
He draws in a sharp breath, his hands twitching at his sides like he doesn’t know where to put them.
“Who was it?”
“A man. Wearing a mask. I didn’t see his face. I didn’t see anything.” He exhales, pressing his lips together like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart. “I wanted to go after him… But I knew I wouldn’t catch him. Not like this.”
