Counterfeit Love

How much of it was Finch's blood?

I hoped not all.

I hoped he had maybe gotten the better of someone else. I knew him to be a good fighter, if a little undisciplined. But these weren't likely military-trained personnel anyway. They were likely just hired muscle. Guys who fought a lot like Finch did. So there was a good chance he had gotten some jabs and maybe even some slices in.

Maybe it was his blood on the glass. Maybe he'd used it as a weapon.

I could hope.

I could also hope that Ewan wanted him alive. At least for the time being. Otherwise, there would be no need for the big fight back in the house. He would have just killed him, left the body, and gotten back out of there.

It was a hollow comfort since there was no telling if he simply took Finch because he wanted to dispatch of him and then dump the remains in a second location.

It was a total of five minutes before vehicles started pulling up.

Vance's bike with Ferryn on the back.

Malcolm's giant truck.

My mom's SUV with my Aunt Janie in the passenger seat.

The cavalry has arrived, I thought, feeling weight lift from my shoulders.

"Alright, did you touch anything?" my mom asked, checking her phone when it bleeped.

"Of course I haven't touched anything. I looked around then came outside," I told her. "It's a disaster. There's a lot of blood."

There must have been a hint of panic in my voice. I knew there was more than a bit of it in my heart, but something in my tone made my mom reach out, putting a hand on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

"We don't know yet how much--if any--of that blood is Finch's. I have Ly coming with his kit. We will collect samples. Figure everything out."

"Just going to throw this out there," Vance piped in, "because I think someone always says it in a situation like this, but shouldn't we call the cops?"

To that, there was a chorus of chuckles.

Yes, if this was a cute little kid, the cops would be the first person to call. They were decent at that sort of thing.

But when it was a missing adult who worked within the criminal underbelly and had been taken by another criminal? Yeah, it wasn't likely they would put their best men on it, spend their resources.

This wasn't a job for cops who didn't care.

This was a job for me, who was starting to have very strong feelings about Finch. And for the people who loved me, and wanted to see me to move forward in life, knowing that Finch was likely to be a big part of that.

"Yeah, it was probably a stupid question, huh?" Vance asked, looking bashful.

"It's sweet that the club hasn't corrupted you entirely," Mom said, smirking. "But, no, we are handing this. Time is of the essence here. And we are more willing to do whatever it takes than the cops would be."

As she finished talking, another car pulled up.

And so the crime scene investigation started, meaning all the rest of us had to stay outside, twiddling our thumbs.

"Did you try to ping his phone?" Ferryn asked after an uncomfortably long silence.

"It's in there," I said, having seen it near the couch, likely having fallen out of his pocket.

"Damn," she hissed, dropping down on the seat, feeling useless until there was something to go on.

Ferryn was an action-oriented person. She wasn't the one to sit around and do the research. There was no thrill in that for her.

There was, however, thrill in that for me. That was my specialty. It was what gave me focus and calm even in the most chaotic of situations.

"Hey, wait," Ferryn called when I turned to rush away. "Where the hell are you going?"

"I need to figure this out. I'm useless here. I can get some research done at Hailstorm," I told her, rushing toward my car before my mom could stop me, try keep me close in case I went over the edge.

It was too late for that.

I was already over the edge.

I'd been thrust off of it the second I had walked into that house to see a sign of a struggle, and Finch missing.

I understood on a practical level that this situation might make me go a little, well, crazy for a bit. But what was my other choice? Worry the floors? Bemoan my sad fate?

No.

That wasn't for me.

So I got in my car, sped the entire way back to Hailstorm. Me, a stickler for posted speed limits and all forms of proper driving protocol.

I slammed to a stop just inside the gates, flying out of my car, only to have someone jump in my way.

Astrid.

A recruit of sorts.

She came to us when her best friend settled down with one of the Henchmen. And promptly insisted we start a free range chicken community on our grounds.