No Mark Upon Her

“Here,” she said, sounding surprised. “It’s Tosh’s lead. I brought it by accident.” She handed him the supple length of leather.
    As Kincaid wrapped the lead round Ross’s wrists and yanked hard, Freddie said wonderingly, “That’s Becca’s old Oxford oar. Where did you—”
    “It was in a bin at the side of the porch. The first thing that came to—” Tavie stopped with a gasp as she glanced past him, then her voice rose in a wail of distress. “Oh, God! Finn!”
    It was then that Kincaid realized Kieran wasn’t with them. When he looked up, he saw Kieran on the floor in the middle of the room, cradling Finn in his lap.
    Kincaid couldn’t see any blood, but the dog was panting, the whites of his eyes showing. As Tavie knelt beside them, Kieran lifted a hand from the dog’s dark coat, and it came away bright red.
    “No,” whispered Kieran, looking up at Tavie imploringly. “Please, no. I can’t—I can’t tell how bad it is.”
    While Tavie ran her small, deft hands over the dog, talking quietly, Kincaid levered himself off Ross. Freddie held Ross’s shoulders down. Doug sat on Ross’s feet, his phone out, shouting for backup to hurry the hell up, for an ambulance, and for God’s sake a vet.
    Ross spat a stream of curses at them all and Freddie steadily and repeatedly told him to shut up or he’d bloody thump him again.
    They were all, Kincaid thought with a delayed sense of astonishment, okay.
    Except the dog.
    Finn, who had identified Becca’s killer. Finn, who had tried his best to protect them. Kincaid couldn’t bear the thought of Kieran, who had lost so much, losing him, too.
    Crossing the room, Kincaid scooped the gun from under the table. Then, keeping an eye on Ross and his captors, he knelt by Tavie and Kieran.
    She was using Kieran’s sweater as a compress, and the oatmeal-colored wool was soaked with blood. But it was the dog’s shoulder she was treating, not his head or chest.
    “Is he—”
    Looking up, Tavie brushed her hair back from her forehead with her free hand, leaving a red smear. “It’s messy, and I’m more used to treating people, but I think it’s just a flesh wound. I can see entry and exit through the shoulder, and the bullet seems to have missed bone and organs.”
    “Good boy,” whispered Kieran, and Finn’s tail thumped. Kieran’s voice was still shaky, but his hands were not, and he was assisting Tavie with steady confidence.
    “It’s all right,” said Kieran, more strongly, as if reassuring himself. But it was Tavie’s eyes he met. “Everything is going to be all right.”

Chapter Twenty-five

What is there in the universe more fascinating than running water and the possibility of moving over it? What better image of existence and possible triumph?
—George Santayana
The Lost Pilgrim

    S unday lunchtime found Kincaid still finishing up reports in his office at the Yard. He’d sent Doug Cullen home mid-morning, a little sharply. Doug had been lingering, inventing tasks, looking more anxious and morose by the minute.
    “Go,” Kincaid had finally said. “Get on with your house-moving.”
    “You’ll need me to proof that for you,” Doug protested, nodding at the computer screen.
    “I’m perfectly capable of writing a proper report on my own, thank you.” Kincaid knew exactly what Doug was feeling, but drawing it out was not going to make it better.
    “We’ll have a pint next weekend,” he said. “And as soon as you’re settled, we’ll come for dinner, if you’re brave enough to have us, that is.”
    “Right,” said Doug. He stuck his hands in his pockets, fidgeting with his keys. “I’ll investigate the takeaway options in Putney.”
    “That will keep you busy if your new guv’nor doesn’t give you enough to do.”
    Doug gave the joke the weak smile it deserved.
    The moment stretched into the sort of awkward silence faced by men who could not find a graceful way to say good-bye.
    “I’ll be back,” Kincaid said at last. And then, “You’ll be all right.”
    “Right.” Doug nodded and pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Thanks. See you, then.” He’d ducked his head and slipped out the door.
    Cullen’s departure brought the reality home to Kincaid. He would not be back for two months unless they decided that Charlotte was ready to go into nursery school before then. His life was about to change in ways he couldn’t yet imagine, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.
    He lingered, gazing at the