Page 8 of When You're Lost

They strode down the sidewalk together, pace quickening.The tension between McNeil's reluctance and Amelia’s determination hung in the air, but their immediate focus was the same: catch Wendell Reed, or at least glean his next move from the cryptic note.

Amelia’s thoughts churned.She’d made her point—Wendell didn’t drop that watch by accident, and it led her right to his hidden message.But why a station?And why 2 PM?She suspected he was orchestrating something more twisted than a mere meeting.He loved these mind games.

Clint, finishing a short radio call, caught up to her with a faint, encouraging smile.“Good job in there, by the way,” he said quietly, out of earshot of McNeil “Don’t let him get to you.I know McNeil's not thrilled you’re on board, but you proved your worth.”

She offered a tight smile in return.“Thanks.We’ll see if it actually leads somewhere.If he doesn’t show—”

“This is as good a lead as we have,” Clint finished firmly.

Amelia nodded.Wendell wasn’t a typical fugitive.He held grudges, especially against her, and had a knack for staying a step ahead.But she wouldn’t let that fear paralyze her.This was a chance for them to corner him, to end his twisted trail before he got started.

At the corner of the block, McNeil halted.“We’ll take separate cars.Clint, you’re with me.Winters, you can follow.Make sure we coordinate so we arrive at Ludgate with at least a few minutes to spare.”

Amelia accepted the instruction, ignoring the patronizing edge in his voice.A minute later, they parted ways.She climbed into her unmarked sedan, turned the key, and felt the engine roar to life.Glancing in the rear-view mirror, she inhaled deeply, an odd mixture of nerves and excitement thrumming through her.

The note with “Ludgate Station, 2 PM” replayed in her mind’s eye.She pictured Wendell stooping to place it.He’d known she would be here, scouring the shop, maybe.Or he suspected any officer with half a mind would find it.The clock on her dashboard read 12:56.Time was short.They had to hurry.

She pulled away from the curb, trailing a half-block behind McNeil's car.Detective Clint would be in there, likely discussing final arrangements.Amelia tapped her phone’s hands-free system, calling ahead to another colleague for backup.With enough presence, they might secure the station’s exits.

This is it, she thought.My first real chance at confronting Wendell since he escaped.I have to make it count.The image of him dropping the watch replayed in her mind, the skillful way he manipulated everything to hide a simple slip of paper.He was cunning, always planning.She prayed they wouldn’t be walking into an ambush.

CHAPTER FOUR

Finn pressed his foot lightly against the gas pedal, guiding the red Corvette around a narrow curve.Early afternoon light shone through the windshield, illuminating the dust specks that rested along the dashboard.He glanced at the passenger seat where Doctor Eleanor Matthews sat, her posture upright, eyes trained on the road ahead.Her blonde hair was swept into a low bun, but a few loose strands brushed her cheeks.She hadn't spoken much since they'd driven away from the crime scene.All Finn knew was that she clearly didn't like him so far.

He decided to try conversation, but he could only think of generic questions.“So,” he began, forcing a light note into his voice, “how long have you been an art expert?I mean, did you always want to do this, or was it a surprise career path?”

Eleanor kept her gaze forward.“I studied art history at university,” she said.“Traveled a bit, got involved in curation.One thing led to another.”

Finn nodded, though that was hardly the in-depth answer he’d hoped for.“Ever work in a museum, or mainly in private collections?”

She hesitated.“I spent a couple of years doing restoration work and authentication for various institutions.Private, public, a mix.Then I found myself consulting with certain agencies that needed my expertise.”

She left it at that.Finn glanced at her face—pale, composed, with no sign she wanted to elaborate.He cleared his throat.“And what about, uh, your personal life?Married, family…?I don’t want to pry, but we might be on the road for a while together.Helps to know each other.”

Her hands stiffened against her lap.“There’s nothing relevant to discuss on that front.”

He exhaled softly, wondering if he’d tread on a sore subject.“Look,” he said, “I’m not trying to cross any lines.Just thought we could pass time with some chat, that’s all.”

Eleanor turned her head slightly, her tone guarded.“We could also drive in silence.”

Finn felt a flicker of frustration but tried to keep things calm.“I guess that means I got off on the wrong foot.”He let out a short laugh, a forced attempt to ease the tension.“If so, I’m sorry.Really.I know I can come across as—”

“A man who uses jokes when a woman’s decapitated body is lying in front of him?”Eleanor cut in, voice icy.“Let’s just say that doesn’t sit well with me.”

His jaw clenched, recalling the moment back in that field when he’d made a quip about art or membership.“I didn’t mean to trivialize it,” he said quietly.“You have to understand, sometimes I crack jokes because otherwise I— Well, it’s a coping mechanism.Seeing something that horrific… I’m not sure how else to process it.”

She sighed, shifting in her seat.“I don’t like men talking down to me or dismissing the brutality of what we just witnessed.I’m not some fainting Victorian maiden.I can handle reality without humor.”

Finn nodded, letting that settle.“Ever been involved in many cases like this before?”

She kept her gaze on the road.“I’ve consulted on numerous investigations, yes.”

"What about… physically being at a scene?"he pressed."With a victim so mutilated, you can barely look?"

For a second, she didn't respond as if weighing how much to divulge.Then: "I've been to a crime scene once, if you're asking whether I've witnessed a body firsthand.But nothing as savage as a decapitation."

Finn flicked his eyes at her profile.“So, no.Not like this.”

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