Page 16 of When You're Broken
McNeill took a breath, scanning them with a steely gaze.“Agreed.That’s all for now.I have a night shift team on this evening working over the case.Tomorrow we meet at 0700 to discuss the next steps.And if I find out either of you deviate from the plan…” He left the sentence hanging, letting the threat fill the silence.
Amelia’s eyes flicked to Finn, then she turned on her heel.“Understood,” she repeated.
Finn noticed Rob giving McNeill a silent glare, but the inspector merely waved them away.The tension in the room was so thick that even Detective Clint looked relieved to see them go.In a swirl of frayed nerves, Finn, Amelia, and Rob stepped out into the corridor.The door closed behind them, sealing away McNeill’s presence.
They paused near a row of lockers, the hallway calmer now that the hour was late.Amelia exhaled, pressing a hand to her temple.“The nerve of that man,” she muttered, voice shaking with adrenaline.“Implying I’d sabotage the entire operation.Doesn’t he know how much work I’ve put into it?”
Finn touched her elbow gently.“I know.He’s paranoid.Or he sees you as an easy scapegoat.”
Rob placed a hand on Amelia’s shoulder.“Look, I think McNeill’s got a personal grudge over not controlling everything.But he’s got the official blessing from the Home Office to run the taskforce as he sees fit.If you make another mistake, or if something else big goes sideways, I might not be able to protect you.”
Amelia let out a trembling sigh.“I can’t stand being told not to chase any leads because I’m too ‘emotional.’I’m not letting Wendell slip away just to spare McNeill’s ego.”
Finn recalled how, in the FBI, he’d seen turf wars sabotage investigations.“In the States, inter-agency turf fights cost us leads,” he said.“I see the same pattern here.It costs time, opportunities.Meanwhile, Wendell’s probably four steps ahead, laying more traps.”
Rob nodded.“Absolutely.But we can’t let that push us into impulsive moves.”His tone softened as he addressed Amelia.“He’s not wrong about one thing: if you get fatigued, if you get reckless, that’s exactly how Wendell can exploit you.And if that happens, you’ll be out, powerless to do anything about your brother.”
Amelia looked away, blinking rapidly.“I… It’s just so hard.Brendan’s life is at stake.It’s obvious from what we saw on that phone that Wendell kills hostages whenever it suits him.So how can I sit back and wait?”
Rob’s expression gentled.“We’re not telling you to wait.We’re telling you to do it systematically, with enough rest that you don’t slip up.We can’t have you cornered or blindsided again.”
Finn let out a slow breath.“Rob’s right, Amelia.If we’re too ragged or emotional, we could blow an opportunity or walk into a trap.At least if we’re well-rested, we can strategize effectively.”
She dropped her shoulders, tension easing an inch.“Fine, you both win.”Her tone was weary but not entirely opposed.“Let’s go home, gather ourselves, come back fresh.It still feels wrong when every hour might mean more danger for Brendan.”
Rob offered them both a thin smile.“That’s what I wanted to hear.Now, I’ve arranged for two patrol cars to keep watch outside your cottage, just in case.Wendell might attempt something.So you’ll be safe.”Finn was grateful for his friend’s support, but deep down, he knew that he and Amelia would never be safe until Wendell was caught.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Finn fiddled with the old gas stove’s knobs, his lips quirking in an anxious half-smile as he crouched to peer into the tiny, ill-lit oven.The cottage in Great Amwell was charming in many respects—wooden beams across the low ceilings, wide-plank floors that creaked in comforting ways, and a welcoming fireplace—but the kitchen left a lot to be desired.The stove’s pilot light sputtered faintly.He jiggled the knob, hoping it would catch properly.
A glance at his watch told him it was already past ten.Late for dinner by most people’s standards, but it was the earliest they could manage after the day’s chaos.He shut the oven door and moved to the narrow counter, where he’d been attempting to saute vegetables in a pan.The hiss of oil mixing with onions and peppers reminded him of sizzling days spent in a distant past, back in Florida, when he’d first learned to cook so he could feed himself in the FBI dorms.Now, here he was, in a small English cottage, trying to salvage a romantic meal for two.
He heard footsteps from the living room.Amelia must be finishing checking her phone or the house’s door locks.Two patrol cars stationed outside, courtesy of Rob, gave them some measure of safety from Wendell Reed’s meddling.Still, he sensed her nerves bristling every time a branch tapped the window or the wind gusted along the cottage walls.
“Everything all right in there?”Amelia’s voice floated from the door, an undercurrent of concern or maybe curiosity.
“Yeah,” Finn called, swirling the pan so the onions wouldn’t burn.“Just about to get dinner finished in earnest.Another few minutes, I promise.”
He forced a wry grin at the uncooperative stovetop flame.The sizzle turned a bit sharper, and he quickly yanked the handle to angle it away from the direct heat.While trying to nudge the vegetables around, the oil popped violently, spitting a few droplets at his wrist.He hissed in mild annoyance, stepping back.Need to be more careful, Finn.
The savory smell of onions mingled with the faint aroma of thyme he’d sprinkled in.He wanted it to smell appetizing, show Amelia that they could have a hint of normalcy in the midst of all the tension.With a careful push, he slid the pan to a cooler part of the burner, letting the hiss subside.
Amelia stepped in, her brow arched.She’d changed out of her detective attire—no crisp blouse or official ID at her belt.Instead, she wore a comfortable sweater with jeans, hair pinned loosely at the nape of her neck.Finn noticed a small frown of concern on her lips.“Are you sure you don’t want me to help?You’ve been in here for ages.”
He mustered a confident grin.“Nah, I’ve got it under control.It’s just—”
Suddenly, he grabbed the pan’s handle without a potholder.The metal scorched his palm.He dropped it with a clatter, swallowing a yelp as pain shot through his hand.“Ah—damn it!”
Amelia’s eyes widened.She rushed forward, hooking an arm under his and tugging him away from the stove.“Finn, you idiot,” she said, voice brimming with concern beneath a mild scolding tone.“Are you trying to end up in A&E?”
He rubbed his stinging palm, teeth gritted.“I forgot the handle was hot,” he muttered.“The oven mitt’s on the other side.”He cursed inwardly at the wave of pain.
“Put that hand under cold water, now,” she said firmly, guiding him to the small sink.She flicked the handle, letting a stream of water flow.“Let me see.”
He reluctantly held out his reddened palm.Amelia angled it under the tap, her fingers pressing gently on his wrist.The chill shocked the burn, but after a second, relief replaced the initial sting.He exhaled, shoulders slumping.“Sorry,” he murmured.“So much for me being the hero cook.”
Amelia half-laughed, though it held a sympathetic ring.“Don’t worry.I’ve done worse.Once, I grabbed a cookie sheet that had been in the oven for half an hour.I spent the rest of that day cursing everything in sight.”
