Page 3 of When You're Forgotten

He responded by hurling a broken chair in her direction.She leapt aside, the chair splintering on the floor.“Stay back!”Amelia shouted, but the man lunged.She barely brought her arms up in time to block a blow aimed at her head with what looked like a jagged pipe.The impact rattled her forearms, her flashlight spinning away, clattering under a shelf.

She twisted her body to deflect another wild swing, then pivoted on her left foot, landing a strike with her right palm to the man’s shoulder.He grunted, staggering.For an instant, Amelia tried to see if he was indeed Wendell—did the eyes match the criminal’s typical glare?But the cloth around his face and a low cap prevented a clear look.

He recovered swiftly, surging at her with renewed force.Amelia ducked, hooking a leg behind his knee.He half-fell, but before she could capitalize on it, he wrenched free, landing a glancing blow against her side.Pain flared.She reeled.Meanwhile, the man bolted for the door leading out of the storeroom.

Gasping for breath, Amelia steadied herself.“You’re under arrest!”she yelled again, lurching forward.She couldn’t see a weapon in his hand anymore—he might have lost the pipe or thrown it aside.In two swift strides, she was at his back, grappling to get an arm around his midsection.She wasn’t about to let him slip away.

He twisted viciously, elbow slamming into her ribs.The shock sent a burst of agony through her chest, and her grip slackened.He tore himself free, sprinting through the exit.Cursing, Amelia forced her feet to move, ignoring the throbbing in her side.

Her earpiece crackled again with McNeil’s frantic voice.“Winters, are you engaging him?For God’s sake, you do not have clearance to proceed alone!We can’t get a fix on your location.Clint and I are heading upstairs from the west side.”

She couldn’t spare the breath to reply, adrenaline surging as she tried to keep the figure in sight.He was heading deeper into the building, likely searching for a route to vanish.The corridor ahead angled sharply, and she realized he was making for the stairwell—maybe planning to cut across the second floor or find a roof exit.She willed her lungs to keep working as she barreled after him.

A battered sign pointed to the second level.The man took the steps two at a time, boots thudding on warped wood.Amelia was only steps behind, close enough to see the tension in his stance.The midday light from broken windows turned the battered stairwell into a patchwork of brightness and gloom.She set one foot on a half-rotten step that gave a warning groan.Still, she continued upward, determined not to lose him.

Her mind raced.If this was Wendell, she was on the cusp of bringing him down.All his vile intimidation, all the pain he caused—she could end it.She pictured Finn’s face, how he’d told her to be careful.She pictured Inspector McNeil’s anger.None of it mattered now.What mattered was stopping the man who haunted her life, threatened those she cared about, made her second-guess every shadow.

The second floor hallway stretched out in front of her, even more decrepit than the first.Sections of ceiling had caved in, and water damage turned the floor planks spongy.The air smelled of mildew and stale fear.She glimpsed the man darting into a side room.

Teeth gritted, she pressed on.“Inspector, he’s on the second floor, heading west,” she panted into her earpiece, hoping the signal would carry.

“Christ!”McNeil’s exasperation was clear.“We’re on the west side, second floor, but the corridors here are blocked.We’re going to have to find another route.Stay put, do you hear me?He’s too dangerous.”

But the man was just a few paces away, the door to that side room half open.Amelia inhaled, half-lunged, half-ran.She spotted the figure again, stumbling across a chamber that might once have been an art room—broken sinks, dusty counters, and scattered chairs.The large windows on the far side let in swathes of cold sunlight.Some of the floor near the center looked dangerously cracked.

For a moment, the man spun to face her, cloth still obscuring his features.She saw his gaze flick to the compromised floor, then to the door behind her, as if measuring distances.Amelia circled warily, arms raised, stepping closer.“Wendell?”she demanded.“If that’s you, it’s over.You have nowhere to run.”

