Page 24

Finn stood just beyond the remnants of the Blackthorn Gallery, the night air surprisingly cold against his face. The acrid scent of burnt wood and chemicals hung thick around him. Behind him, firefighters sprayed powerful jets of water at the smoldering skeleton of the once-elegant building. Ambulances and police cars crowded the street, their flashing lights dancing across the broken glass littering the pavement.

Although the immediate danger had passed, Finn’s heart still hammered with adrenaline. Smoke stung his eyes as he watched paramedics finishing up with the last of the injured—a few gallery staff who’d managed to escape. He himself stood with one foot braced, unsteady from the debris that had clipped him when the ceiling collapsed. His head still rang from the explosion that had torn the place apart just minutes ago. He pressed a hand gingerly to his bruised ribs, wincing at the tenderness.

A gentle voice pulled him from his daze. “Finn?”

He turned, blinking. Amelia hurried toward him, her expression taut with concern. She wove between two uniformed officers, ignoring their attempts to stop her from entering the cordoned-off area. Spotting him at last, she rushed up and touched his shoulder. Even in the harsh red-and-blue flicker of the emergency lights, Finn could see the relief flooding her features.

“Amelia…” he breathed, letting out a shaky exhale he hadn’t realized he was holding.

She reached up, brushing a smear of soot from his cheek. “Are you all right? I heard about the explosion on the radio.”

Finn nodded, feeling an ache in his side as he shifted. “Yeah, but we got out in one piece… mostly.” He forced a small smile. “One of the gallery staff was the killer. He built a bomb... You’re okay? Did you find Wendell Reed?”

Amelia’s lips curved in a fleeting smile. “No, we couldn't find him. As soon as I heard about the fire, I came here.”

He studied her face, the swirl of fatigue and worry in her eyes. "Glad you're safe," he said softly, resting a hand on top of hers. "Maybe we should try a different career. We could go to Florida, where I grew up, and give tours on the swamps?"

Amelia laughed. “I don't think I'm a swamp kind of a girl. And you'd hate not chasing down criminals.”

“True,” he said, wincing.

She nodded, eyes flicking to the battered ambulance a few feet away. “Finn, you want me to get one of the paramedics?”

He shook his head, wincing at the movement. "Already did a once-over. Bruises probably cracked a rib, but nothing that requires an immediate trip to the hospital."

Amelia pursed her lips. “At least promise me you’ll see a doctor in the morning?”

Finn let out a tight laugh. “I promise to do my best.”

“So it was a staff member all along?” Amelia asked.

“David Smythe,” Finn said. “There was a forgery ring working through the gallery. He decided to punish anyone who knew about it and did nothing. He thought it was a betrayal of what art should be.”

Her face fell. “And he's dead?”

Finn nodded grimly. “He pinned me under debris, tried to re-enact that painting in real flames. The building collapsed around him. There was no saving him. I... I couldn't get near him...”

Amelia’s grip on his hand tightened. “I’m sorry.” She paused, lips parting as she glanced over Finn’s shoulder. “Where’s Eleanor?”

“She must be around,” Finn said. “I wouldn't have made it out if it wasn't for her.”

He turned, following her gaze. Through the drifting smoke, Eleanor stood near a line of orange traffic cones, arms folded across her soot-smudged jacket. Her expression was distant, as though replaying the horror in her mind. She was scanning the scene for glimpses of paramedics or officers, but her gaze snapped to Amelia at once. She approached the two of them, leaving a swirl of ash in her wake.

“There you are,” Amelia said, stepping forward. A wave of gratitude crossed her face. “Eleanor, thank you for saving Finn. You saved his life more than once tonight. He’s a handful at the best of times, but in a flaming building, I can only imagine.”

A weary laugh escaped Eleanor’s lips. “It's the least I could do,” she said simply. “After you saved us at the warehouse. Wouldn't want you to be without your boyfriend.” She smiled.

Finn nodded in agreement. “Amelia’s right, Eleanor. I owe you. If you hadn’t pulled me out from under that beam, I’d still be stuck inside.”

Eleanor lowered her eyes, a slight blush touching her cheeks. “You’d have done the same for me, I’m sure.”

In the flickering emergency lights, Finn could see Mary Whitmore hunched near an ambulance, speaking quietly with a pair of uniformed officers. Her face was streaked with soot and tears. She looked their way, as though wanting to approach but too hesitant, burdened by guilt for her role in the forgery scandal. Finn filed it away as something to handle soon—Mary needed to be processed by the police for her part in the forgeries, but at least she wasn’t the murderer. And Finn would vouch for how she tried to stop the madness inside of the gallery in the end.

