Page 17

Amelia stared at her computer screen, scanning yet another set of names—former prison guards, retired solicitors, ex-police officers, and anyone else who'd once interacted with Wendell Reed during his incarceration. She'd been at it for hours, her eyes dry and neck stiff. The Hertfordshire Constabulary office felt too warm, the early spring sun heating the windows and turning the place into a stuffy cave.

It was mid-afternoon, and she was running on caffeine and nerves. She’d been digging into a theory: Wendell had escaped prison not just for his own freedom but with a methodical plan to punish anyone who’d played a part in his capture or detention. He’d murdered Robert Shankland’s sister already—a savage, personal strike. She feared he might do worse if he had a whole list of names. And while the logical part of her mind said she was top of that list, she refused to let her fear dictate her every move.

A knock on her office door broke her concentration. She looked up to see Rob enter, a weary look on his face. He settled into the chair opposite her desk with a sigh, his uniform jacket rumpled as though he’d been at the station since dawn.

“You all right, Amelia?” Rob asked, resting his hands on his knees. “Heard about the train station discovery. Must have been rough.”

Amelia leaned back in her chair, pressing a hand to her temple. “Yeah, it was upsetting. Doesn’t matter how many times you see something like that, it never gets easier. And Wendell’s clearly targeting Shankland now, or at least that’s how it looks.” She gestured at the endless files on her screen. “But I’m working on figuring out who else he might hold a grudge against. There’s a long list of possibilities.”

Rob nodded. “I imagine. He’s made it personal with you, too.”

Her stomach tightened. “Yeah. The personal detail you assigned me is outside as we speak.” She sighed. “They keep their distance, just watchful—like you instructed. It’s… all I can really ask them to do.”

“Good,” Rob said. “I don’t want you alone if Wendell’s escalated to killing relatives of prison guards, especially after that body under the train. It’s horrifying. We've managed to keep it out of the press for now, but that won't last for long.”

Amelia shoved her hair behind her ear. “I spoke to Shankland. He’s devastated. He was the guard who oversaw Wendell’s transfer the night he escaped, and now his family’s paying the price.”

Rob nodded gravely. “Yeah, it’s monstrous. But listen, Amelia—there’s something unofficial I need to tell you. Inspector McNeil—the one heading the Wendell Reed task force—has been asking why you’re still on that team. He’s raising concerns about personal involvement, conflict of interest, all that.”

She pressed her lips together, not surprised in the slightest. “Figures he’d want me off. I knew I wasn’t exactly his favorite. Think he wants me out for good?”

“Possibly,” Rob admitted. “If the Home Office decides you’re a liability, they might pull you. So tread carefully.”

Amelia rubbed at her temples. “I will. But I can’t just stop. I’d rather be actively searching for Wendell than waiting for him to make the next move.” Her voice hardened. “I won’t let him keep the advantage.”

Rob gave a faint shrug, conceding her point. “Just remember: he’s hunting you as much as you’re hunting him, so don’t do anything reckless.”

She forced a small nod, refocusing her gaze on the files open on her monitor. “Yeah. I’ll keep that in mind.” Then, after a beat, she asked, “By the way, any word on how Dr. Eleanor Matthews is getting on with Finn? Last I heard, they were working the art forgery murders, right?”

Rob half-laughed. “I think Finn rubs her the wrong way—keeps cracking jokes, and she’s not the joking type. But so far, they’re making progress. At least, that’s what Finn claims.”

A flicker of emotion tightened Amelia’s chest. “Finn does love his jokes, even the bad ones. I just hope she's fair with him.”

Rob arched a brow. “Slight hint of jealousy there?”

She scoffed, though she felt a twinge of truth in his teasing. “Not at all. Just curious how they’re getting on.” She drummed her fingers on the desk. “It’s only temporary, right?”

“Right,” Rob assured her. “She was brought in because of her niche art expertise. Once the case wraps, that’s it. Finn’s not forming a permanent duo with her.”

A wave of relief washed through Amelia, though she tried not to show it. “Makes sense. Anyway, thanks for the update.”

“No problem.” Rob glanced at his watch and then saw Amelia still looked concerned. “Is something else on your mind?”

Amelia’s brow knitted. “Hmm?” Then she remembered. “Oh—yeah, I tried calling Finn earlier. Twice, actually. No answer. His phone went straight to voicemail.”

Rob frowned, leaning forward. “That’s unlike him. He must be otherwise detained. Maybe he’s stuck in a no-signal zone?”

She let out a concerned breath. “I don’t know. Something feels off. He almost never switches it off entirely.”

A knot formed in Rob’s forehead. “Let me see if I can reach Eleanor. If their phones are both off, that’s… suspicious.”

He pulled out his mobile and dialed a number. Silence. After half a minute, he shook his head. “No luck. Also voicemail. Where were they last, do you know?”

Amelia sat up straighter, alarm creeping in. “I’m not sure, but I know they were digging deeper into the forgery angle. Maybe they decided to chase down a lead involving organized crime or something. If that’s the case…”

Rob winced. “We both know how that can end. Wendell might not be the only dangerous person out there—there could be criminals protecting the forging pipeline. They might have run into trouble.”

Amelia’s heart pounded. “You think Wendell got to them?”

He grimaced. "I'm sure it will be fine." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I wish he drove a normal police car so we could track him. But that old Corvette is untraceable."

Amelia drummed her fingers nervously. “We could get a cell phone ping from the phone company. Or we can try traffic camera feeds—he probably had to drive somewhere.”

Rob nodded decisively. “Yes, let’s do that. Check the traffic cams for that red Corvette. Might be the best shot.”

Amelia beckoned him around to her computer. Rob leaned over her shoulder as she tapped into the system, bringing up a database used by local traffic authorities. She input the license plate info. A minute later, the screen blinked with a single result—Finn’s car spotted entering an industrial estate outside London around midday.

Rob’s voice tightened. “An industrial estate. That’s… not a coincidence.”

Amelia sprang from her chair, grabbing her jacket. “I’m calling a rapid response team right now. If they’re in trouble—”

Rob held up a hand. “Wait. Let’s think carefully. If Finn and Eleanor are snooping around forgeries, that might be exactly where they are—some warehouse connected to the forging operation. We don’t want to barge in with sirens if they’re being stealthy. We could blow their cover. Or worse.”

She halted, frustration warring with logic. “So what do you suggest?”

“I say we bring a discreet team—low profile. Not a full-blown SWAT presence unless it’s necessary. We’ll keep the perimeter but try not to spook anyone inside. Then we can move in if we see signs of trouble.” He eyed Amelia’s worried expression. “And yes, I’m coming with you.”

She grabbed her car keys, relief mingling with her fear. “All right. Let’s go. I can’t sit here doing nothing.”

Rob reached for his jacket, and Amelia almost ran out of the door.