CHAPTER 12. OXYGEN #8
“What are you talking about?” Rishetor snaps—but there’s a flicker in his eyes that says he already knows.
“You lied about how he died,” Xavier says, sounding more annoyed than anything.
Katie finally looks at him, skipping right over me. Her expression doesn’t shift—still that paper-thin mask of disdain.
“Henry Wakefield’s death was an accident, Mr. Ormond. And unless you have admissible evidence to the contrary, I’d suggest you keep quiet.”
Xavier shrugs. “Sure. Maybe you didn’t kill him—but you hid the real cause of death. Which, in case you forgot, is still a crime.” Then, before anyone can cut him off: “And let’s be real—he probably wouldn’t have died if he hadn’t been working overnight on your little secret project.”
That hits. Rishetor turns sharply to Willand, face flushed with anger.
“Are you really going to let him say this, Chief?”
Willand doesn’t flinch. “I have to be neutral here, Mr. Rishetor. But if the police were kept in the dark about what actually happened…” He lets the rest hang in the air.
Rishetor doesn’t respond—just grits his teeth and looks away.
Willand turns to Xavier. “What secret project?”
Xavier raises his brows and shoots Rishetor a look. “Want to say it yourself, or should I?”
When Rishetor stays silent, Xavier just says it. “You’re storing viruses, bacteria, and other biological agents at cryogenic temperatures. For private pharmaceutical and military clients.”
The room goes still.
I try to look like I already knew that—but truthfully, it takes conscious effort not to let my eyebrows shoot up.
In my defense, I was a little distracted by Xavier being sick.
And, let’s be honest, by Xavier being half-naked and moaning under my hands—not exactly the ideal moment for a debrief.
So no, I didn’t get around to asking what he’d found.
Real stellar detective work on my part, I know.
“Biological agents?” Willand repeats, clearly thrown. “At Rishetor?”
“These are baseless accusations,” Rishetor scoffs—but there’s a flicker of panic behind the bluster. “It’s absurd.”
“Well, I certainly hope so, Mr. Rishetor,” Willand replies coolly. “Because I’m sure you’re aware that kind of work is strictly prohibited in densely populated areas.”
“Of course,” Rishetor snaps. “All of that is complete nonsense. And I demand this man’s immediate arrest.”
“On what grounds, exactly?” I cut in, folding my arms. “Can you even prove Mr. Ormond was there?”
“We have security footage,” Katie says, shooting me a daring glance—only to realize, a second too late, what she’s just admitted.
Rishetor turns to her with a look that could cut glass.
If the police get their hands on that footage, they’ll end up seeing exactly what he’s trying to bury: Xavier walking into the underground lab.
“I’d be happy to review it immediately,” Willand says, a trace of amusement slipping into his voice.
Rishetor pushes up from his chair, eyes locked on Xavier like he’s deciding whether to lunge across the table. I stand too, stepping in to block his path—just in case he gets any ideas.
“You think you’re the smartest person in the room?” he growls through clenched teeth, face flushed and trembling with rage as he glares Xavier down.
“Yes,” Xavier says, rising to his feet. He calmly slips off his coat and folds it over his arm like we’re leaving a dinner party.
“It was actually a pretty dull case. Bit of a letdown. I expected something more elaborate…but I guess it is what it is.” He pauses, glancing at Willand, then adds, almost as an afterthought, “Just FYI—Wakefield was frozen postmortem. Most likely with cryogenic fluid.”
Willand raises his eyebrows, clearly impressed by the sheer number of lies this case has managed to pile on.
“Say one more word—” Rishetor snarls, pushing past me and jabbing a finger into Xavier’s chest.
Before I even register what I’m doing, my hand snaps out—I grab his wrist and shove it down. Firm enough to stop him, controlled enough that he can’t call it assault.
“Keep your hands to yourself,” I say, jaw tight.
“Let’s go, Newt,” Xavier says quietly, his hand skimming my lower back—a subtle warning more than anything. “Willand can take it from here.”
“Alright,” I say, still staring Rishetor down. “Let’s go.”
He steps aside—reluctant, glaring—like a dog barely held on a leash. We head for the doors. For a second, I half expect Willand to stop us. But he doesn’t. It’s Xavier who pauses in the doorway and glances back.
“Oh, by the way,” he says, turning to Willand, “Mrs. Bridge called this morning. Said she found something on her husband’s laptop—something important. Might shed some light on how he died. I’m seeing her tonight.”
Willand blinks, taking that in. “No need—I’ll send Crowley.”
Xavier raises a brow. “Pretty sure she doesn’t trust your squad. Otherwise, she would’ve called you, not me. I’ll talk to her and let you know what I find. You did ask me to handle the case, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Willand says, nodding. “Alright. But call me the second you learn anything.”
“I will,” Xavier says, and turns to leave.
I follow him into the corridor. “When did Mrs. Bridge call?” I ask, raising my voice a little as I catch up.
He doesn’t answer—but he slows. At first, I think he’s just waiting for me, but then I notice his hand trailing along the wall, fingers brushing it like he’s searching for balance.
“Xavier.” I catch his elbow, trying to steady him, trying to get him to look at me. But when he does, the words catch in my throat.
He’s pale—really pale—except for the fever-flushed patches on his cheeks, like he just sprinted a marathon.
“You need to rest,” I murmur, my voice catching low.
I glance around, hoping for somewhere to sit him down—but there’s nothing. Just the hallway stretching ahead, the men’s room a few steps away. I reach for his forehead. He’s burning up. My hands move instinctively to his neck, and when I pull back, my palms are damp—his skin slick with sweat.
Xavier stares back at me, eyes unfocused, blinking like it takes effort. “I want to lie down,” he murmurs, lips moving slow, like they’re not quite listening to him.
“Alright, I’m taking you to the hospital,” I say, already reaching for my phone—but Xavier shakes his head and brushes past me, heading for the men’s room.
I move to follow, but a voice cuts through behind me.
“Newt.”
I turn.
Katie Fairfax stands just outside Willand’s office, her expression hard.
“Can I have a word?” she asks. There’s a slight shake in her voice.
“Not now,” I say, already half turned away, desperate to leave.
But she doesn’t back off. She steps closer and says, “You used me.” Her voice is calm, but her face is tight, twitching with barely contained indignation. “You distracted me so Ormond could sneak into the center. And the article about us getting engaged—was that part of the plan too?”
I sigh. “I didn’t know he was there. And I had nothing to do with the article.”
“Stop lying,” she snaps, her jaw clenching.
“Listen,” I say, glancing toward the door Xavier disappeared through, “I don’t have time for this right now.”
She watches me for a second, then nods like everything suddenly makes sense.
“Alright,” she says, turning away. But before she disappears back into Willand’s office, she adds, “I wish we hadn’t met again.”
And I know that’s the last I’ll hear from her. But right now, that doesn’t matter.
I push open the men’s room door—and freeze.
The space is small and sterile—white tiles, marble floor, cold morning light spilling through a narrow window.
And there, slumped against the wall, eyes closed, Xavier lies unconscious.