Page 25 of Detectives in Love
Xavier doesn’t respond, so I nod. “Thank you.”
As we make our way back through the hall toward the elevators, I turn to Katie again. “Does the center use any equipment that runs on gasoline?”
“Not that I know of,” she says with a shrug. “But I’m not really an expert on that.”
“What kind of research is conducted at the center?” Xavier cuts in.
“It’s mostly medical research,” Katie says.
“Mostly?” Xavier presses.
Katie exhales, her patience thinning. “Mr. Ormond, a lot of what you’re asking is confidential. I’m sure you understand I can’t discuss it.”
“Of course, I understand,” Xavier says, his tone making it clear he couldn’t care less.
“You really should be talking to Mr. Rishetor about this.”
“Yes, shame he decided to take a vacation.”
Katie doesn’t respond, and the conversation fades as we step into the elevator. The ride down is quiet; Xavier scrolls through his phone while I make small talk with Katie just to fill the silence.
The doors slide open into the lobby, and we head straight for the exit. The moment we step outside, voices carry from beyond the gates, sharp against the still air.
Katie frowns. “Those journalists again.”
I follow her gaze and spot a crowd gathered behind the gates. Among them, a flash of bright magenta catches my eye—the same journalist from this morning, lingering just outside the police station. Xavier and I exchange a glance.
“I’d better go before they start pestering us with their ridiculous questions again,” Katie says apologetically, not realizing Wakefield’s death probably isn’t why they’re here. “It was good to see you, Newt. We should catch up sometime.”
“I’d love to,” I say with a small smile, and we hug.
“It was nice to meet you, Mr. Ormond,” Katie says as she lets go of me and turns to Xavier.
He just nods, suddenly quiet and brooding.
Katie heads back inside, and I watch her disappear before glancing at him. He’s staring off into the distance, jaw tight, eyes unfocused.
“Selena Hast, right? That was the journalist’s name?” I nod toward the gates.
No answer.
“I’ll call a cab,” I say, pulling out my phone.
Still nothing. As I order the taxi, Xavier just stands there, lost in thought. Then, without a word, he turns and starts down the path.
I sigh and follow. “So, what do you make of Wakefield’s death?” I ask, trying to get him to talk. His mood swings today are getting to me. He’s not himself—I can feel the wall between us every time we’re alone.
“Nothing yet,” Xavier says, his eyes fixed straight ahead.
For a while, the only sound between us is the crunch of snow under our boots. We’re just ten feet away from the gates when I slow and glance at him.
“Xavier, are you okay?”
He takes a few more steps before finally turning to me. The look he gives me is sharp, like he’s daring me to push further.
“Xavier?” I try again, reaching out, my fingers just brushing his elbow.
He pulls away like I burned him.
