Page 18 of When You're Alone

Rob cleared his throat, forcing a note of reassurance. “Let’s not overreact, Amelia. Escapes happen, but the authorities track them down. I can have a couple of constables keep an eye on you whenever you're off duty.”

Amelia let out a hollow chuckle. “You remember how you all thought it was unlikely Max Vilne would break out to come after Finn? Well, that happened. Looks like I get to be the next cautionary tale. It feels like we’re cursed. Like if fate doesn’t get you once, it will have another bite at the apple.”

Finn grimaced at the mention of Vilne, the psycho who had chased him halfway across the Atlantic. He reached over to gently pat Amelia’s knee. “Hey. If Wendell Reed tries anything, he’ll find out the hard way you’re not that ‘random nobody’ he claims. And we'll be here to look out for you.”

She mustered a small nod, though worry still clouded her eyes. “I appreciate that. But we’ve never faced anything like this.”

“We took down Vilne,” Finn reassured her. But there was something in her gaze, something that said this was different.

“Vilne was a serial killer who wanted to be famous,” Amelia said. “He had bigger plans. Wendell Reed is different. He prefers to toy with people like prey caught in his teeth. He’s evil in a way I can’t comprehend. Even Vilne pales in comparison. He’s evil. Evil and twisted.”

Rob nodded as well. “Amelia, I’ll say this outright: if you want to hand over The Monarch Club case to someone else while you deal with Reed’s threat, just say the word. You have full leave to protect yourself and—”

“No,” Amelia cut in, her tone firm despite the lingering tremor. “If I step away from the case, I’ll only obsess over Reed anyway. I can’t live like that—waiting for something to happen.I’d rather work, keep my mind on the job. If he shows up, we’ll deal with it. But until then…” She shrugged, forcing an air of bravado. “I can handle it.”

Rob’s shoulders relaxed marginally. “Alright. But the second you feel unsafe—”

“I’ll let you know,” Amelia finished for him. She folded her arms, staring out at the countryside drifting by, where clusters of trees dotted rolling fields. The morning’s cold sunlight lit the horizon, but the weight of Wendell’s reappearance cast a long shadow in her mind.

Finn wanted to hold her. Wanted to tell her everything would be okay. “Amelia…” He said softly. “I think we should consider Rob’s point. Maybe you and I should go somewhere together, somewhere Wendell Reed won’t know until they catch him. If anything happened to you, I’d…”

“No, Finn,” she said in a low voice. “Please don’t ask me again. I need this. I need to keep working.”

Finn didn’t like that. He just wanted to take her somewhere safe. But he knew better than to argue with her now that could wait for another time.

Finn eased around a tight bend in the road. Gravel crunched under the tires as they neared an intersection. “So, what’s our next step for the actual case here? We’ve got two murdered Monarch Club members, both with vintage poker chips left as a message.”

Amelia drew a slow breath, letting her posture shift into that of a seasoned investigator, compartmentalizing her personal fears. “We find out where those chips came from, see if there’s a link to a specific collector, since they are vintage. And we speak with Geoffrey Wardlow’s widow. Rob, you did say she’s back in London, right?”

Rob nodded in the back seat. “Word is she’s at their second home, a flat near the city center. We’ve got constables posted there, but she’s agreed to talk.”

Finn glanced at Amelia. “Then that’s where we head next?”

She gave a definitive nod. “Yes, let’s go see Mrs. Wardlow.”

“You can drop me off in London while you're at it,” Rob said.

Just then, Finn navigated a final turn, and the rural road merged onto a wider thoroughfare leading toward the motorway. He accelerated, the Corvette's engine growling in protest but obeying his command. The morning haze gave way to a clearer patch of sky, allowing sunlight to beam onto the windshield. Despite the golden light, Finn's mind replayed Amelia's story of Wendell Reed, imagining her pinned down in that alley, the murderer's grip at her throat. A chill coursed through him.

Over the next half hour, conversation ebbed and flowed—discussions about potential club suspects, speculation about any grudges Sir Richard Doyle or Geoffrey Wardlow might have stirred. Rob made occasional calls on his phone, coordinating with the local station for statements and evidence. Amelia tapped notes into her phone. Finn concentrated on driving, but his thoughts wandered to the caution in Amelia’s voice whenever she spoke of Wendell. She wasn’t one to show fear lightly, which only underscored the seriousness of the threat.

At one point, Rob groaned from the back seat. “This smell, man. It’s getting worse by the minute.”

“It’s not the car,” Finn shot back, half-joking. “It’s your natural musk.”

Rob merely sighed, glancing at Amelia. “He’s hopeless, Winters. Absolutely hopeless.”

She gave a half-hearted chuckle. “If Wendell Reed doesn't kill me, both of your jokes will.”

When they eventually approached the motorway, the lane expanded, lined with more cars heading toward London. Finn merged with traffic, gearing up for the drive that would return them from the countryside to the city’s sprawl. The hum of the engine steadied into a near-constant roar, overshadowing the day’s quiet start.

As the miles sped by, Amelia made another phone call, presumably setting up a time to meet Mrs. Wardlow at her city flat.

Finn's dream from earlier flashed unbidden in his mind: the surreal corridors of The Monarch Club, the fluttering curtains, and the horrifying sight of Amelia’s lifeless form. He snuck a look at her, reassuring himself she was right there, breathing and alive.

He pressed down on the accelerator, wanting to hasten their arrival in London.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

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