He didn’t reply.Instead, he crouched, preparing to spring.She tried to gauge her footing, noticing how the boards at the center sagged ominously.The man lunged first.Amelia pivoted to the side.Their bodies collided in a brief, frenzied scuffle.She shoved him away, boots slipping on a rotten patch.He tried to sidestep, but the floor shuddered under their combined weight.

Her earpiece crackled again with McNeil’s voice, barely audible: “Winters, get out of there—the floor can’t—”

The words came too late.A deafening crack echoed through the empty school.Splinters flew as a large section of the floor gave way beneath them.For one heart-stopping instant, Amelia seemed to hover, arms flailing, before gravity seized her.She felt the man’s shoulder slam into her torso as they dropped.Her mind registered the sight of dust and debris swirling around them, the second-floor windows receding above her.

She crashed into something hard—wood or plaster—somewhere below.A searing jolt of pain shot up her right leg, and her head snapped back.Everything spun, a kaleidoscope of falling rubble and swirling dust in the half-light.She saw the figure land a short distance away, the impact jarring.Her vision blurred.

Then, in a haze of confusion, she slammed onto the final floor with bone-jarring force.The wind left her lungs in a ragged whoosh.Another wave of dust and debris rained down, striking her arms and shoulders.Her earpiece dislodged, crackling and sparking.The last thing she heard was McNeil’s distant holler, mingled with static.

CHAPTER TWO

Finn pressed down on the accelerator harder than he ever dared under normal circumstances, weaving in and out of the afternoon traffic with all the precision he could muster.He barely registered the blare of angry horns or the irritated gestures from other drivers.His focus was singular: the phone call that had told him Amelia was hurt and was waiting for him at Hertfordshire Constabulary HQ.

He was so locked into that focus that he almost missed the first warning sign from his red Corvette.A deep metallic clunk sounded somewhere beneath the hood, like two pieces of heavy machinery colliding.Gritting his teeth, Finn ignored it, urging the car forward.The engine gave a tortured groan, but he refused to relent.

Still, the car protested with renewed vigor.A thin thread of smoke curled out from under the hood and trailed along the side of the windshield.The smell of heated metal and burning oil seeped into the cabin.Finn’s heart lurched with a new concern: if the engine seized up entirely, he’d be stranded.Clenching the wheel, he forced the Corvette onward, eyes scanning the upcoming signs for the turnoff to the constabulary.

“You’ve got this, old girl,” he muttered under his breath, giving the dashboard a reassuring pat with one hand.“Just get me there.”

Moments later, the sprawling brick building of the Hertfordshire Constabulary HQ came into view at the end of a one-way street.Finn could see a smudge of black smoke now pouring out from under his hood, but he refused to let up on the gas.Only when he pulled into the parking bay, screeching to a halt with tires squealing, did he allow himself to turn the key off.The engine sputtered in indignation, but Finn was already out the door, pushing aside a swirl of smoke as he bounded toward the entrance.

Inside the station, he jogged past the reception desk—ignoring a startled shout from a uniformed officer to sign in—and took the stairs two at a time.His pulse thundered in his ears.He’d been told Amelia was on the second floor.

He burst through the second-floor door.A cluster of detectives turned wide eyes on him, but he didn’t pause to explain.Racing down the hallway, he spotted a half-open conference room, fluorescent lights spilling across the threshold.That had to be it.Heart hammering, he swung into the doorway.

Amelia was there—bandaged hand resting on the table, a small bruise visible on the side of her face.Instantly, relief and worry flooded him in equal measure.Rob, seated next to her, raised a quick hand to calm Finn’s near-frantic expression.

“Whoa,” Rob said, half-rising.“She’s all right.Take a breath.”

Amelia stood gingerly, meeting Finn in the middle of the conference room.He fought the urge to crush her in a hug, uncertain how badly she might be hurt, but the tension in his chest demanded some contact.He reached out; she rewarded him by stepping closer, letting him gently take her uninjured hand.

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