Page 64 of Detectives in Love
He turns to face me, leaning back a little. “I just like the way it makes me feel.”
He holds my gaze, steady. The moment stretches, just long enough to set my heart racing. My cheeks heat up. My pulse picks up. And for one stupid, breathless second, I’m sure—he’s not just talking about the book. He’s talking about me.
“Right,” I say quickly, tearing my eyes away. I clear my throat, trying to get my thoughts back in line. “So, Ernest said your mom wants to see you? Why don’t you want to go?”
Xavier scoffs. “She doesn’t. He made that up. She was never all that interested in me—doubt that’s changed now.”
“Maybe because of your father?” I suggest.
Xavier pauses, like the idea hadn’t even crossed his mind. “Maybe.”
“You ever think about taking a day off?”
He lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. “You too, Judas? First Willand, then Ernest, now you…”
“Just saying,” I shrug. “Might do you some good.”
“Not in the middle of an investigation. And wasn’t that exactly what we did yesterday? Wasted an entire day—”
“Right, because food, movies, and sleep are such terrible things,” I deadpan, a little stung.
Xavier glances at me, almost apologetic. “Okay, that part was nice. Would’ve been better, though, if my very rich and very powerful uncle hadn’t dropped in uninvited…”
I clear my throat. “What time did you even get up?”
“Half past eight.”
“I didn’t hear you,” I say, though I don’t even know why that matters.
“Didn’t want to wake you.”
“Oh. Okay.” My cheeks warm again. “Did you manage to sleep at all?”
He nods. “Yeah.” Then, after a pause—softer now, “Not sure if it was the alcohol or just having you there, but…I think it’s the first time in ages I actually relaxed enough to sleep through the night.”
Something tightens in my chest, but I keep my voice steady. “That’s…good.”
Neither of us says anything for a while. The car hums beneath us, the city sliding past in a blur of pale morning light and snow-damp streets.
The cab pulls up in Fulton, stopping at Bolton Gardens. We get out and turn into a narrow alley bordered by high stone walls.
Xavier pulls a few photos from the case file and hands me the folder, using the prints like a map as he steps toward a row of garbage bins along the left wall.
He frowns. “The body was found here.”
I glance around. “No cameras. This place is basically made for a murder.”
“According to the report, Bridge took this route home every evening,” Xavier says, scanning the alley. “And he was robbed here too.”
I flip through the file. “Doesn’t sound like a coincidence. Same alley, just a week apart? Pretty unlikely.”
“Willand thinks so too.”
“But you don’t?”
Xavier shakes his head. “It doesn’t add up.”
“Actually, it kind of does,” I say, skimming the report again. “First time, someone jumped him from behind. They fought, Bridge lost his wallet, didn’t get a good look at the guy. He was caught on a camera over on Bramham, but they couldn’t ID him or track him down.”
