Page 106 of Detectives in Love

“Alright,” I say. “We’ll come in later today, okay?”

“I’ll be waiting,” Willand says, then hangs up.

I turn to Xavier. “Did you hear that? Rishetor is pressing charges against you.”

A muffled grunt comes from under the comforter before his face appears. “I don’t care,” he says, his hand still resting around my waist.

I sigh and sit up. “Well, you should—unless you want to get arrested. Willand’s waiting for us at the station.”

Xavier looks up at me, tired and pale, except for the feverish flush on his cheeks. “I’m not feeling well,” he mutters, and this time, I can tell he means it.

I frown. “Tell me what hurts.”

He exhales. “Head. Eyes. Everything, kind of. I’m freezing but sweating, and it feels like the room keeps tilting.”

“Can you sit up?”

He lets go of me, pushes himself onto his elbows, and leans back against the headboard with a wince.

I take his chin and tilt his face up. “Open your mouth.”

He blinks at me, then does it.

“Say ah.”

“Ah.”

“No—say aaah.”

“Aah.”

“Wider. I need to see your throat.”

“Aaah—uck off,” he mutters, mouth still open. Then coughs.

“Throat’s red,” I say, letting go of his chin. I reach for the nightstand, grab the first aid kit, and pull out the black leather case. Unzipping it, I take out the stethoscope. “Lift your shirt.”

Xavier gives me a look. “Why?”

“It’s a stethoscope,” I say. “I need to hear your lungs.”

“I know what it is,” he snaps, yanking his shirt up, clearly annoyed.

As I fit the earpieces in, I catch him staring—not at my face, but my neck. The moment he realizes I’ve noticed, he looks away.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he says quickly.

I press the stethoscope to his chest. The cold makes him flinch, muscles tightening under my fingers.

“Breathe in,” I say. “As deep as you can.”

He inhales, but it’s shallow. I wait, listening. “Deeper.”

He tries again, jaw tight. It still comes out uneven.

“Come on, give me a full one,” I say, shifting the stethoscope slightly. “From the bottom.”