Page 32 of When You're Gone

And there, amidst the blur ofgyrating bodies and neon lights, was face again, features etched withmalevolence. Max Vilne's smile sliced through the chaos, a haunting specter,standing there in the street. Finn's heart hammered; terror laced with anger constrictedhis chest. The image was fleeting, ephemeral, but it seared into Finn's mindlike a brand. People walked by, masking him then from view.

"Amelia!" The urgency inhis voice clawed its way out over the clamor.

"What?" she asked, notingthe distress etched across Finn's features.

"Vilne," he gasped out,thrusting a finger toward where the ghostly grin had appeared. "There, inthe crowd! Stay with Beckett!"

Without waiting for a response,Finn bolted upright, his stitches screaming in protest as he darted into thethrong. His eyes darted from face to face, each one a potential mask for thekiller who haunted their investigation.

"Stay with her!" he threwover his shoulder, not daring to see if Amelia listened. His senses stretchedthin, seeking any sign of Vilne among the pulsating mass of revelers.

The scent of alcohol and sweatmingled in the air, the thump of bass vibrating through the ground beneath hisfeet. Finn shouldered past a group clad in glitter and leather, his visiontunneling as he spotted the familiar build of a man ahead. A coat that matchedthe right height, that same ominous aura.

"Vilne!" Finn's voice waslost in the music as he reached out, fingers curling around the man's shoulder,yanking him back.

The stranger spun, a look ofbewilderment replacing what Finn had hoped would be Vilne's sneer. "Whatthe—" The man's accent was local, his confusion genuine.

"Sorry," Finn muttered,releasing him. His gut twisted, doubt creeping in like fog over a moor. Had heseen Vilne at all? Was his mind playing cruel tricks, conjuring phantoms wherethere were none?

"Nothing," he whisperedto himself, the bitter taste of uncertainty coating his tongue. “My apologies.”

The night swallowed him whole, thechase leaving him empty-handed, with only the echo of a killer's smilelingering in his memory. A smile he could not be certain was real.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The sterile fluorescent lights ofthe corridor flickered intermittently, casting an eerie pall over the evening'sproceedings. Finn leaned against the cold, unyielding wall outside theinterview room, his fingers drumming a staccato rhythm on his thigh. Besidehim, Amelia surveyed the door with a steely resolve that belied the concerntugging at the corners of her eyes.

"Think Beckett did it?"Rob's voice cut through the hum of silence, his gaze fixed on the one-waymirror.

Finn straightened, his handinstinctively reaching up to rub the tender spot on his temple where brick hadmet flesh earlier that day. "Her print was on the gun," he repliedcurtly, eyes narrowed in thought. "It's more than possible."

"You don't look well,Finn," Rob remarked, casting a sidelong glance at the consultantdetective.

"Too many late nights,"Finn dismissed with a wave of his hand, though the throbbing in his headsuggested otherwise. Amelia's voice, soft but insistent, floated to his ears.

"I'm worried about you,"she confessed.

"I’m fine," Finn grunted,more out of reflex than conviction.

"Something else on yourmind?" Rob prodded, catching the shadow that crossed Finn's otherwiseimpassive features.

Max Vilne's elusive figure flashedin Finn's memory, a ghost at the edge of the chaos during Beckett's arrest."Thought I saw Max Vilne," he muttered, unsure now if it had been atrick of his beleaguered mind.

“Are you sure?” Rob asked.

“No,” Came Finn's quick reply.

“Let's say it was him, why would hebe there?” Rob seemed willing to entertain the idea.

“At the tree back at the cottage,”Finn reminded Rob. “We found an old pocket watch wedged in a hole of the trunk.I got someone to look at it and, at the very least, it was Victoria styled.This entire case seems to revolve around time and the Victorian era, it's toomuch of a coincidence. Vilne could be pulling the strings to taunt and punishme.”

"I'll put the word out that hemight be in the vicinity of the crime scenes. Maybe you should rest for abit," Rob offered, but Finn's resolve hardened like diamond.

"No thanks. We see thisthrough to the end."

With a collective breath, Finn andAmelia turned toward the interview room, its door swinging open with a creak ofprotest. Maggie Beckett stood defiantly inside, her posture rigid as theantique furniture she peddled. A storm brewed behind her eyes, the kind thathad seen centuries of secrets traded for silver.

"Sit," Finn instructed,the word slicing through the tension.

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