Page 82 of Detectives in Love
His face is completely serious. “We know the tracker’s on you. Shouldn’t be too hard to find. Now strip.”
I cough, my face heating. His tone sends a shiver down my spine—commanding, matter-of-fact. I hate how flustered it makes me. I stall, setting my cup down.
“What—are you shy?” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice, one brow lifting. “Come on, I’ve already seen you naked.”
“Shut up,” I mutter, pushing to my feet. “Stop reminding me.”
“I’m just saying,” he says, catching my eye, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.”
I roll my eyes and start unbuttoning my cuffs, deliberately slow. Xavier watches, clearly impatient, shifting on his feet. I undo one cuff, then start on the second.
“Oh my god, come here,” he sighs, stepping in. His fingers go straight for my collar.
I freeze, staring as he makes short work of the buttons. In one smooth motion, he pulls the shirt off my shoulders and starts inspecting the collar.
Then he suddenly lets out a soft gasp, flings my shirt aside, and mutters, “God, we’re idiots,” as his hands move to my belt.
His fingers brush just under my navel, and I tense, a pulse of heat shooting through me.
I grab his hands without thinking.
Our eyes meet—and something shifts. His gaze flicks down to my chest, then lower, trailing over my stomach like he’s seeing it for the first time. It’s not just the contact. He’s distracted too. He snaps his gaze back to mine, like he’s hoping I didn’t catch him staring.
Neither of us moves. The space between us hums, our breathing out of sync.
My face heats up. After a beat, I let go of him, feeling stupid for making it a bigger deal than it is.
“It’s in your belt,” Xavier murmurs, not quite meeting my eyes. “May I?”
I nod.
He unbuckles it and slides it free from the loops in one smooth motion.
I try to play it cool, but it’s pointless. While I stand there trying to collect myself, Xavier turns the belt over in his hands, checking every inch.
Then he narrows his eyes, his fingers tightening around something. He plucks a tiny object from the side of the belt—it looks like a metal ball-head pin at first, but when he opens his palm to show me, I realize it’s not just a pin. It’s a device.
“What the hell?” I breathe, my chest tightening.
“It’s an audio bug with a tracker,” Xavier says. “I’ve seen these before. They’re small, but they pick up sound clearly, even with background noise.”
“Someone…bugged me?” I say, my brain still trying to catch up.
“Yeah.” Xavier’s expression is unreadable. “Any idea who could’ve planted it?”
I shake my head, stunned. “I wear that belt almost every day. It’s my only one.”
Xavier hums but doesn’t press. He crosses to the window, cracks it open, and tosses out both the bug and the tracker.
Then he turns and casually dusts off his hands, like that’s the end of it.
“That should do it.”
I nod, still reeling. The idea that someone managed to bug me without me noticing makes my skin crawl.
Suddenly, the kitchen light flickers on, bathing the room in warm yellow. Mr. Waverly must’ve reset the fuses.
“Finally,” I say.
