Page 159 of Detectives in Love
He nods. I narrow my eyes.
“Why?”
He shrugs. “I want to know who started this campaign against us.”
I frown. “Xavier, you do realize she’s going to want something in return, right? She’s probably been fantasizing about landing an exclusive with Mr. X.”
He just looks at me—blank, unreadable—but I can see the wheels turning. It takes him a full thirty seconds to respond.
“Something about the Bridge case doesn’t add up.”
I blink, trying to catch up with the pivot.
“What do you mean?”
He doesn’t answer right away—just stares past me, deep in thought. I watch him, seeing that sharpness creep back into his eyes after days of haze.
Finally, he says, “The street cameras didn’t catch the killer.”
“Right,” I nod, setting my fork down. “Just that old couple walking by.”
“And Bridge himself,” Xavier adds. “But not the killer. So where the hell was he?”
The room goes quiet. Xavier keeps watching me—and then his eyes narrow, like he’s really seeing me again.
“I don’t know,” I say, biting my lip. “You don’t think it was the old couple, do you?”
His gaze flicks to my mouth for a second, then back to my eyes—fast, like he knows I noticed.
“No,” he says, flat.
“Maybe the killer got there early? Waited in the alley all day?” I offer, even though it sounds dumb the second I say it.
“Unlikely,” Xavier says, shaking his head. “They kept tabs on everyone passing through. Someone would’ve flagged it.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” I sigh.
We sit with that. I pick up my fork and start eating again—my brain doesn’t work right when I’m hungry.
Xavier keeps watching me. And maybe I’m imagining it—but I swear there’s the faintest flicker of approval in his eyes.
“Why do you even want to talk to Selena Hast?” I ask, circling back. “She could be bluffing about having anything useful. You can’t trust her. She probably just wants to twist your words and write some trashy piece about us for clicks.”
Xavier’s gaze darkens a little, like the thought alone is offensive.
“Don’t worry,” he says after a beat. “I’m not going to say anything that might embarrass you.”
I blink—thrown for a second by the trace of hurt in his voice. “I’m not worried,” I say, more firmly this time. “I just don’t want her messing with you.”
“I’ll be fine,” Xavier says, his gaze still resting on me. “Do you have her number?”
“Yeah,” I nod. “I’ll call her.”
We finish breakfast in silence. Xavier scrolls through his phone, which buzzes now and then—each time earning a small frown. Once I’ve eaten and taken my pills, I get up, find my phone, and dig out Selena Hast’s business card.
Back in the kitchen, I dial her number.
As expected, she picks up on the first ring. When I mention meeting, she sounds genuinely pleased and says she’s free in two hours. Then she gives me the address of a pub on Jermyn Street—Abracadabra—where, according to her, we’ll be able to “talk freely.”
