Page 3 of When You're Alone

She fixed him with a halfhearted glower. “Don’t you dare?"

In response, Finn laid the tray across her lap. “I present: your breakfast, milady. An omelet—over-seasoned, probably, but made with love. Toast, tea, and an early daffodil I found in the garden.”

Amelia’s expression softened. “You’re spoiling me,” she murmured. She stabbed the omelet with a fork, took a bite, and gave him a nod of approval. “Lovely,” she whispered, then sipped the tea. “And the tea’s surprisingly good. You’re improving.”

He shrugged, feigning casualness. “I had a good teacher. Or maybe it’s just that the bar was set low after my first attempts.”

Setting the tea aside, Amelia pulled Finn closer by his wrist. He leaned in, and they met in a soft, unhurried kiss that left a pleasant fizz in the air. In that moment, the entire world seemed to shrink to just the two of them, content in their shared warmth. But before they could indulge further, Amelia’s phone rang, its digital chime abruptly piercing the room’s tranquility.

She eyed the screen and sighed. “It’s Rob.”

Finn took the phone from her hand with mock indignation. “He’s probably phoning to ask if we’ve run off to some secluded island,” he joked, pressing the answer button. “Rob, you do realize you’re interrupting a rather excellent omelet situation? I'm thinking of getting one of those Michelin stars.”

From the speaker, they heard the familiar timbre of Chief Rob Collins, the senior figure who oversaw many of their investigative efforts, and the old friend of Finn's from their college days. “Oh, pardon me, your highness,” Rob said with exaggerated politeness, but Finn could sense there was an urgency to cut to the chase. “The Home Office has specifically requested you two on a new case.”

“Here we go again,” Finn murmured, pressing the speaker button so Amelia could listen, and assuming the call would be another run of the mill case. “Alright, Rob, what’s so urgent that you must break up a perfect morning?”

Rob’s voice crackled through. “This is of the highest priority. A man named Sir Richard Doyle was found murdered last night in London. He’s a big deal, from what I gather. Old friend of the royal family, and knighted for his business accomplishments. We’re talking someone who has brushed shoulders with some of the most powerful people around the world. His death will attract major attention. The murder happened at a fancy gentleman's club, The Monarch. The Home Office wants the best on it, so they surprisingly asked for us. You in?”

Amelia caught Finn’s eye. She nodded, her expression shifting from cozy contentment to calm professional readiness. “We’re in, Chief. Where do we start?”

“Head over to The Monarch Club. You’ll get more details on-site—locals are holding the scene for you. Body’s still at the scene, so the club’s been temporarily closed to members. You can be there in two hours, right?”

“Two hours,” Amelia confirmed. “We’ll leave as soon as possible.”

Finn chimed in, “Just be aware, Rob, that you owe me for interrupting an unparalleled culinary masterpiece.”

Rob’s laugh rumbled through the phone. “I’ll make it up to you, mate. Safe travels. And hurry—it’s not every day a manwith ties to the royals ends up dead in a posh club. I'll meet you there.”

The call disconnected, leaving the room in a hush. Amelia angled the phone away. She stared at the half-eaten breakfast, then at Finn. “I guess it’s time for us to be the unstoppable duo again.”

He nodded, a current of excitement mingling with regret for losing the leisurely morning they’d planned. “Don't let Rob hear you say that, it would hurt his feelings.”

He placed the tray on the dresser, stepping aside to let her swing her legs out of bed. At the same time, she grabbed a green T-shirt—a comfortable old one of Finn’s—from a chair and tossed it at him. “Shower’s all yours first,” she announced, a sly grin forming. “Don’t take forever. If we’re going to stand in front of The Monarch’s members, we should at least look somewhat awake and respectable.”

Grinning, Finn held the T-shirt against his chest. “I will do my best not to monopolize the hot water, Miss Winters.”

“Inspector Winters, to you,” she teased, though her eyes sparkled with warmth. Then her tone softened, and she pressed a hand briefly to his cheek.

Outside, the emerging spring light gilded the cottage windows, and Finn finally felt ready to dive into a new case.

CHAPTER TWO

The rumble of the old red Corvette’s engine echoed through the narrow streets of central London, though “rumble” might have been too generous a word. It coughed and sputtered at low speeds, complaining loudly each time Finn pressed the accelerator. At a stoplight, Amelia eyed him from the passenger seat, her lips wry with amusement.

“I still say you’d be better off on a unicycle,” she remarked, raising her voice to compete with the protesting growl of the motor.

Finn rested both hands on the worn steering wheel and shot her a lopsided grin. “Give me time. Once I’ve restored this baby, you’ll be begging me to drive you everywhere.”

She rolled her eyes, though not unkindly. “We’ll see, Mr. American Muscle. For now, it sounds like we’re herding cats under the hood.”

He laughed, the sound momentarily drowned out by the car’s noisy idle. The truth was, the Corvette was indeed in dire need of mechanical TLC—Finn knew that. But it also had a classic silhouette he couldn’t resist, a piece of vintage Americana in a city saturated with hatchbacks and double-decker buses. It gave him a sense of continuity with his old life back in the States, even though everything about that old life had changed.

Another light turned green, and Finn guided the corvette forward, weaving through traffic. The air outside was crisp, not quite warm enough to be pleasant, but no longer freezing as winter gave way to early spring. London’s skyline rose majestically on the horizon, a reminder that the city never truly slept—even in broad daylight, it buzzed with a restless energy.

“The Chief said The Monarch Club is in Mayfair, right?” Amelia checked, scrolling through details on her phone.

Finn gave a curt nod. “That’s what he told me over the phone. A place for Britain’s upper crust to feel a bit more upper than the rest, I guess.”

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