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“How did you know?” I asked.

It was much later that night. Finn and I were in the very comfortable bed in the very comfortable Grand Bay suite, quietly bringing each other up to speed on the events of the last five hours.

After the hostage rescue operation, the police took me, Milo—er, McGregor—and Georgi Argyros downtown—three separate cars, three separate interview rooms. I gave my statement twice, drank bad coffee, stared at chipped walls, and listened to the muted hum of a police station going through the familiar motions.

It was close to three hours before they finally let me go, paperwork and apologies trailing after me.

My story—and story is the correct word—was simple.

As both a fan and his prospective new editor, I wanted to informally introduce myself to McGregor and welcome him to Wheaton we don’t have any leverage.

If the judge is dying, he’s not going to give a damn about his reputation or anything else. He wants revenge, end of story.”

“I agree,” Finn said. “We’re not going to waste time talking to Baldwin. He’s already going to have a pretty good idea of what’s happened because I’d bet money Geo is desperate enough and dumb enough to call on him for help.”

“Jesus. Then what are we doing?”

Finn hesitated and my heart dropped.

I shook my head. “Finn… I can’t.”

“Just listen for a minute. We have to control this narrative. It’s only a matter of time before Milo’s dumbass stranger danger story falls apart.

Even if Geo is willing to confess to killing Colby, there are going to be questions.

The police are already curious, they’re going to keep poking around, and it’s not going to be hard to find more than they ever dreamed of. ”

“But it won’t necessarily tie back to me. There’s no reason for Milo to drag me into it. It’s not going to help his situation.”

“That’s how you look at these things. That’s not how everyone looks at them.

Milo is first and foremost concerned with Milo.

He’s going to jet back to Scotland and talk through his lawyers; he’s going to stall telling the truth about anything and everything as long as possible.

And one of those stall tactics might be cutting a deal and throwing you to the wolves. ”

That gave me pause.

“I don’t think he…”

Actually, I had no idea what he might do. He was a complete stranger to me.

Finn didn’t bother arguing. “We have to get out ahead of the narrative, whatever it’s going to be, and we have to do that quickly.

This is an evolving situation. It’s not how I wanted to handle it.

But we’re out of options. I think our best bet is to go straight to whoever is your sheriff now and be absolutely honest.”

“About everything?”

“All of it. Everything.”

I could see the sense in what he was saying, but the idea of turning myself in—that my time might have just run out—left me feeling cold and hollow.

When I said nothing, Finn’s arms tightened around me. He said fiercely, his breath warm against my ear, “I’ll be with you every step of the way. Whatever happens, it’s going to happen to both of us, and we’ll work through it together. I promise you.”

I had no words. Couldn’t have dislodged them from the vise my throat had become, if I had.

I nodded.

The Steeple Hill sheriff’s station sat on the edge of town, a small, white building with a cracked asphalt lot and a flag that always seemed to hang half-mast, no matter the weather.

Finn parked in the empty “visitors” lot and we got out and went inside.

Indoors, it still smelled faintly of old coffee and pine disinfectant.

The front counter was more scuffed, the plastic plants more dusty, and the bulletin board more cluttered with curling wanted posters, bake sale flyers, and a faded handwritten note about a missing bike.

A handful of desks, a radio that occasionally crackled to life, and a coffee pot that was surely a direct descendent of the one I remembered.

Nothing high tech, nothing fancy, but this wasn’t a town that required a large police presence.