Page 6 of Detectives in Love
“Newt.”
Xavier’s voice jolts me back to the present, and I spin around to find him standing just a few feet away. How the hell does he always move so silently?
I exhale sharply. “For fuck’s sake, Xavier, don’t sneak up on me like that!” At least he’s wearing a robe now, draped over his bare chest, with black pants peeking out underneath.
“Sorry. I knocked. You didn’t answer.”
“What do you want?” I ask, trying to steady my breathing and realizing I might’ve overreacted.
It’s only when his gaze drops to my chest that I notice—he’s staring at my scars.
Xavier’s only seen them once before, back at the Carver’s den—when the cuts were fresh. Now they’re pale—long streaks of scar tissue cutting across my torso. Trauma carved into my skin.
I clear my throat, trying to draw his attention away. “You wanted something?”
He looks up, his face as unreadable as ever. “Willand called. He wants to meet in half an hour.”
And just like that, he turns and walks out, the door clicking shut behind him.
CHAPTER 2. RUMORS
For a few moments, I just stand there, staring at the closed door as my thoughts swirl. Then I shake it off, get dressed, and grab the satin belt from the bed.
When I step into the living room, Xavier is standing in front of the mirror, buttoning up one of his crisp white shirts. Once again, he’s treating our shared space like his personal dressing room—but, as usual, I let it slide.
My gaze dips—unintentionally, of course—to his chest in the reflection. Tanned, sculpted, annoyingly perfect. I snap my eyes back up before he can catch me staring.
“What did Willand want?” I ask. “Was it about the Rishetor case?”
“No,” Xavier says, fastening the cuff of his sleeve. “He’s still refusing to admit they’ve hit a dead end with Rishetor. But he said he’ll explain everything when we get there.”
“Right.” I nod, my thoughts drifting to Gordon and Crowley—two officers from Shorewitch PD who work under Willand. Smug, insufferable, always looking for a chance to take shots at Xavier. We’re going to see them today, and I’m already dreading it. They’ll probably find the article inThe Weekend Heraldhilarious, and there’s no way they’ll keep quiet about it. God, I hope they haven’t seen it.
Xavier’s gaze meets mine in the mirror, then drops to the black satin belt in my hands. There’s the faintest flicker of surprise before his expression settles.
“Oh, is this yours?” I ask, lifting one end.
He doesn’t answer, but his eyes darken, the chill in them almost palpable.
“I won’t even ask what it was doing under my bed,” I say with a snort, tossing the belt onto the couch.
Xavier watches me for a moment longer, his face blank. Then, without a word, he turns, grabs his coat, and strides out, disappearing down the stairs.
***
The drive to SCPD is heavy with silence, both of us staring out our own windows, lost in thought.
Normally, I’d be the one to steer us back to normal after a fight. I bounce back quickly—forget, move on. And since Xavier actually tried to apologize today for what happened in Little Italy, even if it was in his usual roundabout way, I’d normally have started talking by now, smoothing things over like always.
But today, I let the silence stretch. The longer we go without speaking, the better. If we slip back into our usual rhythm, Xavier will hear the awkwardness in my voice—and somehow, he’ll know about the article inThe Weekend Herald. Better to hold it off for as long as I can.
When the cab pulls up in front of the towering glass building at 8-10 Hamilton Road, Xavier steps out without a word and heads straight for the main entrance. Above the doors, a polished shield spins lazily above its pole, gleaming in the morning light:Shorewitch Central Police Department.
I thank the driver and follow, catching up with Xavier at the metal detectors. We pass through one after the other, then head to the reception desk to collect our badges.
As we head for the elevators, I catch a few curious glances from officers in the corridor. Are they looking because we’re us—two of the most well-known detectives in the country? Or has everyone already readThe Weekend Herald?
The thought twists in my stomach.
