Page 24 of When You're Alone

Finn mentally noted the door, but had no chance to investigate. The moment dissolved as James and Theodore steered him briskly away, weaving back out into a corridor lit by a row of brass lamps.

Finn glimpsed something else as they rounded a bend: police tape. Yellow and black lines marking off a door. He recognized it instantly from the briefing photos—the private study where Sir Richard Doyle had been killed.But Devlin Foster wouldn’t knowthat,he reminded himself, schooling his expression into feigned ignorance.

He gestured at the taped doorway. “Is that another door for the uninitiated to avoid, or some renovation going on?”

James stopped, a flicker of discomfort passing over his face. “Not exactly a secret. A tragedy, that. One of our members, Sir Richard Doyle, was found dead in there recently.”

Finn opened his eyes wide, letting genuine shock and a bit of horror show on his face. “My God. I hadn’t heard. I only flew in today. How awful.”

James scrutinized him, as though searching for any slip in that reaction. Then he sighed, stepping away from the taped door. “It’s under investigation. The police are aware, of course, but there’s no reason it should trouble new applicants, I’d hope.”

Finn nodded slowly, heart beating a little quicker at James’s subtle phrasing. “Of course not, though I am sorry for the loss. It must cast a shadow here.”

Theodore cleared his throat. “We’re… working with authorities,” he said carefully, likely wanting to keep the conversation minimal in front of a prospective member. “But everything is in hand.”

With that, James brushed imaginary dust from his immaculate cuff links “Well, Devlin, I do look forward to knowing more about you. I see that Mr. Crawford here is all in for your membership. That’s good enough for now. But I make it a habit to speak to each new arrival personally.”

Finn forced a polite grin, ignoring the small knot of tension in his gut. “I’d be delighted, Mr. Rutherford.”

James gave a slight bow. “Excellent. For now, I must attend to some business. Devlin, enjoy our lounge, meet some friends, and settle in. I shall see you soon.”

He strode off, footsteps echoing on the marble floor, leaving Finn with Theodore. The manager exhaled, shoulders sagging. “Apologies. James is thorough, to put it mildly.”

“Thorough’s an understatement,” Finn murmured. “He’s suspicious already, I can tell. The hidden identity might not last long if he really pushes.”

Theodore offered a tight smile. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Shall we rejoin the main sitting room? You can mingle a bit, then slip away. Make it appear natural that you aren’t lodging your entire life story in one evening.”

Finn nodded, adjusting his mustache out of habit. “Yes, no sense overdoing it. The last thing I want is to appear too eager. You're doing well with this, Teddy.”

Theodore took out a handkerchief and padded his brow, smiling and saying “I'm trying my best, Sir.”

They ambled back down the corridor, past that taped-off private study. Finn resisted the urge to linger, reminding himself of Amelia’s words through the earpiece—he had to blend in, not poke around suspiciously. Eventually, they reached the main lounge again, where a few members were discussing sports in hushed tones, others reading newspapers by the tall windows.

After another ten minutes of polite conversation about the stock market, the London property scene, and minor political news, Finn quietly excused himself. He told Theodore he needed to rest before tomorrow’s “meetings.” Theodore gave a small nod, murmuring that it was wise to pace oneself.

Finn spotted a deserted corridor leading to the exit, lined with portraits of past club presidents. Ensuring nobody was watching, he angled his face away from any staff members he passed—just in case. Once clear of the lounge, he lightly pressed a finger to his earpiece, his voice a faint whisper. “Amelia, you there?”

The only reply was a static hush, then her voice, muted by layers of stone. “I can hear you, Finn. Just about. Everything okay?”

He half-smiled, relieved. “I think so. But this is going to be tougher than we hoped. James Rutherford, the membership secretary, already has an eye on me. He’s sharp.”

Amelia’s voice carried a hint of humor. “You be on your best behavior. We can’t have an international incident because you decided to do your detective work in the most dramatic way possible.”

He bit back a laugh. “You know me too well. But I’ll keep it low-key. My plan is to head home now, show up again tomorrow with renewed mystique. No sense giving them all my presence at once.”

“Agreed,” Amelia said quietly, the faint static swallowing her tone near the end. “There isn't much of it, and you'd run out too quickly.”

“It's not like toothpaste, Amelia.”

Reaching a side exit near the front foyer, Finn peered through the glass doors. Rain slicked the stone steps outside, reflecting the glow of overhead lamps. He took a breath. “Alright, I’m stepping out. Keep an eye out for me.”

“I’ll keep both on you,” Amelia replied, her warmth evident despite the crackle.

Pushing open the door, Finn braced against the damp chill. The drizzle had turned to a gentle shower, pattering on the pavement. He pulled his jacket collar up to shield his neck and descended the wide steps. The grand facade of The Monarch Club rose behind him, lights casting shadows across the tall columns.

A black car, not quite a limo this time but an unmarked vehicle, waited by the curb. Likely courtesy of Rob, or at least someone from the station. Finn didn’t see Amelia or Rob insight—perhaps they’d decided not to hover too visibly. But he knew they were out there, somewhere, monitoring from a safe distance.

As he stepped into the rain, tension ebbed from his shoulders. He pulled the door of the waiting car open, ducking inside with a relieved sigh. The driver, a stony-faced man with a short nod, said nothing.Perfect. Finn sank into the seat, combing a hand through his dyed black hair. The rain thrummed on the roof, steady as his own heartbeat.

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