CHAPTER 8. TANGLED
I wake to a blur of voices, all crashing through my skull like echoes from some half-formed dream. For a few disoriented seconds, they tangle with the fading images in my head—Willand standing in one of Rishetor’s labs, Xavier wrapped around Katie Fairfax…
I blink up at the ceiling, washed pale by soft light. Why am I on the living room couch instead of in my bed? Why does my body feel like lead? And more importantly—what’s with all the yelling?
Slowly, the fog clears, and I make out the source of the noise: Xavier and Willand, arguing by the front door.
“Xavier, this is my case. I told you to stay out of it,” Willand says, clearly pissed.
“Well, if you only noticed the missing documents last night, I’m guessing you haven’t been working too hard on it,” Xavier replies.
“You stole my files, went behind my back, and broke into a city crematorium in the middle of the night. Do you even hear yourself?”
“Oh, calm down. I’m this close to cracking the case. I just need one more visit to the Rishetor center, that’s all.”
“Not happening.”
“But—”
“No, Xavier. Step one foot in Rishetor and I’ll have you locked up until this case is closed. So do me a favor—take the damn day off, get some rest—”
“Take the day off?!”
“—or work on the Bridge case. But if I catch you near Rishetor again—”
“God, you’re such a killjoy, Willand…”
“I mean it, Xavier!”
The door slams with a bang. I push myself up on my elbows, voice still groggy. “What’s going on?”
“Willand found out about our little nighttime adventure,” Xavier mutters, turning toward me but not quite meeting my eyes. “And naturally, he’s blaming me for all of it.”
“Well, it was your idea,” I point out, sitting up on the couch. “What time is it?”
“Four p.m.”
“Four in the afternoon?!” I almost jump. I remember lying down on the couch just to scroll through my phone, planning to head to my room—but I must’ve completely blacked out. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
Xavier glances over, then quickly looks away. “Thought you could use the rest after yesterday,” he says, trying to sound casual. Then he adds, a little too fast, “Besides, we can’t go out anyway. The journalists are camped outside again.”
I frown. “Journalists? What the hell is it this time?”
Xavier grabs a newspaper off the table and tosses it onto my lap. “Second page.”
I sit up straighter, shrugging off the blanket (where did that even come from?), unfold the fresh copy of the Romford Recorder, and rub my eyes before reading.
“‘Partners-in-Crime Lives Up to the Name,’” I mutter. The headline’s paired with a photo of me and Xavier scuffling with that so-called journalist outside Rishetor. My stomach sinks as a sigh slips out. “Oh, perfect…”
“That’s not all.” Xavier drops onto the couch beside me with his laptop and reads out, “Midnight Crime Solvers: How Mr. X and His Partner Broke Into Hilton Crematorium…”
I blink at him. “You’ve got to be kidding. How did they even find out, let alone post it this fast?”
Xavier shrugs. “No idea. But this headline’s ridiculous.”
I snort. “Yeah, sounds like we’re some kind of married crime-fighting duo.”
It takes me a second to realize I actually said that out loud. I blush, instantly regretting it. Xavier gives me a long look, then raises an eyebrow with the faintest smirk.
He lets the silence hang, then says, “Our apartment’s bugged. I’m sure of it now.”
I frown. “By who? I thought it was just Ernest.”
“My nosy uncle included,” Xavier says loudly, like he’s addressing the ceiling.
Then quieter, “But he’s not the one leaking gossip.
For all his faults, Ernest, if you haven’t noticed, ‘cares’ deeply about my reputation.
” He grimaces, like it physically hurts to say it.
“I even called him. He swears he didn’t bug our bathroom. ”
“Our bathroom?” I squint at him. “What are you talking about?”
Xavier switches tabs and tilts the screen toward me. A headline jumps out: “Newt Doherty Injures Shoulder During Nocturnal Crematorium Escapade.”
My jaw drops. “What the hell?”
“Someone’s been listening,” Xavier says. “And it’s not Ernest.”
“Who the hell bugs a bathroom?” I mutter, dragging a hand through my hair, still reeling.
“No clue,” Xavier says. “But before we tear the place apart looking for bugs, I need to get back into Rishetor. There’s a theory I want to test.”
I cross my arms. “Didn’t Willand just tell you to drop the case?”
“To hell with Willand.” Xavier shuts his laptop and gets up from the couch. “I just need one last piece of evidence.”
“Want to share the theory?”
“Sure. But I need to confirm something first.”
“You’re the one who said there are journalists outside,” I remind him, raising a skeptical brow.
“We’ll figure something out,” Xavier says, thoughtful.
“I could probably talk Katie into letting us in one more time,” I offer, trying to sound casual.
Xavier’s expression tightens. “No,” he says suddenly, voice clipped.
