Chapter 165: Red lace
Sunday, 7 Eastbourne Rd.
Marco was sporting a frown on his face, jaw clenched firmly. A hiss passed his mouth gracelessly as the medic applied antiseptic on his wound. The two of them sat inside the ambulance. He was on another case with the blond psychologist, one that almost got them both killed.
It started only as a missing person case that turned into some international debacle.
Marco thanked the medic as he got off the ambulance, holding his shoulder, where a bullet grazed him. His eyes drifted to Levi a short distance away, who was having a brief conversation with Anna, the two seemingly finished in their usual annoying sibling rivalry way. Levi walked towards him with the same confident swagger; lips were cracking into a self-satisfied grin.
"You called Anna." Marco commented, earning a non-committal nod from the blond, "Of course, I’d hate to deal with Lisa if I get you accidentally killed," he said.
"How did you know he was a Prince?" the bearded man asked as the two made their way towards the blond’s car.
"His cat." was Levi’s simple reply. Marco simply shook his head, lost at his statement. He decided to keep quiet; it had been a long day after all, and he would never understand some things even if he tried.
The two drove back to Eastbourne, where Mrs. Whitehall greeted them worriedly after seeing their slightly disheveled appearance. The old woman tottered away to prepare the tea and biscuits in hopes it will help comfort them. Marco slumped to the armchair, careful with his battle wound. At the same time, Levi made a beeline to the kitchen to check on his ongoing experiment in the refrigerator.
Marco huffed in his seat and begrudgingly stood from his seat, feeling too many cushions on the chair for his liking. He pulled one out, threw it on the sofa, and sat back down to test it. He huffed again, annoyed, feeling the same discomfort again; Marco pulled the remaining cushion to prop it perfectly, for the badly needed comfort. However, he was taken aback at what he saw under it.
With wide eyes, his eyes darted from the blond psychologist who was writing something on the paper fastened on the refrigerator to the item on the chair, then back again a few times till it dawned on him completely.
"Levi," Marco stated, holding the grin from appearing on his lips.
"Hmmm," Levi responded in a grunt, not bothering to look at the man as he continued writing notes on the paper. "Sam slept over again, I see," Marco said, watching the Irishman from the kitchen; he had heard of this from Mrs. Whitehall. Sam sleeping over hasn’t been anything new since the two tend to experiment (innocent experiments, that is) till the wee hours of the night from what he was aware of.