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"Cut the martyr act, Finn." Amelia's tone was gentle but firm. "You're our partner. That means we stick together, no matter how ugly it gets. Do you know how insufferable you would be if you took all this on your own? We'd never hear the end of it."
She smiled then reached out, her hands deft as they began to collect the dolls. Carefully, she placed each one into individual evidence bags, sealing them with a precision that spoke of countless hours spent preserving crime scenes.
"Let's get these to forensics," she said, her focus absolute. "Every clue gets us closer to stopping him."
As she worked, Finn watched her, admiration mingling with concern. She was right, of course—about partnership, about strength in unity—but the gnawing fear for their safety refused to be silenced.
“Rob, can I have a word?” Finn said, moving out of the house.
The garden was a quiet sanctuary compared to the chaos of the investigation. Overgrown ivy stems clung to the stone walls, having long since lost their leaves, and the air carried the scent of damp earth and decay. Finn watched a solitary red-breasted robin bob through the air, its song a soft background drone.
“He seems happy,” Rob said, pointing to the bird.
“Winter has come,” Finn said. “It's going to be tough for him.”
There was another silence before anyone spoke.
“Is this about Demi?” Rob asked as a breeze floated by.
“What do you mean?” Finn asked.
“I'm assuming you want her sent back home,” he explained.
Finn had thought about that, but there was a deep conflict within him. Part of him felt that if he sent her back to the US, that would truly be the end of them, and he wasn't certain if that was how he wanted things to pan out. But he knew even if he wanted her to go, she would try and stay. She said she wasn't going to leave unless it was with him.
“I'd rather she be here,” Finn concluded out loud. “She can be under protection here, and I can keep an eye on her while Vilne is still on the loose. Back home, I can't do that. She would be exposed to his attacks, I have no doubt he'd hire or manipulate others into harming her.”
Finn glanced over his shoulder, making certain that Amelia wasn't within earshot.
"Rob, listen to me," Finn said, his voice low, his gaze tracing the path of the bird as it flew over a fence. "Amelia—she's got guts, no one's denying that. But she needs to be off this case for her own sake."
Rob crossed his arms, his face set in the stubborn lines that Finn knew all too well. "You don't give her enough credit. She's the most capable Inspector I know. We need her, Finn. Her intuition, her skills—they're irreplaceable."
"Doesn't matter how capable she is if she ends up like those dolls upstairs," Finn muttered, his hand raking through his hair in frustration. The memory of the three figures, bound and gagged, was branded into his mind’s eye.
"Your concern is admirable, but misplaced," Rob shot back, his voice rising slightly before he checked himself. "I won't sideline her. She'd fight it all the way, and we need our best on this."
Finn turned to face him fully, his eyes meeting Rob's in a silent plea. "And what about you? You think you're not at risk here?" he asked, the protective instinct flaring within him, a flame that refused to be snuffed out.
"Risk comes with the job," Rob replied, steadfast as ever. Then, softer, "Remember college back in the States? When my dad passed, and everything seemed to crumble? I was ready to throw it all away—to drop out."
Finn nodded, the recollection bittersweet. He had been there, pulling Rob back from the edge of despair, anchoring him when the currents of grief threatened to drag him under.
"You saved me, Finn. You kept me in the game," Rob continued, his eyes holding a depth of gratitude that words could scarce convey. "Let me repay the favor. Let me stand with you now."
Before Finn could respond, the back door creaked open, halting their conversation. Amelia stepped out, phone still pressed to her ear, her expression a carefully composed mask that did little to hide the urgency sparking in her eyes.
"Sorry to interrupt," she said, pocketing her phone, "but that was the pathologist. There’s something off about the autopsies on Thomas and Lily. It's...strange. We need to go."
"Strange how?" Finn asked, the detective in him instantly alert, his thoughts pivoting to the new mystery at hand.
"Didn't say over the phone. Only that we should see for ourselves." Amelia's brow furrowed, her lips pressed in a thin line of determination.
"Then we're wasting time." Finn's voice was decisive, the unease momentarily shelved. They had a new lead, and every second counted.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Finn smelled the sterile scent of antiseptic mingled with a cold draft as he and Amelia stepped into the morgue, his former Special Agent training kicking in as he surveyed the room. Stainless steel and white tiles reflected the harsh lighting above, creating an atmosphere that was both clinical and unforgiving.
