Page 29 of When You're Alone

In the street, the traffic’s hum was gentler now, many people having already retreated to homes or late-night gatherings. Finn breathed in the crisp air, a swirl of excitement building. He tapped the earpiece again.

Amelia’s voice crackled softly, “All okay?”

He gave a subtle nod, though she couldn’t see. “Yes, heading out now. See you soon.”

A short walk led him to where a plain sedan waited—Amelia and Rob might be inside or just around the corner. As hestepped into the car, the drizzle picked up, tapping on the roof with renewed urgency. Rob and Amelia sat in the passenger and driver's seat.

“You're doing well, Finn,” Rob said. “But don't let it go to your head.”

Amelia was looking something up on her phone. “Finn, I'm going to go and see Geoffrey Wardlow's widow again to see if we can get a look at some of his financials, considering we think money might be a motivator here. Are you game?”

“Of course,” he said. “But does Rob have to come?”

“You know how to make a man feel welcome,” Rob groaned. “I do have other things to oversee, anyway.”

Rob stepped out of the car and waved his hand, soon another unmarked car stopped to pick him up. Rob patted Finn on the back and said “Keep any eye on that James Rutherford. I've had word he's made some inquiries about you. Theodore Crawford was able to head them off at the past, but if you want to keep your identity a secret, I'd stay out of his way for now.”

Finn nodded and got into the car. Amelia leaned over and tore the fake mustache from his top lip.

“That hurt!” Finn said, holding his lip.

“Oh, please let me do that next time,” Rob said as he got into the other car, which then drove away with Rob grinning at Finn.

Amelia started up the engine. “Don't be a big baby,” she said. And with that, they left to see if Geoffrey Wardlow's widow would let them dig as deep as they wanted into her husband's past.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Finn and Amelia stepped through the revolving door into the lobby of Halbourne Towers, the same high-end residence where Geoffrey Wardlow’s widow lived. The marble floors gleamed beneath bright chandeliers, and the faint scent of lemon polish hung in the air. A uniformed doorman—an older gentleman with impeccable posture—stood by the reception desk. He recognized the pair immediately, offering a polite smile.

Amelia flashed her badge. “Inspector Winters, Hertfordshire Constabulary. We’re back again, I’m afraid.”

Finn gave the doorman a friendly shrug. “That’s right. Although if we have to come back a third time, we might just buy an apartment here.”

A twinkle of amusement flickered in the doorman’s eyes. “I assume you’re here to see Mrs. Wardlow again?”

Finn nodded. “Yes, indeed.”

The doorman pressed a button to unlock the secure elevator bank. “Welcome back. Please let me know if you need anything.”

They made their way across the ornate lobby—glass-and-chrome accents contrasting with the old-world marble columns. Once inside the waiting elevator, Amelia hit the button for the top-floor penthouse. Soft instrumental music filled the small space.

Amelia let out a hushed laugh. “You know, to afford a place like this, we’d have to sell some organs.”

Finn slid his hands into his pockets, feigning casual curiosity. “So we’d be living together?”

Amelia’s lips parted, but before she could respond, the elevator pinged and the doors glided open, revealing a short corridor lined with plush carpeting. She stepped out, offering no answer. Finn bit back a grin and followed her.

They reached the Wardlow penthouse door and knocked. The same maid from their first visit answered, hands folded primly in front of her apron.

Finn produced a courteous smile. “Hello again. We called ahead to let Mrs. Wardlow know we were coming.”

The maid inclined her head. “Yes, sir. She’s expecting you. Please, follow me.”

They were ushered into a spacious study off the main living area. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined two walls, displaying legal volumes and leather-bound journals. A wide window let in the early afternoon light, gleaming off a polished mahogany desk. On the far side of that desk sat Rebecca Wardlow, her shoulders slightly hunched. She stared at a messy array of papers and folders spread across its surface. As Finn and Amelia entered, she dabbed her eyes with a tissue and stood.

“Thank you, that will be all,” Rebecca said softly to the maid. The maid bowed out, closing the door with a gentle click.

Wearing a subdued black dress, Rebecca turned her reddened eyes to Finn. “You changed your hair color,” she observed, voice tinged with faint surprise. “It suits you.”

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