AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"Looks like you took him down," Finn observed with a wry smile, trying to push away the tremor in his voice.
"Couldn't let him take any more shots at you," she said, her gaze flickering toward the inert villain. "Besides, it seemed like the appropriate time for a dramatic entrance. I usually leave that to you."
Despite the gravity of the moment, Finn couldn't help but laugh—a short, sharp release of tension that echoed oddly among the twisted metal sculptures of the junkyard. It was a laugh born not of humor, but of relief; the kind that acknowledged the absurdity of life and death dancing on such a fine edge.
"Never thought I'd say this," he admitted, "but I'm glad you came back and didn't stick to the plan."
"Plans be damned," Amelia retorted, her voice laced with warmth. "It's the strangest thing, I just had a feeling in my gut that I should come back or... Or I'd regret it for the rest of my life."
They helped each other to stand, limbs heavy and uncooperative, the world tilting slightly as they found their footing. As they leaned on each other for support, their silhouettes cast long shadows under the moonlight, intertwined and indistinguishable.
"Let's get out of here," Amelia suggested, her gaze meeting his. There was a steely determination in her eyes, the same determination that had driven her through the murky waters and into the fray.
Finn tried to stand up and then sat back down. “If you don't mind, I might stay here for a bit. It's been one hell of a day.”
EPILOGUE
Finn's breath formed a misty veil in the chill air, the scent of oil and metal lingering as he sat at the back of an ambulance, the clamor of the junkyard now replaced by the urgent symphony of police radios and bustling officers. A warm blanket was draped over his shoulders, the fabric rough against his skin, a stark reminder that shock had a grip on him. He glanced to his side where Inspector Amelia Winters sat, her presence like a warm fire to him.
"I know I already said it, but thank you," he murmured, his voice gravelly, eyes not quite meeting hers. "For... back there."
Amelia gave a small, affirmative nod, her gaze scanning the scene before settling back on him. "We saved each other, Finn. That's what partners do, isn't it?" Her tone held a note of camaraderie that was hard to ignore.
Finn watched a constable dash by, his feet kicking up bits of gravel. In this pandemonium, his mind surprisingly found clarity. As he looked at Amelia, the realization seeped into him like rain into parched soil. His feelings for Demi, tangled and frayed as they were, paled in comparison to the solid partnership he'd built with Amelia. It was time to untie the knots of the past and consider a future unburdened by old regrets. He didn't want to hurt Demi, but it was time to move on.
"Amelia," he started, his voice steadier now, the decision cementing itself in his mind. "When all this is over, would—"
A sudden interruption cut his words short, but the resolve within him remained unshaken. Finn knew that once the dust settled and the adrenaline ceased its flow, he would ask Amelia on a date. A simple question, yet one that marked a new beginning.
Through the discordant symphony of radio chatter and the diesel growl of arriving vehicles, Finn's gaze followed the subdued figure of the killer. He was a gaunt silhouette against the flashing blue lights, his steps shackled but oddly buoyant as if he still harbored some secret delight in his capture. Handcuffs glinted dully on his wrists, a metallic punctuation to his chapter of terror.
"Looks like Steven Sandler was our guy after all," Amelia commented dryly, her eyes tracking the man she'd hunted with such tenacious resolve. “Though no connection to Vilne...
"I'm not sure about that," Finn replied, the weight of his own past briefly surfacing in his tone. He watched intently as the constables loaded the handcuffed man into a car. The slam of the door echoed, a satisfying conclusion to the pursuit. “The man is an historian. Who gave him that gun?”
“You still think Vilne is connected?” Amelia asked.
"I just can't let that go," Finn added, tension unspooling within him as the threat receded with each step the officers took.
A familiar voice cut through the muddle of activity, bringing with it a semblance of normalcy. "Well, if it isn't Houdini himself. Should've known you'd turn up at the deep end without so much as a snorkel."
Rob’s tall frame came into view, a smirk playing across his features. His light-hearted jab did little to mask the relief in his eyes as they rested on Finn and then Amelia.
"Swimming wasn't exactly on my agenda for today," Finn shot back with a half-smile, shifting under the blanket's warmth. "But I'm not one to shy away from a spontaneous dip."
"Spontaneous? That's one word for it." Rob chuckled, scratching his head.
"Don't listen to him, Chief. He swims like a stone," Amelia quipped, her posture relaxed despite the remnants of adrenaline that Finn could sense in her quick wit.
"Breaststroke, backstroke, dog paddle—I would've made it work," Finn said. His gaze lingered on Amelia. She smiled, and he wondered what she truly thought of him.
"Whatever stroke you fancy, mate," Rob remarked, a grin spreading across his face. "I'm just glad you both are here, relatively dry and in one piece."
Amid the metallic tang of oil and rust, Rob leaned against the bonnet of a police car, his arms folded as he surveyed the scene. "We'll dig into our friend's history," he said, nodding toward the departing vehicle that held the subdued killer. "Preliminary intel suggests we're dealing with an antique smuggling ring."
"Antiques? You mean Arron Reinhardt?" Amelia raised an eyebrow and a grin. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, the gravel beneath her boots crunching in quiet protest.
Finn laughed. “We're way ahead of you, Rob.”
