Page 13

Amelia woke to the soft, pale light of early morning filtering through the cottage's small windows. Outside, she could hear a low hum of birdsong, but it still felt chilly—spring hadn't truly taken hold. She slipped out of bed quietly so as not to disturb Finn, only to find he wasn't in bed at all. The covers on his side were thrown back, and faint sounds of movement drifted from the cottage's kitchen area. A pang of relief passed through her as she realized he must have woken before her—she'd been so exhausted last night.

She stretched, rolling her shoulders, then carefully brushed her hair into a neat ponytail. Her reflection in the small mirror showed tired eyes, the result of too many restless nights worrying about Wendell Reed and his every brutal move. But there was no time to dwell on that; she had a scheduled call. Slipping on a comfortable sweater and jeans, she made her way out into the open living space.

The cottage was always inviting in the morning, with beams across the low ceiling and a snug dining nook where a small wooden table stood against the wall. She found Finn in the adjoining kitchen area, hair damp from a shower, rummaging through a cupboard for something. He wore a crisp shirt and dark trousers, a little more formal than usual, likely an outfit for another day spent with Doctor Eleanor Matthews and the art murder investigation.

“You’re up,” he said, turning toward Amelia with a grin. His blond hair was still beaded with water at the tips.

She smiled, gave a quick nod, while reading a text. Then, she stepped into the dining nook to set up her laptop on the small table. “McNeil has organized an interview. I have a call with Shankland in about ten minutes,” she explained. “He’s—” She paused, swallowing. “He’s the prison guard whose sister Wendell murdered.”

A shadow flickered across Finn's expression. He set down a mug he was holding. "Right," he said quietly. "You sure you're up for this?"

Amelia managed a small smile. “I have to be.” She untangled her laptop charger and plugged it in. “Shankland was told about his sister during the night. He wants to speak to me personally—maybe share any details that might help us track Wendell.”

Finn moved to her side, resting a hand lightly on her shoulder. “If it gets overwhelming, call me in. Or… well, I’ll be leaving soon, but maybe just message me.”

She set the laptop on the table, trying to ignore her nerves. “Sure. Let’s see what he’s willing to say.”

He leaned closer, narrowing his eyes at her hair. “You just woke up. Your hair’s all neat already?”

She laughed, a soft sound. “I brushed it, unlike you. You look half like you’ve been dunked in a fountain.”

Finn smirked and ran a hand through his damp hair. “I’m going for the businessman by day, surfer by night look,” he joked, slipping on a pair of sunglasses that had been resting on the windowsill. “What do you think?”

Her smile widened. She reached up, ruffling the wet strands. “I think it’s still wet. And you’re about as far from a surfer as Great Amwell is from Malibu.”

He chuckled, then gently rested his hand against her cheek. “Will you be okay? Talking to Shankland, dealing with all this again?”

She nodded, exhaling. “I will be. I’ve done worse. But I appreciate you worrying.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed him lightly on the lips. “Thank you.”

A faint flush colored his cheeks as he set down the sunglasses, apparently deciding the comedic effect wasn’t worth it. “Of course. I’m about to head out anyway. Another day of Doctor Matthews rolling her eyes at my jokes.”

Amelia shot him a sympathetic grin. “Try not to wind her up too much. I can guess she’s not the type to see humor in dire circumstances.”

Finn shrugged. “I’ll do my best. We’ll see if I survive. But it’s more art references, more potential forgeries, more to unravel.”

She finished adjusting her laptop and checking the internet connection. The clock on the screen read 08:59. One minute to the call. She glanced toward the window that overlooked the front lane. "Don't you need to be off soon?"

Finn joined her, peering out the blinds. A small, unmarked police car sat on the opposite curb, the silhouette of an officer visible inside. “Rob must’ve arranged for someone to keep an eye on you. Good,” Finn said under his breath. “But I still hate leaving you like this.”

Amelia placed a gentle hand on his arm. "We both have jobs to do, Finn. I'll manage. And yes, having an officer outside does help." She turned to face him. "Go before you're late."

They exchanged another soft kiss. His warmth lingered a second longer before he grabbed his coat from a hook near the door. “See you tonight,” he promised, stepping out onto the cottage porch. She watched him wave to the officer in the car, then the cottage door closed behind him, leaving her alone with her unsettled thoughts.

Amelia took a steadying breath, dropping into one of the chairs at the dining table. The laptop glowed softly, waiting. She checked the time again—09:01 now—and stared at her reflection on the dark screen. A pang of anxiety flared. Shankland had lost his sister in a vicious, unimaginable way. Wendell’s brutality was personal—aimed at anyone he deemed responsible for his imprisonment. What if I’m next? She inhaled, shaking the thought aside. Focus. This call might glean crucial intel.

A blinking icon at the corner of the screen signaled a message: "Ready?" from the messenger app. Her pulse kicked up a notch. She typed a short response: “Yes. Let’s talk.”

Then she hit the call button. The app rang twice, and the screen flickered before revealing a tired-looking man in a casual polo shirt. He had thinning hair and faint gray around the temples—Robert Shankland, the same guard who’d escorted Wendell Reed during that ill-fated transfer. Amelia recognized the lines of stress in his brow, the drawn look of someone living in fear.

