Page 28 of Detectives in Love
“Uh, fine, thanks,” I mumble, clearing my throat. My eyes find my sister. “Monica? What are you doing here?”
She smiles, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. “I was in the neighborhood, thought I’d finally drop by. Didn’t expect to find you knocked out on arrival.”
“Yeah,” I reply flatly, still trying to wrap my head around this unexpected gathering.
An awkward beat follows as all three of them keep watching me. I glance at each of them in turn.
“And…uh, where’s Xavier?”
“Upstairs, I think,” Mrs. Waverly says, lowering her voice a little. “Seems to be in a bit of a mood.”
“I might have something to do with that,” Ernest admits, rising from his chair. “A word, Newton?”
I clear my throat. “Mind if I put some pants on first?”
Ernest doesn’t even blink. “Your state of undress doesn’t bother me in the slightest,” he says dryly. “Shall we?”
Monica and Mrs. Waverly watch as I follow him into the kitchen.
“What’s going on?” I ask the second we’re alone, skipping the pleasantries.
Ernest doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he picks up a jar of canned peaches from the counter, turning it over in his hands like it’s suddenly the most interesting thing in the room. He looks completely at ease, like I’m the one who dragged him in here for a talk.
After a slow glance around the kitchen, he brushes a speck of dust off his gray checkered sleeve and clears his throat.
“Since my nephew refuses to speak with me, I’ll ask you instead, Mr. Doherty: drop the Rishetor case.”
“Drop it?” My grip tightens on the back of the chair. “How do you even know about that case?”
“You know business isn’t my only interest,” Ernest says evenly. “I have eyes in many places.”
“Yeah, I know you have ties to all the rich and powerful,” I say, letting the sarcasm slip. Xavier mentioned it over that first dinner we had—the one that almost felt like a date. Back then, I thought he was trying to impress me. Now I know it’s the last thing he wants to be associated with. “Is Mr. Rishetor your friend or something?”
Ernest smiles, but there’s no humor behind it. “Of course not.”
He’s handsome, elegant—Xavier takes after him—but without the easy charm Xavier carries so effortlessly. His eyes, though, have that same distance, like whatever he’s really thinking is locked behind a vault door.
“I know exactly what Rishetor’s capable of,” Ernest says evenly. “He’s not a man you want as an enemy. Trust me.”
I match his smile. “I see.”
“Stay out of it, please. You’ve got enough on your plate as it is. And ask Xavier to do the same.”
I scoff. “You know that’s pointless. Telling him not to do something only makes him dig in harder.”
“I know. But he’s more likely to listen to you than to me.”
I smirk. “I wouldn’t count on it.”
“Well, it’s hard not to notice how…attached he is to you.”
I don’t respond, but my pulse spikes. The thought of Ernest seeing me as someone Xavier might care about does things to my ego I’d rather not admit.
“I can’t do anything about the Rishetor case,” I say, not bothering to sound apologetic. “Was that what you wanted to tell me this afternoon?”
“Ah, no.” Ernest studies me for a long moment, like he’s deciding how much to reveal. For a second, I almost think he’s embarrassed—but Ernest Ormond doesn’t do embarrassed.
“I’m listening.”
