CHAPTER 35: CHAPTER 35: I’LL GET THE DOOR

Philip Paxton’s new assignment is very close to Jean Ellison’s home, and he was the first to arrive.

Jean saw a familiar figure standing beneath her building from a distance, and she ran over with a smile when she realized it was Philip Paxton.

"What brings you here?"

Facing her stood a man with striking features, tall and lean, broad shoulders, and long legs.

The thick fabric of his dark blue police uniform stretched over his broad shoulders and firm chest, outlining sharp lines.

The sleeves of his light blue shirt were rolled up to the middle of his forearms, revealing wrists with pronounced bones.

A gun holster hung at his back, and a sturdy leather belt cinched his waist tightly.

"The unit provided them. I brought them over to cook for you."

Philip held crabs in both hands, unable to help her with her bag, gesturing for her to hang it around his neck instead.

Jean shook her head a few times, insisting on carrying her own bag—it wasn’t heavy anyway.

Her gaze fell on his hands; the crabs were securely tied with straw ropes, their dark blue shells thick and glossy, with massive claws and plump legs.

"How should I deal with these?"

"I don’t think I have the right seasonings for cooking crabs at home."

"I brought everything."

Philip pointed to a car parked in the spot nearby, its trunk open with a wooden box and various jars, along with a pot for steaming crabs.

"Did you bring your whole kitchen here?"

Jean was a bit surprised.

"I’ll leave these things here and go up first, then come back down to fetch them. You don’t have to lift a finger."

Philip was very protective, not letting her touch this or that.

"Alright, then let’s head upstairs first."

The two began to climb the stairs, and shortly after, Philip went back down alone to bring up the items.

"Hello."

A young man approached, greeting him.

The man was tall and slender, with gentle eyes, a straight and high nose, and moderately full lips.

He wore a soft light gray cotton shirt, with sleeves casually rolled up to the elbows.

The fabric stretched over broad and flat shoulders, not aggressive, but rather a quiet and supportive presence.

The shirt’s hem was neatly tucked into dark pants, and his waist was slim, with clean lines rather than exaggerated muscles.

He wasn’t wearing a white coat but had a faint smell of hospital disinfectant.

"Do you live in this unit? Which apartment is Reporter Ellison’s?"

"I’m Simon Sterling, a doctor and her friend."

Philip’s jaw clenched slightly; where did this pretty boy come from, trying to find Jean’s place right in front of him?

"Is there something you need?"

His voice was steady, with the demeanor of interrogating a suspect.

Simon hadn’t noticed anything amiss, his lips curved in a slight, subtle smile, his gaze soft.

"It’s nothing important."

"I don’t know her."

Philip cut him off directly, giving him a cold glance; if it wasn’t anything important, why come looking for Jean?

His face was paler than a wall, his words slow and effeminate, not like a good person.

He bent down, hefted the wooden box filled with jars, and carried the brand-new steamer pot up the stairs with one hand.

Reaching the second floor, he looked back to make sure no one was following him, then continued upward.

He couldn’t let someone with bad intentions like this near Jean’s home.

Simon stood downstairs, watching him leave, frowning slightly.

The information Jean filled out at the sanatorium listed this building and unit, but not a specific apartment number.

Why would someone living here claim not to know her?

The man just now looked like a detective from his attire; he probably wasn’t lying.

Simon walked around downstairs a couple more times, then headed toward a small square not far away.

Upstairs in the kitchen, Jean happened to look out the window, thinking she saw Doctor Sterling.

She stood on tiptoe, ready to lean over for a closer look, but a crab claw caught her hand in the sink.

"Ah!"

Upon hearing her cry, Philip dropped what he was doing by the door and rushed in.

Jean grimaced in pain, clutching her right hand with her left.

A deep red mark ran across her index finger, where the jagged edge of the crab’s claw had scraped the skin, leaving tiny bits of flesh torn, oozing drops of blood.

Philip took her hand gently, enveloping her icy, trembling hand completely with his large, steady palm.

His thumb pressed firmly against her wrist, feeling the rapid throb of her pulse below.

"Don’t move."

His voice was low, emerging from his throat.

Reaching behind his back with his other hand, he pulled out a small black first aid kit.

With one hand, he flipped open the plastic latch, took out a disinfectant swab, and gently swabbed the wound with an iodine-dipped tip.

Jean’s hand felt numb, and at the touch of the swab, she took a sharp breath from the pain.

He leaned in closely, so close she could see the short, bristly hair at his temple.

The large hand wrapped around hers remained steady; she twisted her wrist slightly. "It’s fine, it doesn’t hurt anymore."

The blood had stopped, so she drew her hand back.

"You go out first, let me take care of this."

Philip returned his first aid kit to his lower back, glancing at the splatters of water on the floor, several crabs having fallen and clashing their claws.

Jean nodded, walking to the living room. Through a door, she suddenly remembered something and turned to ask him.

"Did you meet anyone downstairs?"

"It was a doctor, probably here for me."

She worried it might be something to do with Susan Kingston, which was why Doctor Sterling appeared downstairs.

But she remembered filling out the information, including the home address; Doctor Sterling hadn’t come upstairs, so he must have just been passing by.

"I did run into someone."

"He said it wasn’t any important business."

Philip took up an apron and tied it in front of him, though it was a bit small, wrapping tightly across his chest.

Jean’s hand still hurt a little, so she couldn’t rummage in her bag for her phone.

Since it wasn’t important, she’d pay a visit to the sanatorium tomorrow to find Doctor Sterling.

It was after work hours, anyway, and she didn’t want to bother him further.

She walked to the kitchen door, wondering if Philip needed help, but it seemed there wasn’t anything she could do.

"Doctor Sterling is my mother’s attending physician and the youngest psychiatrist at Kingshill Hospital. He often volunteers at the sanatorium, helping elderly patients with mental illnesses."

"You don’t seem to like him much?"

Philip’s tone was cold when she mentioned Doctor Sterling.

Philip turned around, washed his hands, steam rising from the pot behind him.

He walked over to her, brushed her head lightly. "Don’t worry, if he’s good to you and Aunt Kingston, I’ll like him."

He disliked Simon Sterling purely because he was too presumptuous, coming uninvited.

Clearly, Jean hadn’t invited him over for crab tonight.

Jean smiled gently, her expression soft as she watched him.

She knew well that Philip Paxton was someone she could trust completely. He wasn’t like Doctor Sterling or Justin Holden.

The doorbell rang.

Both of them paused for a moment.

Jean stepped forward, but Philip caught her wrist, stepping ahead of her.

"I’ll get the door."