Page 25 of When You're Alone

He cast one last look at the Monarch Club’s facade through the window. The centuries-old building stood resolute, cloaked in the hush of wealth and secrets. Two members had died under gruesome circumstances. More might follow if the killer’s pattern continued. If infiltration was their only way to get answers, so be it. He just hoped his cover would hold longer than James Rutherford’s skepticism would allow.

As he began to relax back into himself, Finn had only one thought, one mission on his mind for his next visit.

I’ve got to find out what’s behind that door in the library.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Finn woke to the gentle sensation of Amelia’s fingers combing through his hair. The morning light filtered through the bedroom curtains of his cottage in Great Amwell, illuminating floating dust that danced in the golden Spring sunbeam. He groaned softly, enjoying the soothing motion of Amelia’s hand—until he remembered they had important business. Her presence made it tempting to stay in bed, though.

He blinked the sleep from his eyes, noticing how cold the air felt outside the covers. Still, Amelia’s body radiated warmth next to him, and he considered burrowing back under the duvet. She caught the reluctance in his expression and gave him a small, knowing smile.

“We need to get ready,” she said, a note of regret in her tone. “Rob called. Wednesday Knott has something new for us.” Her fingertips paused, then withdrew.

Finn let out a theatrical sigh, hugging the duvet. “It’s cold outside of the bed—there’s a reason I’m not jumping to my feet. It's tough for a Florida boy to adapt to your climate, you know.”

Amelia chuckled, then scooted closer. Her breath warmed his ear. “I’d love to stay here, too, but we can’t ignore a fresh lead.” Even as she spoke, her body pressed nearer, as if reluctant to move. After a moment, she forced herself to sit up.

He pushed himself upright, the duvet sliding off his chest. A shiver ran through him. “Wednesday Knott,” he muttered groggily. “You mean Wednesday Adams?”

Amelia swatted his chest playfully. “Don’t start. And here I thought you were warming up to her.”

Finn cracked a grin. “She’s all right—just has that slightly macabre vibe in how she works. You have to admit, the name doesn’t help.”

Rolling her eyes, Amelia stood, the floor creaking under her feet. “No time for your jokes,” she said. “We need to hurry or Rob will send the entire constabulary after us.”

Finn stretched his arms overhead. “You could always go without me,” he teased, “let me relax, you know… I am a very important member of The Monarch Club now. Next thing you know, they’ll be knighting me, Sir Finn Wright.” He added an overly pompous tone at the end.

Amelia’s expression turned wry. “If you don’t get your backside into the shower, I’ll deny you all girlfriend privileges from here on out. And that’s not a threat, it’s a promise.”

With a mock-horrified gasp, Finn placed a hand over his heart. “You wouldn’t dare.”

She smiled sweetly, arching an eyebrow. “Try me.”

He threw off the duvet, the cool air biting his skin. “All right, Winters. I know when I’m beaten.”

Standing, he gave her a soft kiss on the forehead. “Fine, I’ll shower. You close deals like nobody’s business. The old boys at The Monarch could learn something from you.”

She laughed, her voice echoing through the small cottage bedroom. “I’ll let you handle the shady business practices, thanks. Now move.”

***

Finn looked at the building for a moment in the cold, stark light. The morgue itself, squat and functional, looked older than many of the sleek city structures surrounding it. A sign near the entrance readForensic Pathology Services—Authorized Personnel Only.

Finn held the door for Amelia. “After you,” he said, half in courtesy, half in an attempt to lighten the mood. She offered him a quick half-smile in return, her nerves clearly on edge.

They navigated a maze of dim corridors, following signs labeledPathology Unit.The buzz of fluorescent lights overhead set the sterile tone. A passing technician nodded at them, expression neutral, used to the presence of police and investigators. At last, they found the right door. Beyond it lay a stark area with stainless-steel counters, freezers, and a faint smell of antiseptic that failed to fully mask the reality of death and dissection.

There stoodWednesday Knott, wearing a white lab coat, her blond hair pinned back in a neat bun, and those intense blue eyes behind thin-framed glasses. As if by comedic design, the overhead lights flickered once, giving an eerie effect—Finn couldn’t help but think she belonged in a horror story. He stifled a grin, stepping forward.

She noticed them and waved, her expression as neutral as ever. “You’re late,” she said mildly, though not unkindly.

Finn glanced around the rather grim environment. “A place like this suits you, Doctor Knott. Very atmospheric.”

Wednesday rolled her eyes in a show of well-practiced exasperation. “Ignore him,” Amelia said. “We appreciate you calling us in so quickly.”

Nodding, Wednesday motioned for them to follow into a colder, smaller room beyond. The overhead lamp shone harshly on two gurneys, each holding a body zipped in a gray bag. A single steel table sat to the side, stacked with trays of surgical tools.

“I’ve been examining the injuries on both Sir Richard Doyle and Geoffrey Wardlow,” Wednesday explained. “I found something that might help identify our killer.”

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