Page 29 of When You're Broken
Finn’s grin faded into concentration.“Vanished?As in, no trace?”
“Exactly.The ring’s upset—they think he took money and ran.But we suspect Reed might have gotten rid of Renfield after getting what he needed—guns, passports, that kind of contraband.So, it’s possible Wendell’s traveling under a false identity or armed with new weaponry.At least that’s our guess.”
Finn processed the information, adrenaline stirring.“That’s big.Wendell had given a gun to an accomplice, and we had no clue how Wendell was acquiring arms or forging documents.This ties him to Renfield.Maybe Renfield’s missing because Wendell dealt with him the same way he deals with everyone who no longer serves a purpose.”
“Precisely.”Seward paused.“We can’t confirm it yet.But keep your eyes open.If we hear more from our side, I’ll let you know.And you do the same.I might even fly to the UK soon, see how my old subordinate is handling things working with UK cops.”His tone held a teasing warmth.
Finn laughed.“I’d love that, sir.I can show you the best pubs—if you’re not still a lightweight.”
Seward laughed lightly.“You do that.Good luck, Finn.Don’t hesitate to reach out.”
They ended the call.Finn drew in a deep breath, excitement tempered by the usual dread.Finally, a new thread.He moved back to the table where McNeill, Amelia, and Clint were waiting.Their expressions signaled curiosity.
Finn relayed the conversation: “Director Seward from the FBI—my old mentor—just found some intel.Seems Wendell got in touch with a known gun runner and identity fraud specialist, Harry Renfield.Renfield’s apparently gone missing, rumored to have run off with money involved with a drug smuggling ring.But it’s more likely Wendell used him and disposed of him.The ring’s furious, so presumably no one’s found him.”
Amelia perked up, an edge of relief in her eyes at something new.“So if he’s got a gun, that’ll be how.He’s probably traveling under an alias, maybe armed.”
Clint leaned forward.“If Renfield is missing, we can comb his known associates.Might find a clue—maybe an old stash house or a safe spot.Wendell could hide there, or used it for the transaction.”
Finn nodded, aware of McNeill’s thoughtful stare.“We have zero leads on where Wendell’s physically operating and holding Brendan, but if Renfield has met up with him at some point, it could point us in that direction.”
McNeill pressed his lips together, as if reluctant to concede the point.Then he spoke curtly.“All right, we check Renfield’s known network.The National Crime Database might have flagged him or his associates.Let’s see what we have on record.”
Without waiting for a nod from the group, Amelia spun her laptop around, tapping at the keyboard.“Renfield… searching now.”She muttered low, reading lines off the screen.“Yes, here—he’s in the system for ID forging charges a few years back.He also has connections to arms dealing, as Seward said.No known current address.But he does have connected associates.One name stands out as a listed contact: a business manager named Lewis Smeaton.Possibly laundered money for him or handled finances.He’s on a watch list with Mi5.”
McNeill grunted.“Then we talk to Smeaton.He might have a clue about Renfield’s last known location.Let’s see if we can press him.”
Clint chimed in, “I can run Smeaton’s name for an address or current employment.”He jotted a note, then checked the database.“Yes, we have a local business address on file.Looks like he’s a bigger deal than we thought.”
McNeill flicked a glance at Amelia, then Finn.He looked ready to object but ended up sighing.“Good.Investigate.Just keep me in the loop.If you find anything that might lead to Wendell, you call in backup—no hero stunts, you hear me?”
Amelia’s jaw tensed, but she nodded.“Understood.We’ll notify you if we get anything substantial.”
McNeill briefly narrowed his eyes, then waved them off.“Just let us know what you find.We can’t afford more casualties.”
Finn exhaled, a small sense of victory at getting the approval—albeit reluctant.He turned to Amelia with the faintest of smiles.“Well, looks like we have a business meeting to attend.Should I wear a suit and tie?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Finn drove with one hand, glancing at the dashboard as a familiar clunk resounded from the rear of his battered car.Evening twilight cast blue hues on the windshield, casting stripes across Amelia’s lap.She shifted in the passenger seat and shot him a concerned look.
“That clunking again,” she said, frowning.“The last thing we need is a breakdown right now.”
Finn patted the dashboard as if the aging vehicle were a skittish horse that needed soothing."It's just an issue with the suspension coil in the back.I'll fix it when we actually have a spare moment."He braked lightly, navigating an unfamiliar turn-off heading toward a multi-story car park in London."This old girl won't fail on us yet.Promise."
Amelia let out a tension-laced sigh.“I’ll hold you to that.”She folded her arms over her jacket, her gaze sliding to the side window.“I can’t stop thinking about Brendan.We still don’t know exactly where Wendell’s keeping him—or even if he’s…” Her voice caught, and she trailed off, swallowing.“I just keep hoping he’s still alive.What Wendell did to Kelvin Street was...”
Finn’s chest tightened at her words.He couldn’t blame her for the fear that pressed behind every breath.“We won’t let it come to that,” he said, his tone low but certain.He shifted gears, guiding the car up the ramp into the multi-story car park.
The structure loomed, concrete and uniform, with painted lines marking each level.The overhead lights flickered as they wound higher, searching for an open spot.The clatter of the engine echoed against the cement pillars, intensifying the clunk from the coil.Amelia rested her elbow on the windowsill, a haunted expression cast on her face.At last, Finn found a free space and parked.After cutting the engine, he let out a contained breath, ignoring the pang in his gut.He wasn’t sure if it was from hunger or the constant swirl of tension.
“Ready?”he asked, unfastening his seat belt.
She glanced at him, nodded once.
Outside the car, the wind carried a hint of chill, and the sky was painted with dusk, muted oranges somewhere far below the horizon giving off one last shriek of illumination.They descended the concrete steps of the car park, emerging onto a busy London street with high-rises jutting into the skyline.People bustled by, suits and casual wear, phone conversations forming an urban chorus.Finn and Amelia navigated the sidewalk, weaving around a few milling tourists.
Ahead rose a towering skyscraper of reflective glass, boasting dozens of floors.The building’s rotating doors mirrored the city lights, and a steady flow of suited professionals walked in and out, IDs swinging from lanyards.Finn slowed, checking his phone for the address.The neon sign near the entrance readStratton Towerin tall letters.According to the database, this was the place: a hub of businesses, each tucked into pristine office suites, Winlock Accounts among them.
