Page 50 of Detectives in Love
He points. “Under your graduation cap.”
And there it is—a small cylindrical device tucked beneath the faded fabric, its convex glass eye gleaming faintly in the light.
Xavier lifts the cap and picks up the camera. It’s small, with a wire trailing from its end into a narrow hole in the wall. He gives it a firm tug, and the whole thing comes loose with a faint pop. Then he snaps the camera clean in half, like breaking a pencil.
“Oh God,” I breathe, staring at the broken pieces in his hand. “So I’ve been watched this whole time? By who?”
“Ernest, almost definitely,” Xavier says, a flicker of irritation in his voice. “If it were our mystery journalist, trust me—we’d know.”
I frown. “How?”
“There’d be photos, Newt,” he says, already moving on, eyes sweeping the room. “Check the lamp.”
I reach for the bedside lamp on the left, unscrew the bulb, and peer inside. Nothing looks off. With a quiet sigh, I screw it back in. Xavier steps up beside me.
“The lamp’s cord is split,” Xavier says, crouching to point at it. “See that? The gray wire running alongside it? That’s not part of the lamp.”
I stare at it. “That’s a bug?”
He nods. “Yeah. Probably an audio line. They tucked it in next to the power cord to hide it.”
He follows the wire down to the socket, peels the tape away, and pulls the wire loose.
I let out a shaky breath. “Is this Ernest again?”
“No doubt.” Xavier leans against my desk. “Bugging your room this thoroughly takes time—and the kind of confidence that comes with money and zero shame. He probably had a crew install it while we were out.”
“Great,” I mutter, wondering how many times I’ve probably jerked off for Ernest’s entertainment. Honestly, I don’t want to know.
I go back to searching—table, windows, armchair. I even run my fingers along the baseboards, checking for anything loose or out of place. Nothing.
After half an hour of tearing the room apart, it’s clear there’s nothing else.
I sit on the edge of my bed, already tired, and knowing we still have the rest of the apartment to get through.
“What made you think our secret admirer planted something in here, anyway?” I glance at Xavier. “Maybe this room was never bugged.”
He frowns, eyes distant. “It doesn’t make sense.”
That’s all he says.
The next hour passes in near silence as we sweep the living room and kitchen. We find a camera and an audio device in each—Xavier’s convinced they’re Ernest’s work.
His bedroom turns up more of the same. Beyond that, the apartment is clean. Nothing else.
“Just the bathroom left,” I say, dropping onto Xavier’s bed. I’m seriously wiped.
“There has to be something,” Xavier mutters, still pacing, clearly convinced we missed something.
I stretch, rolling out the tension in my neck and shoulders. My body’s still sore from yesterday’s fall. Then—
“Shit,” I hiss, grabbing my side as a sharp pain stabs through my lower left abdomen. I double over, breath catching. It fades as fast as it hit, but a dull sting lingers.
“Let me see.”
I look up. Xavier’s already in front of me, face tight with concern. His familiar scent wraps around me—clean, with a hint of citrus and soap—and my chest tightens.
“Can you stand?” he asks, holding out a hand.
