back like a stiff-bristled brush.
And then he growled.
As hard as Tavie had worked to make a new life for herself, and as much as she’d come to enjoy being on her own, she found her house without Kieran’s large—and sometimes awkward—presence, weirdly and uncomfortably empty.
Why had he gone to Becca Meredith’s cottage? Was it because he was grieving? But this had been sudden, hence the dashed note on the chalkboard. And he’d been in a panic, or he’d never have forgotten his phone.
Then when she’d talked to Superintendent Kincaid, he’d been short with her. Not rude, but abrupt in the way she recognized, a commanding officer working out strategies in an emergency. But he hadn’t said where he was or how long it would take him to get to Kieran.
The thought of Kieran, alone at the Remenham cottage, facing some unknown danger, made up her mind in an instant. She pocketed his phone, in case the superintendent called back, then ran through the sitting room, grabbing her jacket off the hook by the door.
Tosh’s yip stopped her. The German shepherd danced eagerly at her feet, then nipped at the lead hanging on its own hook. “I know you want to go,” said Tavie.
She was torn. Knowingly, she risked the dog’s safety every time they went out on a search, because that was their job, Tosh’s job, and Tavie knew the rules and the risks. But this—she had no idea what she might be walking into. No, she decided. Fearing for Kieran was bad enough—she couldn’t put Tosh in a situation where she was blind to the danger.
Kneeling, she cupped her dog’s muzzle in her hand. “Not this time, girl. You stay here.” She gave a last glance at her safe haven, absently tucking the lead in her pocket as she ruffled Tosh’s coat. “Guard the house, girl.”
They’d taken the Astra, against Freddie’s protests that he knew the road better and his Audi was faster. But taking Freddie had been against Kincaid’s better judgment—he was not going to compound it by letting a civilian drive.
He’d only been convinced to let Freddie come with them because Freddie knew the cottage, and more important, because Freddie knew Ross Abbott. Maybe as a friend, Freddie could convince Abbott to be sensible.
If they weren’t too late.
The rain was coming down in sheets now, rendering the Astra’s windscreen wipers virtually useless, and Kincaid was struggling to follow the lane. He’d no idea how close he was to Remenham.
“Here,” said Freddie. “Cut the lights.”
“I can’t bloody see as it is,” Kincaid replied, but he slowed and switched off the headlamps. The world changed, as drastically as a photo seen in negative, the landscape now visible as a vista in blacks and silvery grays.
“Now the engine. Coast into the verge. We’re close.”
Kincaid wondered if Freddie had entertained secret fantasies of tactical ops, but he trusted his judgment on their position.
As the Astra came to a stop, wipers down, the rain closed in on them like a curtain and roared against the roof.
Then, the downpour lessened for a moment, and Kincaid made out the dim shape of a car parked ahead of them on the verge.
“It’s Ross’s,” said Freddie flatly, and Kincaid knew that their worst fears were confirmed.
Doug had called for backup, asking them to come in quietly, but Kincaid had no idea how long it would take. Beside him, Doug clicked off his seatbelt. “Guv, you sure you don’t want me to call again?” His voice was a little high.
“No time. We’ve got to get in there.” Was it the right decision? he asked himself. But he couldn’t sit and wait, knowing Kieran’s life was in danger.
“Water rats it is, then,” said Doug with forced nonchalance. None of them had weather gear, so any entrance they made was likely to resemble specters from the deep.
Kincaid turned to Freddie in the backseat. “Your keys.” When Freddie handed them over, Kincaid added, “You stay back unless I tell you otherwise. Agreed?”
He had to assume Freddie’s nod was the best answer he was going to get. “Quietly, then.”
As soon as he stepped out into the rain, he realized that no one was likely to hear the soft closing of car doors. He was instantly soaked, water plastering his hair, running in rivulets down his face. From the corner of his eye, he saw Doug take off his glasses and slip them into his inside pocket, and he wondered if Cullen would be more blind with the water-fogged glasses or without them. A fine trio they made.
And after all his admonishments, it was Freddie who had to lead the way. They passed Kieran’s Land Rover, parked hard by the garden gate, and then they could see, through a gap in the sitting room curtains, light inside the cottage.
Oriented now, Kincaid motioned Doug and Freddie back. He’d seen something else—a crack of light seeping from the cottage’s front door. Someone had failed to shut it all the way.
He sidled up to the door, feeling for a moment ridiculously like a cop in an American TV show. In his career, there had been few moments when he’d wished he carried a gun, but this was one of them. He thought he heard a low growling sound.
Peering in, he saw Kieran sitting on the floor with his back against the sofa, his arms wrapped in a bear hug round a struggling, snarling Finn. All the dog’s attention was focused on the man who stood between Kincaid and Kieran, his back to the door.
Ross Abbott, Kincaid assumed.
The widening of Kieran’s eyes as he glanced towards the door gave Kincaid away.
Abbott spun round, and Kincaid saw that he held a small-caliber handgun. It looked like a toy in Abbott’s large hands, but it was certainly big enough to do someone fatal damage. The gun bobbed and waved as Abbott moved back a step, trying to keep Kieran and Kincaid in his sight at the same time. He was obviously not used to handling a gun. Kincaid wasn’t sure if that frightened him more or less.
“Get back,” said Abbott.
Kincaid raised both hands, palms open, and stepped into the room. “It’s Ross, isn’t it? Why don’t you put the gun down. I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding. I’m Duncan, by the way,” he added, taking another step forward.
“You’re a bloody cop. Don’t take me for a fool. Do you think I don’t know a cop when I see one?” Abbott sounded close to hysteria, but he’d instinctively moved farther from the door, leaving Kincaid more room to advance.
“Your wife is worried about you,” Kincaid said, not bothering to deny his identity. Gemma had told him everything she’d learned from Chris Abbott, but now he had to decide how much he should reveal to Ross.
“You’ve been talking to my wife? You bastard.” The gun steadied on Kincaid.
The low rumble of Finn’s growl rose into a snarl again. From the corner of his eye, Kincaid saw Kieran grip him tighter.
“Your wife talked to some of my colleagues, Ross,” he said. “We know what Angus Craig did to her. We know you have good reason to be upset. But Craig’s dead, and there’s no reason to keep secrets anymore.” He wasn’t going to tell Abbott they knew he’d murdered Becca, not when he had a gun in his hand.
“Right.” Abbott flicked his eyes from Kincaid to Kieran and back, but there was no way he could easily keep them both in view. “And I’m Father Christmas. He”—he gestured with the gun towards Kieran—“saw me. At the river. He’s not walking out of here. And now neither are you.”
Freddie’s voice came from behind Kincaid. “What about me, Ross? Going to shoot your old friend, too?”
A glance showed Kincaid that Doug had come in behind Freddie, his glasses back in place. Kincaid swore under his breath. They were into damage limitation now. How many of them could Abbott take down before someone got the gun away from him?
Kincaid tried to keep his voice calm. There was obviously no point in further subterfuge, but maybe he could talk Abbott down. “Don’t be a complete idiot, man. Your wife knows everything, and so do we. Harming anyone else will only make things worse for you and your family.”
