Page 11 of Detectives in Love

Xavier’s pale under the swirling snow and flashing lights, his eyes unfocused, almost dazed. He looks…not like himself, and for a split second, I wonder if he’s about to pass out. Before I can say anything, a journalist in a glaring magenta coat shoves herself between us, cutting me off.

“Xavier Ormond!” she gushes, her voice syrupy, like she’s narrating a tacky infomercial. “With all the attention on you, how do you even find time to be happy?”

Beside her, a bald guy with a shoulder-mounted camera angles for a close-up of Xavier’s face.

Xavier blinks, focus snapping back, his jaw tightening.

“That’s none of your business,” he says, his voice even, expression cold.

The journalist’s eyes light up, thrilled he’s engaging. “Selena Hast,Romford Recorder,” she gushes. “What can youtell us about your relationship with Mr. Doherty? Did he say it back? Is it just sex, or are there real feelings involved?”

Xavier goes rigid, whatever color was left in his face vanishing completely.

Alright. I’ve had enough.

Without thinking, I shove her aside, clearing a path for Xavier without ceremony.

“Move,” I snap, forcing us forward through the crush of shouting journalists and flashing cameras toward Fred Collins’ car.

The white Bentley Continental feels like a lifeline in the chaos. I get Xavier in first, then climb in after him and pull the door shut.

Relief washes over me as the locks click shut, sealing us off from the frenzy outside. The car pulls away, flashing lights and shouting voices shrinking in the rearview.

“You okay?” I ask, turning to Xavier.

Snowflakes cling to his dark hair and lashes, melting into tiny beads of water. He nods but doesn’t meet my eyes, his gaze skimming past me, uneasy.

“What a circus!” Fred says from the driver’s seat, flashing a wide grin as he glances back. “Now that’s what I call fame.”

He pushes a few damp ginger strands off his forehead, still amused.

“Thanks for the rescue,” I say, though I don’t share his enthusiasm. “Can you take us to Hickory Road?” I pull ahandkerchief from my pocket and wipe the melting snow off my face.

“No sweat, buddy,” Fred says, his grin widening. “Funny thing—I was already at SCPD working on a piece about a case Chief Tall’s handling. I’m heading to my car, and suddenly there’s this swarm of journalists out front. Figured I’d check it out. Turns out, they’re all camped out for my pal Newty!”

He chuckles to himself, clearly entertained.

I slump lower in the seat and mutter, “Yeah.”

Beside me, Xavier hasn’t said a word. His silence feels heavier by the second. My stomach knots, tension crawling up my spine. I want to ask what he’s thinking, but I’m not sure I want the answer. I exhale slowly, trying to steady myself, but my pulse is still stuck in my throat.

Fred’s eyes catch mine in the rearview, his grin turning sly. “Aren’t you gonna introduce us?” he teases.

“Oh—right. Sorry.” I gesture between them, suddenly aware of how awkward this feels. “Xavier, this is Fred Collins. We went to high school together. Fred, this is Xavier Ormond…” I pause, hesitating over what to call him. “My partner at the agency. I mentioned him yesterday.”

Fred stops at a red light and twists in his seat to offer Xavier a handshake. “Nice to meet you.”

Xavier doesn’t respond right away. For a moment, it’s like he didn’t hear him. His face gives nothing away, but I know that look—he’s running calculations in his head, probably a dozen at once.

“Xavier,” I murmur, nudging his arm.

He blinks, as if snapping out of it, then finally shakes Fred’s hand—though the tension in his grip makes it clear he’s annoyed.

Fred, thankfully, doesn’t seem to notice and turns back to the wheel.

“Sorry we had to meet like this,” he says, shooting a quick glance at us in the rearview. “Journalists can be scavengers sometimes.”

“You’re one of them,” Xavier says, his voice edged with accusation.