I blink at him. “Wait—don’t you want to get into Rishetor?”
Xavier lets out a loud sigh. “I do. Just not through her.” He says the last word like it leaves a bad taste.
I watch him, confused. “Why not?”
“I don’t trust her,” he says with a shrug. “She’ll run straight to Willand.”
“She won’t,” I say, but Xavier clearly isn’t in the mood to listen—he turns and heads to the kitchen like that’s the end of the conversation.
I get up and follow. He drops into a chair at the table, his gaze dark, unreadable.
“Alright,” I say. “Forget Katie. How are you planning to get in, then?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Xavier mutters, shaking his head. “Forget about it.”
Okay. So now he doesn’t want to talk.
I watch him for a few seconds, trying to decide if it’s worth pushing. I decide it’s not, and head for the counter. The power’s back, I realize, so I start the coffee maker, toss some frozen pancakes into a pan, and set a few eggs to boil.
This whole time, I can feel Xavier watching me, as if he’s on the verge of saying something. I don’t push. Just give him space to brood.
When the pancakes are ready, I plate them, then take the eggs off the stove and run them under cold water. I glance up and catch Xavier looking again—this time, our eyes meet.
“Have you eaten anything?” I ask, pretending not to notice the mood. By now I’ve learned that’s the best way to get him out of it.
“No,” he says.
I drop a couple slices of bread into the toaster, fully aware the pancakes are just for me—Xavier can’t stand sweet breakfasts.
Not enough protein for the muscle guy. From the fridge, I grab cream cheese, avocados, and salmon.
It takes fifteen minutes to put together two proper plates, and the entire time Xavier just sits there, radiating quiet fury like I personally offended him.
When I set the plates and two mugs of coffee on the table, I sit down and shoot him a quick glance.
“So,” I say, “what’s the plan? We’ve got the Rishetor case—and whatever theory you’re still keeping to yourself—and then there’s the Bridge case we haven’t even touched. So I was thinking, if we go to Rishetor today—”
“We’re not going anywhere,” Xavier cuts in, stabbing his egg like it personally offended him.
“Okay,” I say, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice. “But didn’t you want—”
“I changed my mind.”
I nod, letting it drop. Fine—if he’s mad at me for some reason, I’ll let it go. Just this once. We went through enough shit yesterday.
I eat my pancakes in silence, sip my coffee. A few long minutes pass.
“What about the Bridge case?” I ask eventually.
“I’m not in the mood,” Xavier says, quieter now—and I’m honestly surprised he admits it.
“Got it,” I say, not quite able to keep the sting out of my voice. “Then you stay in and chill. I’ve got some errands anyway, so I’ll leave you to—”
“No.” Xavier sets his fork down and looks at me.
Our eyes meet.
“Why not?” I ask, keeping my voice even as I take another sip of coffee.
“Because I need you.” Xavier pauses, then adds quickly, “Here. I need you here.” I swear his cheeks go a little pink. He takes a sip of his coffee, clearly trying to end the conversation.
“You need me here for what?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“For…things.”
I sigh, completely lost. “What’s going on, Xavier?” I try to keep my tone neutral. Neither of us is great at this kind of talk, but his sudden mood swings the past couple days have been…a lot.
“What’s going on?” he echoes flatly.
“You’re acting weird around me. Weirder than usual.”
“Nothing’s going on,” he says, sharper now, arms crossing over his chest.
“Is this about Katie?” The words are out before I can stop them—and I immediately regret it. It sounds like we’re a couple or something, like I’m asking if he’s jealous of my friend, and the thought alone sends heat crawling up my neck.
Xavier’s eyes narrow. He hesitates—just for a second—then says, “No.”
“Okay. Then what is it?”
“Nothing,” he says, though it’s obvious that’s not true. “Let’s just eat. Then we’ll check the apartment for bugs.” He drains the rest of his coffee like he’s done talking.
We eat in silence after that, both of us cooling off. Xavier scrolls through something on his phone, throwing the occasional glance my way like he’s waiting for me to finish eating. When I do, he gets up and does the dishes without a word. Then he turns to me.
“Are you ready?” he asks, voice softer now, almost apologetic.
“Yeah,” I say, matching his tone, willing to let it go. “Where do we start?”
“Your bedroom,” he says.
And I hope that’s just because we’re going top to bottom, not because he actually thinks it might be bugged.
We head upstairs. Xavier steps into the middle of the room, scans it like he’s assessing a crime scene, then plants his hands on his hips.
“Let’s start with the wardrobe and the bed. I’ll take the bed.”
“Fine. I’ll take the wardrobe,” I say, though something about him going through my bed feels…off.
“Be thorough,” Xavier says, giving me a pointed look. “Check every corner.”
I nod. “Okay.”
We search in silence for a while.