Page 178 of Detectives in Love
“Willand,” he says, and I freeze, watching him, my heart suddenly pounding. “Yes. Yes. Got it, thank you.” He puts the phone back in his pocket. “Nimoy’s gone. He’s not at work, he left early today. And not in his apartment.”
“He probably found out we’re on him,” Crowley says, thoughtful, then looks at Willand. “I’ll put an APB on his car, chief.”
“Thanks,” Willand says, and she leaves the room.
I sit there, my heart sunk, my brain buzzing with too much information it can’t wrap around. There is too much evidence, too many scattered details that are impossible to piece together. My thoughts are frantic, jumping from one clue to another, but to no avail. I’m not Xavier—I’m not good with the chaos and can’t connect everything as quickly as he does.
I mentally return to our morning argument by the pub, the way Xavier acted weird, the way he put the distance between us right after the conversation with Selena. We talked about Fred then—but was that just me jumping to conclusions? Could Xavier have already figured out Nimoy was behind it all? Had Xavier already connected Nimoy to Bridge’s murder—and just let me cling to the lie to protect me?
The moment the thought hits me—I know it’s true. Xavier must’ve gone to Nimoy right away. Was that why Nimoy left work early? To meet him?
I look at Willand, my hands shaking. I’m sure of it now—Xavier’s in real danger. I feel the blood drain from my face, light-headed all at once.
“Are you okay, Newt?” Willand asks, probably because I look like death. “Want some water?”
“You need to find Xavier,” I manage, my tongue heavy, like it doesn’t belong in my mouth. “I think he’s in danger.”
That’s all I get out before I have to gasp for air, a full-on panic attack crashing over me.
Thankfully, that’s enough for Willand—he just nods and pulls out his phone again to make a call. I sit there, my brain buzzing, burning, overheated. If I don’t do something—anything—right now, I’m going to pass out.
Think, Newt,I tell myself.
You’re a fucking detective.
THINK.
Where could they be? Where would Xavier and Nimoy meet? I have no idea. But I need to go.
I get up, and Willand—still holding the line—covers the mic with his hand. “Where are you going?” he asks, a trace of concern in his voice.
“I need to do something,” I say. “I can’t just sit here.”
He nods. “Alright. But wait—just a moment. There’s something I need to give you before you go.”
I want to run, but the urgency in his voice makes me pause. I blink, then nod.
“Okay. But please be quick.”
***
I rent a car at the corner by the police department—no taxi driver would agree to circle the same streets looking for God knows what. As I pull onto the road, my brain’s still a mess of scattered thoughts. I head toward Hickory Road—it’s the only place that comes to mind. My phone is propped on my knee, and I tap the screen every few minutes, just in case I missed a notification.
But before I even get close to Hickory, an image flashes in my mind: that alley where Bridge was killed. It’s the obvious place Xavier and Nimoy could meet—away fromThe Chronicle,away from their homes. Quiet. Secluded. No one would see them there. It’s just a random guess, but I’m already making a U-turn, my heart pounding like it knows I’m right, my intuition screaming at me for not thinking of it sooner.
Thankfully, despite the falling wet snow, the roads are empty, and it doesn’t take long to reach Bolton Gardens. By the time I get there, I’m sweating, my hands numb around the wheel, adrenaline pounding in my temples.
I leave the car parked on the street and take off toward the alley. Some part of me registers that I’m unarmed and have no idea what I’m walking into. But there’s no time to second-guess.
I have to find Xavier.
But the second I step into the alley, I see it’s empty. Am I too late? Or were they never here at all?
I move through it, pulse hammering in my throat, eyes scanning for anything—footprints, blood, any sign they were here.
But there’s nothing, just the same garbage bins, the same walls on both sides…
The earth tilts around me.
