Page 14 of When You’re Forgotten (Finn Wright #10)
Every sense on alert, he tried to listen for any sign of breathing or motion, but the intruder had melted away into the underbrush.
Left with an aching skull, he recognized the futility of stumbling blindly after a foe who knew the terrain better.
Exhaling, he started back the way he came, weaving between pines and oaks until he reached the estate lawn again.
As he walked, he felt a trickle of blood tracing a line down behind his ear.
Each step sent a dull throb through his head.
He glanced over his shoulder every few yards, half expecting the intruder to reappear, but the morning remained deceptively quiet and still.
Brynmor Hall’s silhouette soon re-emerged from behind the treeline.
When he reached the manor’s side entrance, he realized how unsteady he felt, adrenaline receding into a pounding headache. Yet he forced himself to stand tall. The front door came into view, and there, under the arch, stood Amelia and Marianne, both looking anxious, scanning the property.
A man in his forties stood with them. He was tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a casual but expensive-looking jacket over a simple shirt. His hairline was receding slightly, and his expression was tense with concern. Upon spotting Finn’s disheveled state, he took a half-step forward.
Amelia’s eyes widened. “Finn! You’re bleeding!”
Marianne gasped, pressing a hand to her mouth. “Oh my goodness! What happened?” She hurried closer, voice trembling. “Was it the intruder?”
Finn forced a small, unconvincing smile. “They got away. I’m… fine, just a bump on the head.” He lifted a hand, showing the smear of blood, and Amelia grimaced.
“This is Judd Aspen,” Amelia said, nodding at the man. “He was just introducing himself.”
The man offered a stiff nod, stepping forward. “You must be Finn Wright. James told me about you, years back. Said you were some hotshot from the Home Office. We need to talk about him as soon as you’re sorted out,” he added quietly, flicking a cautious glance at Marianne.
Finn eyed him, taking in the keen intelligence in Judd’s gaze. The man certainly exuded confidence, and he seemed guarded around Marianne. “You’re the friend James let stay here, right?” Finn asked.
“Yes,” Judd murmured. “We’ll talk later, away from prying ears.”
Marianne rolled her eyes.
Amelia frowned. “For now, let’s get Finn inside. That head’s bleeding quite a bit.”
“Agreed,” Marianne said, beckoning them. “We have first-aid supplies in the study— or the kitchen, whichever you prefer.”
Finn nodded wearily. “Kitchen might be better. Less chance of disturbing any evidence in the study.” He gestured toward the direction of the crash, though now the intruder was gone. “We’ll check it out afterwards. Right now, a bandage would be appreciated.”
Amelia lightly touched his elbow, steering him gently toward the door. Judd stepped aside, letting them pass. He held Finn’s gaze for a fleeting second, something unreadable in his expression, then inclined his head in silent acknowledgment.
“Thanks,” Finn muttered, feeling the sting at the back of his scalp intensify.
Already, an uncomfortable trickle of warmth had snaked down to his collar.
Through the haze of his headache, he wondered what Judd Aspen knew about James’s final days.
And why he insisted on talking away from Marianne’s presence.
Inside, the house’s relative dimness enveloped them. Marianne hurried off, presumably to fetch a first-aid kit or a cloth. Amelia stayed close, one hand bracing Finn’s arm.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked softly, searching his face with worried eyes.
He forced a reassuring nod, though each pulse hammered against the bruise. “I’ve survived worse,” he said, injecting a wry note. “Just didn’t expect to be ambushed out there. The intruder was fast—and strong.”
Amelia’s lips pressed into a thin line. “They must’ve been rummaging through James’s study. Maybe we can figure out what they were after.”
Finn winced as a particularly sharp throb lanced his skull. “Let’s handle that once I’m not about to pass out. Then we can check the study, see if anything’s missing.”
Her hold on his arm tightened fractionally. “Deal. Don’t you dare pass out on me again.”
A faint grin twitched at the corners of his mouth, but he couldn’t quite muster a full smile.
The day had escalated from sunshine and family chatter to violence in the span of minutes.
As they moved deeper into the hall, Hobbs came into view, the children nowhere to be seen (likely guided back to their game or to a safer room).
Next to him, Marianne reappeared with a small kit in her hands, face etched with concern.
“Come on,” Marianne said, voice trembling a bit, “let’s get that wound cleaned up.” She cast a glance at Judd, still lingering by the front door, arms crossed. “Judd, would you mind giving us some space?”
He huffed a quiet breath, nodded, and stepped aside. But as Finn passed, Judd leaned in just enough to whisper, “We really do need to talk. I might know things James didn’t share with anyone else.”
Finn lifted his gaze, catching the seriousness in Judd’s eyes. “I’ll find you later,” he murmured back. Then Amelia tugged Finn forward gently.
They proceeded into the hallway leading to the kitchen, dim lamp sconces lighting the path.
The hush enveloped them again, disturbed only by their footsteps and the faint echo of children’s voices somewhere deeper in the house.
Finn’s head pounded in sync with his heartbeat, a reminder of the intruder’s unexpected blow.
Yet a flicker of triumph darted through his thoughts—someone was desperate enough to break in, rummage through James’s private papers, or the study.
This had all the hallmarks of a secret worth killing for, or at least a secret that demanded stealth at any cost. The puzzle’s pieces kept multiplying: the siblings at odds, the best friend with unspoken knowledge, the ghostly shapes on camera, the hush around James’s finances, and now a masked assailant rummaging in the very room James likely kept the estate’s records.
Clenching his jaw, Finn resolved not to rest until he uncovered the truth.
Even if it meant another unexpected brawl or a blow to the head.
He had come here with Amelia to determine whether James Penrose truly died from a mere heart condition or if forces more sinister lay behind the tragedy.
The day’s events only strengthened his resolve to see this through.
Amelia guided him through the kitchen doorway, and he allowed himself to be led inside. The scent of coffee and fresh bread lingered from the morning preparations. Marianne set the kit on a small table, pulling out antiseptic and gauze with shaking hands.
While Amelia helped dab at the cut on Finn’s head, Finn couldn’t help but recall Judd’s cryptic words.
“We need to talk.” That meant more potential revelations.
With the stinging sensation of disinfectant pressing into his scalp, he cast Amelia a sidelong look.
She gave him the slightest nod, as if reading his mind: they'd chase down Judd’s confession, figure out what had triggered James’s final, fatal crisis, and hopefully do it before another masked menace ambushed them.