Page 118 of Detectives in Love

“If it happened earlier, the tabloids would’ve had a field day with that argument we had at Federico’s. And that was the day before you met Fred.”

“Maybe,” I say, not quite ready to admit he has a point.

“That night’s when they started tailing us,” Xavier goes on. “You saw the paper—there were photos, but nothing about the argument. And the only new variable in those twenty-four hours was Fred Collins.”

“Wait.” I blink, still lost. “None of what they wrote was even true. So why are you so sure the bug couldn’t have been planted later?”

Xavier shoots me a look but doesn’t answer.

I sigh. “Look, I get that you don’t like Fred, but that doesn’t mean he’s behind everything.”

“The bug showed up the same night you came home drunk. It couldn’t have happened after that.”

“It could’ve.”

“It couldn’t.”

“What makes you so sure?!”

“Because something from that night did make it into the paper,” Xavier snaps—and his already flushed face darkens another shade.

My chest tightens. I blink at him, thrown. “What?”

He swallows, gaze locked on the window.

“Xavier?..”

Silence. He looks almost angry.

“Xavier…” Unease crawls up my spine. “What made it into the paper?”

“Forget it,” he says quietly.

“Tell me.”

“Let’s not,” he mutters, and then, colder, “I don’t feel well enough for this.” He shuts his eyes. Conversation over.

So I sit there, turning it over in my head, trying to remember everything they wrote about us—every headline, every rumor. Anything that might’ve slipped through. But I’ve got nothing. No clue. And the longer I sit there, buzzing with anxiety, the more nauseous I start to feel.

Not knowing is the worst part.

We ride the rest of the way in silence. When the cab pulls up in front of SCPD, I get out, shut the polished black door behind me, and glance around for Xavier. In the morning light, he looks even more flushed than before, his features slack with exhaustion.

“How are you feeling?” I ask as we head up the steps toward the entrance.

Xavier pulls his coat tighter, shivering.

“Fine,” he says without meeting my eyes.

He’s not. I know he’s not. But I let it go.

My mind’s still stuck on the conversation we didn’t finish in the car, the weight of it lodged somewhere in my chest—but now’s not the time. Not when Xavier looks like he’s one step from collapsing.

We don’t speak as we walk into the building, pass through security, collect our visitor passes, and step into the elevator. The silver doors slide shut behind us, sealing us in.

The air feels dense—thick with everything that happened this morning, and everything we didn’t say.

Xavier stands beside me, motionless. But not relaxed. His shoulders are too stiff, his jaw too tight. I hate when he goes quiet like this.