Page 140 of Detectives in Love
He glances at Crowley. “We need to get them out of here. Take them to my car?”
“Yeah,” she says, stepping closer.
“Hello there,” she says, crouching down a little. “I’m Officer Crowley. Want to come see my cool police car?”
She reaches for Colin first, scooping him up easily. He curls against her without a sound.
When she reaches for Jamie, though, he tightens his grip on my hand, refusing to let go.
Crowley hesitates, looking to me.
“It’s okay,” I say quietly, giving Jamie’s hand a squeeze. “Don’t be scared.”
Jamie stares up at me, wide-eyed, trembling.
“She’s a police officer,” I say, nodding at the badge on Crowley’s chest. “She’s here to help.”
“Okay,” Jamie says, but he doesn’t let go of my hand right away. He looks at Crowley for a beat, then loosens his grip just enough for me to pass his hand into hers. She gives me an unreadable look, then leads the boys toward the car. But as they go, Jamie keeps glancing back at me over his shoulder.
My chest aches, knowing these kids lost both their parents in a week. God knows what’ll happen to them now. I just hope they have family left who can take them in.
“Where’s Xavier?” Willand asks, pulling me back to the moment.
I nod toward the house. “Inside.”
“Let’s go,” Willand says, motioning for the officers and the CSI team to follow. I fall in with them—I don’t want Xavier to face this alone.
When we step into the living room, I find him right away—standing where I left him, stiff and pale, his arms still awkwardly held away from his sides. He looks up when the room fills with people but doesn’t move, just stands there like he’s part of the crime scene now, not a person anymore—just another piece of evidence.
The cops and the CSI team move through the room, photographing, tagging evidence, scribbling notes.
Willand crosses to Xavier, his eyes catching on the blood soaking Xavier’s shirt.
“Are you hurt?” he asks, voice tight.
“No,” Xavier says, jaw set, his gaze locking on Willand for a beat—then flicking to me.
Willand follows his glance but looks past me, at Mrs. Bridge’s body, his face hardening.
“Tell me what happened,” he says, turning back to Xavier. “From the start.”
Xavier reluctantly tears his gaze from mine and starts telling the story from the beginning—the same way he told it to me, only now calm, almost detached, recounting the events in order.
Willand asks questions, and I listen without really hearing, my eyes drifting over the cops and CSI techs as they work the scene.
After a while, Willand moves off to talk to Gordon and the others, and two CSI techs come over to photograph Xavier’s clothes. I watch as they snap pictures from different angles, giving him quiet instructions—hold his arms out, turn this way, that way.
Xavier follows them without a word, and I just stand there, trying to give him whatever silent support I can.
When they’re done taking photos, they ask Xavier to take off his coat and shirt. He does, stripping down to his bare torso.
There’s blood smeared across his abs, but I still find myself staring. He hasn’t even been to the gym this week, and somehow he still looks unfairly good. I try not to ogle.
I know—it’s the worst possible time for this. But try telling that to my suddenly very awake libido.
The CSI techs bag up his clothes and tell him he can grab a blanket from the ambulance if he needs it. The paramedics arealready here too, standing off to the side, waiting for the CSI team to swab Xavier’s hands before stepping in.
“Are you alright, sir?” the blonde one asks, eyeing the blood on his stomach.
