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CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
The cold, biting air clawed at Finnas he stepped out of the unyielding embrace of his car and into the darktranquility of Great Amwell. The small village, usually a picture of bucoliccharm, now seemed to mock him with its peaceful facade, so starkly opposed tothe cacophony of chaos that plagued his mind. His muscles ached from the day’sexertions—a relentless pursuit of justice that had culminated in the capture ofone suspect only to have another slip through the cracks like water betweenfingers.
He maneuvered up the cobblestonepath leading to his cottage, each step heavy with fatigue. The warmth of theyellow-hued light spilling from his front windows promised solace, but as hefumbled for the keys in his pocket, the optimism was short-lived.
The shrill ring of his mobile phoneshattered the night’s stillness. Heart leaping to his throat, he fished thedevice from his coat and squinted against the harsh glow of the screen. Unknownnumber. With hands that betrayed a tremor, he swiped to answer.
"Detective Finn," camethe voice, oily and smooth, a serpent's hiss wrapped in faux cordiality. MaxVilne's tone held an edge of amusement, as if he relished in the disruption ofFinn's attempt at respite.
"Vilne," Finn responded,his voice a controlled calm, belying the torrent of dread that surged within.This man, the mastermind behind the chaos that had entangled their lives, wasnot one to make idle calls.
"Ah, you sound tired, Finn. Along day, I presume?" Vilne's words were a needle, probing for a reaction,seeking to unravel Finn's composure thread by thread.
"Cut to the chase,Vilne," Finn demanded, bracing himself against the frame of his door, thewood's grain pressing into his back. "What do you want?"
"Direct and to the point, Iadmire that." There was a pause on the line, a momentary silence ladenwith meaning. "But we'll have plenty of time for pleasantries verysoon."
Finn's grip on the phone tightened,knuckles whitening.
The cold night air brushed againstFinn's skin as he stepped into his cottage, the unease from the phone callcreeping along his spine like tendrils of fog. He had barely made it two stepswhen Vilne's voice, sardonic and self-assured, slithered through the receiveragain.
"Actually, Detective, I'mhaving a friend over for a late supper," Vilne said, a wolfish grinaudible in his tone. "You know how it is, the need for company duringthese dreary nights."
Finn's jaw clenched, a surge ofirritation washing over him. The frivolity with which Vilne treated thesituation was infuriating; it was as if they were discussing weather, notlives.
"Who?" Finn demanded,each word clipped like the snap of a whip, though he dreaded the answer.
"Ah, but that would spoil thesurprise," Vilne teased, his words laced with malice.
A muffled sound punctured theconversation, a stifled noise that quickly crescendoed into somethingunmistakable—Amelia's voice, shrill and desperate, pierced the veil of thecall. "Finn! Call Rob, get the pol—"
"Amelia!" Finn barkedinto the phone, his heart hammering against his rib cage, his breath stolen bythe raw panic in her voice. He strained to hear more, but there was only theecho of his own shout in the darkness.
"Shh," came Vilne'sadmonishing whisper, chillingly close to the phone now. "We wouldn't wantto make this unpleasant, would we?"
"Vilne, if you hurt her—"Finn began, the threat dying in his throat as the line crackled with the soundof a struggle, Amelia's pleas turning into a cacophony of fear.
"Please, no—Finn, don’t givehim what he wants!" Her voice broke through once more before beingswallowed by a heavy silence.
"Enough games, Vilne,"Finn spat, his mind racing, envisioning the layout of the city, every secondcounting. "What do you want?" His hand tightened on the phone,knuckles going white as he prepared for whatever twisted demand was to come.
"Patience, Detective,"Vilne crooned. "All in good time."
Finn's fingers gripped the phonelike a lifeline, his other hand flat against the cold kitchen table forbalance. The stillness of the cottage amplified the sinister tenor of Vilne'svoice as it cut through the silence.
"Let's set one thingstraight," Vilne's words slithered from the speaker, "you try toreach out to dear Rob Collins—or any of your police friends—Amelia's lastbreath will bubble up in dark water."
Finn didn't need to see Vilne'sface to know the threat was real; the image of Amelia, thrashing helplessly asdark waters claimed her, flashed cruelly in his mind's eye.
"Listen to me, Vilne,"Finn's voice was steel wrapped in velvet, the detective's mind whirring withoptions, outcomes, angles. "Take me instead. Let Amelia go, and you'llhave what you want."
There was a pause on the line, amomentary silence that stretched out like a tightrope. Finn could almost hearthe cogs turning in Vilne's twisted mind, calculating, considering. His ownheart pounded a frantic rhythm.
"Interesting proposal,Detective," Vilne finally drawled, amusement weaving through his tone."But do remember, I am not in the habit of negotiating with my...guests."
The raw ache from the blow toFinn's head earlier had settled into a dull throb, a cruel reminder of theday's events and the shadow of Vilne in the crowd. Now, he was being confrontedby more than a shadow.
"Come to the Crowmyrefactory," Vilne's voice was deceptively calm, an undercurrent of malicebubbling just beneath the surface. "You know the one – ten minutes outfrom Great Amwell. I thought you should know how close I’ve been all this time."