“Robert Shankland?” she asked gently, leaning forward to appear reassuring on camera.

He nodded, shifting in what appeared to be a small, cluttered living room. “Yes,” he replied. His voice sounded hoarse, and his eyes darted about as though expecting something else to happen behind him. “You’re… Inspector Amelia Winters, right? The one that caught Reed the first time around?”

“Yes,” she confirmed softly. “I’m so sorry for your loss. The entire police force extends its condolences regarding your sister.”

A tremor flickered across his face. “I still can’t—still can’t believe she’s gone.” His voice cracked on the last word. “She never had anything to do with Wendell, you know? She was just my sister. I loved her.”

Amelia’s throat tightened. “Wendell Reed has shown he’s willing to hurt anyone connected to those who oversaw his capture or detention.” She glanced away briefly, remembering the scene of that poor woman. “Do you have any idea why he targeted her specifically?”

Robert shook his head, eyes wet. “It’s because—he… he used to make these threats. But I never believed… I never believed he’d do something like this. I thought it was just talk.”

Amelia’s heart squeezed. “He threatened your family?”

“Yes,” Robert confirmed with a shaky sigh. “He threatened to visit my daughters, if you want to know the truth. So I refused to cave in. The day he escaped, I was one of the guards that loaded him onto the train. I wish I'd gone with him. He stole my key... It still haunts me. Now that he’s free, he’s punishing me. My sister… oh God.”

Amelia frowned at the trembling camera feed. “Are you safe right now? Is there a police detail with you?”

Robert sniffed, nodding. “Yeah, some officers are stationed outside. We—I keep the blinds closed. My wife’s at her sister’s house with our girls. I can’t… can’t risk them staying here.”

She softened her tone. "I understand. We can organize official witness protection for your whole family, Robert. Move you somewhere, Wendell can't find you. Would that help?"

“Yes,” he breathed, voice ragged. “Please. Anything. I just don’t want anything happening to my kids.”

Amelia mustered a small smile. “All right. I’ll speak to my superiors, see what we can do. In the meantime, stay put with the officers. We’ll keep you informed, too.”

Just then, the sound of raised voices muffled through Robert’s microphone. He turned his head, alarm etching his features. “Wait—there’s shouting outside.”

Amelia leaned forward, heart lurching. “What’s happening? Robert, talk to me.”

He shot the camera a frightened look. “I—I don’t know.” The feed jostled as he apparently stood, carrying the laptop or phone with him. The living room’s background blurred. “Maybe the officers are confronting someone.”

Suddenly, a door in the background swung open. A uniformed policeman stepped into the frame, breathless. “Mr. Shankland, sorry to intrude, but this was delivered at the perimeter just now.” He held out a plain envelope.

Robert’s eyes widened. “Delivered? By who?”

“The man was gone before we could question him,” the officer said, looking uneasy. “We have men searching the area. I’m sorry, sir.”

With shaking hands, Robert tore open the envelope. A photograph slid out, dropping halfway to the floor before he snatched it. The camera angle on Amelia’s screen allowed her a glimpse of a blurred image. Robert let out a choked cry.

“Robert?” Amelia’s voice shook. “What is it?”

His voice wavered, tears streaming down his cheeks. “It’s—Rachel… my sister. A photo of her, tied up, gagged. It must’ve been taken before—” He broke off, sobbing openly now.

Amelia felt nausea twist in her stomach. “I understand.” She forced her voice to remain steady. “Is there… is there writing or a note with it?”

Robert turned the photo around. The camera revealed smears of dark crimson letters scrawled on the back. A single phrase: “FAMILY HOLIDAY.”

“It’s… in blood,” Robert choked out, barely coherent. “He’s mocking me. Telling me… telling me he did this as a message.”

Amelia clenched her jaw, anger and pity tangling. “Robert, I am so sorry. We— I promise you, we will do everything to bring Wendell to justice. Your sister deserves that.”

Shankland let the photo slip from his trembling fingers. “He’s a monster. A pure monster. I—I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Her heart clenched at the utter hopelessness in his voice. “Stay with the police detail, Robert. Please. I’ll contact the task force right away about witness protection. We’ll get you somewhere safe, get justice for your sister.”

He nodded, trying to wipe his tears away. “Thank you,” he whispered. His gaze flicked off-screen as more commotion sounded—likely the officer telling him they needed to secure the evidence. “I—I have to go.”

The call ended abruptly, the screen fading to black. Amelia sat there, laptop still open, her mind reeling. For a few seconds, she simply stared at her own reflection in the blank display. The cottage around her felt suddenly cold despite the gentle morning sun outside.

Slowly, she closed the laptop and rose. Her pulse pounded in her ears, adrenaline and sorrow battling inside. She moved to the window, drawing aside the curtain to peer into the cottage’s small garden. The ground was damp, tiny shoots of green just barely poking up, and the early spring air remained chill. No vibrant blossoms yet—just dull buds not quite ready to face the world.

She wondered bleakly if summer would come at all, and whether warmth and life could reassert themselves while Wendell Reed roamed free. His brutal acts defied comprehension, and each new discovery seemed more horrifying than the last. And now, the only thing she could do was pass the information up the chain, keep pressing. Because if Wendell was out there, and he’d fixated on her or anyone else, who knew what his next move would be?