No Mark Upon Her

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.”
    Ross ignored him, his attention now focused on Freddie. “You’re a shit, Freddie Atterton. You were always a prick with your supercilious it’s