CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The police car"s tires whispered against the cobblestone as Finn and Amelia pulled up to the shadow-draped facade of Beckett"s Antiques. The sign above the shop, embossed with gold lettering that had seen better days, creaked gently in the night breeze.

"Beckett"s Antiques," Finn quipped with an arched brow. "The creativity is astounding."

Amelia cast a skeptical glance at the darkened windows. "Looks shut to me."

"Look up." Finn tilted his head towards the second floor, where a solitary light still burned. "Our magpie"s still nesting."

They exited the car, the crisp night air carrying the scent of rain on its breath. Amelia approached the door, her footsteps confident and purposeful. Finn followed at her side, feeling the familiar itch of anticipation in his gut. They stood before the entrance; Amelia rapped sharply on the old wood, the sound echoing through the silence of the street.

"Police!" Amelia"s voice was authoritative, slicing through the quiet. "We need to speak with Maggie Beckett!"

Finn"s eyes flicked upwards just as the glow from above flickered and died, plunging the window into darkness. He turned to Amelia, his voice low and steady. "Looks like our bird has flown the coop."

Their banter faded into the background, the seriousness of their task settling like a cloak around their shoulders. Silence enveloped them once more, the mystery of the night stretching out like an unspoken challenge.

A rustle from the rear of the shop caught Finn"s attention, and he motioned to Amelia. "Stay here in case she comes out front. If our friend is trying to slip away at the back, I"ll make sure she doesn"t get far."

He moved stealthily towards the alley that ran alongside Beckett"s Antiques, his senses heightened. The musty scent of damp cobblestones filled his nostrils as he edged closer to the corner. A flicker of movement in his peripheral vision was all the warning he had before a bin lid came crashing down on the back of his head. Pain exploded in bright stars behind his eyes, and he crumpled to the ground with a grunt.

"Lying down on the job?" Amelia"s voice dripped with sarcasm as she appeared above him, extending a hand to help him up.

"Thanks for the sympathy," Finn grumbled, clutching the throbbing spot on his head and accepting her aid. "Where is she?"

Ignoring the jab, his gaze snapped to the figure clambering over a wrought-iron garden fence. "There!" He pointed, pushing past the pain as he sprang into action, adrenaline spurring him forward.

They sprinted after the shadowy form of Maggie Beckett, her silhouette a ghostly blur against the moonlit gardens. Finn"s breath came in ragged gasps, his focus tunneled on the fleeing woman. But each stride sent a jolt of agony through his forearm, the stitches from an earlier encounter pulling painfully. It was a stark reminder that even consultants hired by the Home Office weren"t invincible.

"Pick up the pace, Finn!" Amelia called out, her own determination mirrored in the set of her jaw as she kept up the chase beside him.

"Easy for you to say," Finn panted, his arm screaming in protest. He pushed the discomfort aside, propelled by the knowledge that the key to the Victorian-obsessed killer"s puzzle might be just ahead of them, in the grasp of the antique dealer who dealt in more than just dusty relics.

The chase spilled into the tangled maze of back gardens, Finn"s boots slipping on dew-slicked grass. Hedges and fences blurred past as he pursued the erratic shadow of Maggie Beckett, his heart pounding in his ears. He could barely hear Amelia"s footsteps behind him, the thud of their pursuit a stark contrast to the quiet night.

"Left!" he called out, anticipating Maggie"s desperate bid for freedom. But as they burst onto the neon-lit street lined with pulsing nightclubs, the throng of partygoers swallowed up any sense of direction.

"Amelia!" Finn shouted, but his voice was lost amidst blaring music and drunken revelry. He scanned the crowd, catching only glimpses of Amelia"s determined profile before she disappeared around a corner.

Alone now, Finn gritted his teeth, the raw pulse in his arm a relentless reminder of his vulnerability. Yet the urgency drove him on, weaving through the mass of bodies, senses on high alert for any sign of the antique dealer turned fugitive.

There—fleeting like a specter between the strobe lights—a wisp of auburn hair, a flash of desperation. Finn surged forward, elbowing past a cluster of oblivious clubbers. His stitches screamed against the movement, but the thought of losing Maggie to the anonymity of the night fueled his resolve.

"Stop! Police!" It was a futile attempt, lost in the cacophony that surrounded him, but then he was close enough — so close he could see the panic etched into her features.

With a final burst of energy propelled by sheer will, Finn lunged, tackling Maggie to the wet pavement. The impact jarred his entire body, sent a fresh wave of pain searing through his arm, but he didn"t let it slow him down.

"Gotcha," he grunted, pinning her struggling form beneath him. "Maggie Beckett, you"re under arrest."

Finn"s fingers fumbled for the handcuffs he"d attached to his belt, the metallic clink echoing strangely in his ears as he secured her wrists. For a moment, the world reduced to just the two of them, the chaos of the street a distant roar.

"Nice tackle," came a voice from above. Amelia. Out of breath but with a glint of satisfaction in her eyes. Finn exhaled, tension unwinding as backup arrived.

"Thanks," he replied, managing a grimace that was meant to be a smile. "I think... I need a minute. I must be getting old." And as he caught his breath, the figure of Maggie Beckett beneath him seemed far less significant than something he had just seen. Eyes watching him. The flash of a grin among the moving people around. It was a face all too familiar.

The face in the crowd he had failed to grasp.

Finn"s knees ground into the wet pavement, his breaths coming in quick succession as he clicked the handcuffs closed around Maggie Beckett"s wrists. His focus tunneled, the raucous din of nightlife pulsed at the edge of his consciousness, muffled like a drumbeat through thick walls. He looked up for a split second, sweeping his gaze across the crowd.

And there, amidst the blur of gyrating bodies and neon lights, was face again, features etched with malevolence. Max Vilne"s smile sliced through the chaos, a haunting specter, standing there in the street. Finn"s heart hammered; terror laced with anger constricted his chest. The image was fleeting, ephemeral, but it seared into Finn"s mind like a brand. People walked by, masking him then from view.

"Amelia!" The urgency in his voice clawed its way out over the clamor.

"What?" she asked, noting the distress etched across Finn"s features.

"Vilne," he gasped out, thrusting a finger toward where the ghostly grin had appeared. "There, in the crowd! Stay with Beckett!"

Without waiting for a response, Finn bolted upright, his stitches screaming in protest as he darted into the throng. His eyes darted from face to face, each one a potential mask for the killer who haunted their investigation.

"Stay with her!" he threw over his shoulder, not daring to see if Amelia listened. His senses stretched thin, seeking any sign of Vilne among the pulsating mass of revelers.

The scent of alcohol and sweat mingled in the air, the thump of bass vibrating through the ground beneath his feet. Finn shouldered past a group clad in glitter and leather, his vision tunneling as he spotted the familiar build of a man ahead. A coat that matched the right height, that same ominous aura.

"Vilne!" Finn"s voice was lost in the music as he reached out, fingers curling around the man"s shoulder, yanking him back.

The stranger spun, a look of bewilderment replacing what Finn had hoped would be Vilne"s sneer. "What the—" The man"s accent was local, his confusion genuine.

"Sorry," Finn muttered, releasing him. His gut twisted, doubt creeping in like fog over a moor. Had he seen Vilne at all? Was his mind playing cruel tricks, conjuring phantoms where there were none?

"Nothing," he whispered to himself, the bitter taste of uncertainty coating his tongue. "My apologies."

The night swallowed him whole, the chase leaving him empty-handed, with only the echo of a killer"s smile lingering in his memory. A smile he could not be certain was real.