FINN

FINN GOT HIMSELF and Robyn close enough to see what was going on, but they couldn’t hear it. He’d sent Damon for that. Damon hadn’t been pleased; he wanted to watch over Robyn. Finn could have pointed out that if they were attacked, there was nothing Damon could do, but that would be cruel. Instead, he told Robyn they’d need to get closer, so they could listen in and, at that, Damon decided he could handle eavesdropping duty.

They were still in the small strip of woods bordering the property. Finn had caught a glimpse of Solheim, patrolling the fence. He was sticking to his post, though. His only task now was preventing Finn and Robyn from leaving.

As for who Solheim and the others really were and how they got here and where Madoz was, those were questions for later. With cell reception and the route to his radio blocked, he was on his own. As he watched the drama unfolding in the distance he had a feeling that being alone might be a good thing. Bringing in the law could turn a touchy situation into a tragedy. If Robyn was right, Adams and the others operated outside the law for good reason.

Adams, Marsten and Rhys stood in a garden between a cluster of four houses. Finn counted six people with them. There could be more standing at the perimeter, but his angle wasn’t good, the houses partially blocking it.

He could clearly see Adams and Marsten, and that was the important thing. Together with Rhys, they were bookended by men with rifles, but those weapons dangled, a perfunctory threat. The only other gun he could see was held by a dark-haired girl, pointed at a young blonde whose face he’d never forget.

That face was now bloodied and battered, which brought a smile to Finn’s lips. He felt a twinge of guilt at that, hearing his mother admonish him against ever taking pleasure in the misfortune of others. But it was a very small twinge.

Clearly Adele Morrissey’s crimes had been exposed and now they seemed to be negotiating to turn her over to Adams and Marsten. And though they didn’t seem to be in immediate danger from the commune people, he had to get a warning to them about these guys.

At a movement, he glanced over to see Damon jogging back. Perfect timing. He’d get a report on the whereabouts of the fake police squad, then—

“They’re going to stone her!” Damon called, still running.

“Stone?” Finn said.

“A stone what?” Robyn said, popping out from behind the binoculars. A sheepish smile. “Sorry.” She paused, then said hesitantly, “Is Damon back?”

Finn nodded. Her gaze traveled past him, searching for some sign of Damon. Disappointment flickered through her eyes, so sharp it was like an ice pick, a breathtaking jab of empathetic pain.

“Finn?” Damon waved his hands in front of Finn’s face. “Could you stop staring at my wife and listen to me?”

Finn thought he heard a bite in Damon’s voice, but when he glanced up, the ghost just looked impatient.

“I said they’re going to stone Adele.”

“You heard wrong.”

“No, I did not. Her group, those people, they call themselves a company or something, they just held a trial. They convicted her of a whole pile of shit and sentenced her to be stoned by the whole group. Hope’s arguing. She wants to take Adele back to that council and—”

A shot. A scream. Damon wheeled with a, “Holy shit!” Robyn lifted the binoculars, but Finn snatched them, ignoring her cry of protest and pushing her down to the ground as he lowered himself to his knees.

He swung the lenses to Adams and Marsten. Adams lay in Marsten’s arms.

“Finn?” Robyn yanked on his sleeve. “What’s happening?”

“They’re down—taking cover,” he added quickly. The lie came easier than any he’d ever told. “They’re okay. Just—”

Another scream. Another shot. Armed gunmen rushed from behind the buildings, shouting orders. A mushroom cloud of tear gas exploded.

Finn shot to his feet. Robyn grabbed his pant leg. He put his hand on her head, keeping her down.

“Stay here.”

“I’m not—”

He dropped to one knee, his face coming down to hers. “You need to stay here, Robyn. Please. Do you still have the gun?”

She nodded.

“Then stay. You aren’t trained for this, okay?”

That did it—not safety issues but the reminder she wasn’t qualified.

She lowered herself into the grass, then stopped, looking up. “Damon? Go with him. Help him.”

Damon leaned down, kissing the top of her head. “I will, baby.”

FINN CUT THROUGH THE FIELD, praying everyone was too busy to notice him. Damon ran ahead, ready to call back a warning if anyone took an interest. No one did.

The smoke floated out until Finn couldn’t see, and moved by sound alone. After a moment, he recognized one of the shouting voices. Karl Marsten calling for Adams. When he ran toward the voice, he smacked into Marsten, who spun, lips curling in a snarl.

“I’m not working for the Nasts,” Finn said quickly. “I—”

“I know. Find Hope,” Marsten said, then was about to dive back into the smoke when Finn caught the back of his shirt.

“Is she shot?” he said. “I saw her fall—”

“No, that was—” He waved Finn off. “We—” A coughing fit cut him short. “We need to find her before she gets shot.”

He turned again, but Finn still had a grip on his shirt. “That gas is going to knock us flat before we do.”

Marsten’s red-rimmed eyes blazed, and Finn thought he was going to deck him. Then his jaw flexed and he gave a curt nod. “We need gas masks. I thought I saw—”

A figure staggered out, bent double. Rhys. Marsten grabbed him, just long enough to recognize him—and recognize that he wasn’t someone with a gas mask—then dropped him. Finn dove in to catch the man before he toppled.

“I thought I heard you,” Rhys croaked, squinting up at Marsten. “Where’s Hope?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out. They have gas masks, right?”

“What?” Rhys coughed so hard that blood flecked Finn’s pants.

“Those men. They have gas masks, don’t they?”

“I think so.”

“Good.”

Marsten strode back into the thick of it. Finn tried to grab him.

Rhys caught his hand. “If you like the current configuration of all your body parts, I wouldn’t do that. He’ll be fine.”

“I’ll cover him,” said a voice behind Finn.

He turned to see Damon jog off after Marsten.

“Does he have a gun?” Finn asked.

“He doesn’t need one. You’re the detective who’s after Adele, right?”

Finn nodded and looked in the direction Damon and Marsten had gone.

“He’s fine. Really,” Rhys said. “But if you want Adele, she’s long gone. Last I saw, she was making a break for it.”

“Robyn.”

“What?”

Finn took off at a run. He’d left Robyn alone, without even Damon to watch her, and now Adele—the woman who wanted her dead, and who could find her anywhere—was on the loose.

He didn’t slow until he reached the spot where he’d left Robyn. There, on the ground, lay the pair of binoculars.