Page 31 of When You're Gone

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The police car's tires whisperedagainst the cobblestone as Finn and Amelia pulled up to the shadow-drapedfacade of Beckett's Antiques. The sign above the shop, embossed with goldlettering that had seen better days, creaked gently in the night breeze.

"Beckett's Antiques,"Finn quipped with an arched brow. "The creativity is astounding."

Amelia cast a skeptical glance atthe darkened windows. "Looks shut to me."

"Look up." Finn tiltedhis head towards the second floor, where a solitary light still burned."Our magpie's still nesting."

They exited the car, the crispnight air carrying the scent of rain on its breath. Amelia approached the door,her footsteps confident and purposeful. Finn followed at her side, feeling thefamiliar itch of anticipation in his gut. They stood before the entrance;Amelia rapped sharply on the old wood, the sound echoing through the silence ofthe street.

"Police!" Amelia's voicewas authoritative, slicing through the quiet. "We need to speak withMaggie Beckett!"

Finn's eyes flicked upwards just asthe glow from above flickered and died, plunging the window into darkness. Heturned to Amelia, his voice low and steady. "Looks like our bird has flownthe coop."

Their banter faded into thebackground, the seriousness of their task settling like a cloak around theirshoulders. Silence enveloped them once more, the mystery of the nightstretching out like an unspoken challenge.

A rustle from the rear of the shopcaught Finn's attention, and he motioned to Amelia. "Stay here in case shecomes out front. If our friend is trying to slip away at the back, I'll makesure she doesn't get far."

He moved stealthily towards thealley that ran alongside Beckett's Antiques, his senses heightened. The mustyscent of damp cobblestones filled his nostrils as he edged closer to thecorner. A flicker of movement in his peripheral vision was all the warning hehad before a bin lid came crashing down on the back of his head. Pain explodedin bright stars behind his eyes, and he crumpled to the ground with a grunt.

"Lying down on the job?"Amelia's voice dripped with sarcasm as she appeared above him, extending a handto help him up.

"Thanks for thesympathy," Finn grumbled, clutching the throbbing spot on his head andaccepting her aid. “Where is she?”

Ignoring the jab, his gaze snappedto the figure clambering over a wrought-iron garden fence. "There!"He pointed, pushing past the pain as he sprang into action, adrenaline spurringhim forward.

They sprinted after the shadowyform of Maggie Beckett, her silhouette a ghostly blur against the moonlitgardens. Finn's breath came in ragged gasps, his focus tunneled on the fleeingwoman. But each stride sent a jolt of agony through his forearm, the stitchesfrom an earlier encounter pulling painfully. It was a stark reminder that evenconsultants hired by the Home Office weren't invincible.

"Pick up the pace, Finn!"Amelia called out, her own determination mirrored in the set of her jaw as shekept up the chase beside him.

"Easy for you to say,"Finn panted, his arm screaming in protest. He pushed the discomfort aside,propelled by the knowledge that the key to the Victorian-obsessed killer'spuzzle might be just ahead of them, in the grasp of the antique dealer whodealt in more than just dusty relics.

The chase spilled into the tangledmaze of back gardens, Finn's boots slipping on dew-slicked grass. Hedges andfences blurred past as he pursued the erratic shadow of Maggie Beckett, hisheart pounding in his ears. He could barely hear Amelia's footsteps behind him,the thud of their pursuit a stark contrast to the quiet night.

"Left!" he called out,anticipating Maggie's desperate bid for freedom. But as they burst onto theneon-lit street lined with pulsing nightclubs, the throng of partygoersswallowed up any sense of direction.

"Amelia!" Finn shouted,but his voice was lost amidst blaring music and drunken revelry. He scanned thecrowd, catching only glimpses of Amelia's determined profile before shedisappeared around a corner.

Alone now, Finn gritted his teeth,the raw pulse in his arm a relentless reminder of his vulnerability. Yet theurgency drove him on, weaving through the mass of bodies, senses on high alertfor any sign of the antique dealer turned fugitive.

There—fleeting like a specterbetween the strobe lights—a wisp of auburn hair, a flash of desperation. Finnsurged forward, elbowing past a cluster of oblivious clubbers. His stitchesscreamed against the movement, but the thought of losing Maggie to theanonymity of the night fueled his resolve.

"Stop! Police!" It was afutile attempt, lost in the cacophony that surrounded him, but then he wasclose enough — so close he could see the panic etched into her features.

With a final burst of energypropelled by sheer will, Finn lunged, tackling Maggie to the wet pavement. Theimpact jarred his entire body, sent a fresh wave of pain searing through hisarm, but he didn't let it slow him down.

"Gotcha," he grunted,pinning her struggling form beneath him. "Maggie Beckett, you're underarrest."

Finn's fingers fumbled for thehandcuffs he'd attached to his belt, the metallic clink echoing strangely inhis ears as he secured her wrists. For a moment, the world reduced to just thetwo of them, the chaos of the street a distant roar.

"Nice tackle," came avoice from above. Amelia. Out of breath but with a glint of satisfaction in hereyes. Finn exhaled, tension unwinding as backup arrived.

"Thanks," he replied,managing a grimace that was meant to be a smile. "I think... I need aminute. I must be getting old." And as he caught his breath, the figure ofMaggie Beckett beneath him seemed far less significant than something he hadjust seen. Eyes watching him. The flash of a grin among the moving peoplearound. It was a face all too familiar.

The face in the crowd he had failedto grasp.

Finn's knees ground into the wetpavement, his breaths coming in quick succession as he clicked the handcuffsclosed around Maggie Beckett's wrists. His focus tunneled, the raucous din ofnightlife pulsed at the edge of his consciousness, muffled like a drumbeatthrough thick walls. He looked up for a split second, sweeping his gaze acrossthe crowd.

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