Before he could say anything else, a familiar voice carried over the noise. “So this is where the party’s at.”

Rob strode up, his shoes crunching on broken glass. He wore a rumpled suit jacket, clearly having rushed from another location. Relief mingled with exasperation in his tone. “You three have to stop leaving me out of the big fireworks.”

Finn suppressed an ironic chuckle, remembering all the times Rob had arrived just after the chaos ended. “Wish it was less dramatic, trust me. You’re not missing much besides smoke inhalation and a nasty cough.”

Rob turned his attention to Eleanor. “How are you holding up? I heard you had a front-row seat to David Smythe’s meltdown?”

She drew a slow breath. “I’m… all right. I just want to get out of here. Maybe get a shower and some fresh air that doesn’t reek of burning buildings.”

Rob nodded solemnly, then switched back to professional mode. “I’ll need your statements,” he said, looking at both Finn and Eleanor. “We need a formal account for the record—David Smythe’s involvement, the forgeries, the bomb.”

Eleanor cleared her throat, glancing away. “Yes, that’s fine. But can we do it tomorrow? I can barely think straight right now, and you can see the state Finn’s in.”

Rob’s features softened. “Of course. Tomorrow. I just wanted to let you know. If you’re free in the morning, we’ll get it on file.”

Eleanor nodded, exhaustion etched into her face. “Yes… I’d like to go home.” Her voice quivered slightly on the last word.

Rob tilted his head. “I can give you a ride if you want. You shouldn’t have to deal with public transport or a taxi in your condition. You sure your place is okay?”

Eleanor pursed her lips, shaking her head. “My place is across town, and I’m wiped. Yours is closer, if memory serves.” She paused, summoning some courage. “If it’s not too much trouble… maybe I could stay at your place tonight?”

A flicker of surprise, then a gentle smile crossed Rob’s face. He cast a sideways glance at Finn and Amelia—aware they were listening—but found both of them watching with wide, happy smiles. “Of course. That’s no trouble at all.”

The hush that followed was brief but loaded, as if they’d all recognized a subtle shift. Then Amelia’s lips moved into a teasing grin, and Finn coughed pointedly, exchanging an amused look with her. The tension broke into a soft laugh on Finn’s part, muffled by a wince at his bruised ribs.

Rob shot them a mock scowl, though his eyes gleamed with warmth. “Not a word from either of you. I don’t have to tell you a thing.”

Amelia laughed under her breath, stepping closer to Finn to slip an arm around his waist. He leaned on her gratefully. “We wouldn’t dream of prying,” she said. “Just… nice to see everyone’s safe, right?”

Eleanor tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, still smudged with soot. “Yes, safe—relatively. But I definitely need a bath and some rest.” She glanced at Finn. “Take care of yourself, okay? It was... Interesting being your partner for a few days.”

Finn nodded, holding out his hand to her. She accepted, and they shook firmly—a gesture of respect and thanks. “You'd make a great cop, Eleanor. You take care.”

She broke contact, stepping back. Rob placed a supportive hand on her shoulder, and together they began to walk away, weaving through the throng of emergency responders and officers. The flicker of ambulance lights highlighted the slight slump in Eleanor’s shoulders, but also Rob’s quiet reassurance.

As they disappeared into the swirling activity, Finn exhaled a long breath, turning to Amelia. The air still carried the tang of smoke and char, but at least the worst was over. “So, I guess that’s it,” he murmured.

Amelia’s gaze was gentle. “Yes. The spree is done. Just wish I'd caught Wendell as well.”

Finn sighed. “Right. Another day, another manhunt.” Then his voice softened. “But for now, can we just take a moment? I’m exhausted. How does pizza sound?”

“Sounds good.”

She gave him a faint smile, leaning her head against his shoulder.

He let her guide him away from the chaos, her presence a steady warmth against the cold drizzle that had begun to fall. He glanced over his shoulder—firefighters still battling stubborn embers, more officers cordoning off the site. Another case closed, at least on the killer’s front. The forging ring might unravel further, but the murderer’s brush with The Great Fire of London had ended in the flames.

With that sobering thought, he let Amelia lead him to an ambulance, the future uncertain but at least for this moment, calm. They were alive, together. That was enough to hold onto, if only for one quiet night before the next storm.