No Mark Upon Her

yesterday’s SAR team, and he bloody well knows a petrol bomb when he sees one. He could have been killed tonight.”
    Finn had been glued to Kieran’s side, but now he stood and made a low sound in his throat, a hint of a growl.
    The sergeant gave him a wary glance and backed off a step. “Singla, is it? Don’t know him.”
    “You will. Thames Valley CID. And he didn’t seem the sort to suffer fools gladly.”
    “Now, look here. There’s no need to—”
    Finn growled again, a bit more loudly this time.
    The sergeant took another step back and seemed to decide to err on the side of prudence. “Right. DI Singla. I’ll just make certain Control is on it.”
    But then, having distanced himself from Tavie and the dog by a few feet, he puffed up with renewed authority. “Mind you, whether this was arson or an accident, it’s a crime scene, and you”—he looked at Kieran—“are not to go on the property. Or remove anything from it. We’ll need a fixed address for you, Mr.—”
    “Connolly,” said Tavie.
    “Mr. Connolly, then,” said the sergeant. “Someone will be along to interview you shortly. And I’d advise you to keep that dog under control.”
    “Finn, easy,” said Kieran.
    “Mr. Connolly is going to stay with me. They both are.” Tavie gave the sergeant her address.
    Kieran put his head in his hands.
    T avie looked at Kieran standing in the middle of her sitting room and wondered what on earth she was going to do with him.
    He not only towered over her, he dwarfed the small room. And he was swaying slightly, like a large tree about to topple.
    “Sit,” she ordered, as if he were one of the dogs, and pointed at the biggest chair.
    He sat, if a little unsteadily, and she felt more comfortable now that she could look down at him. She realized she’d spent most of her time with Kieran in unenclosed spaces, where the foot’s difference in their heights hadn’t seemed so apparent.
    And then, as she looked round the sitting room that suddenly felt claustrophobic, it occurred to her that the only men who had even set foot in her house were her mates from the fire and ambulance brigades who had helped her move.
    The little house had been her rebellion against the sort of life she’d led with her ex, Beatty. She’d lived with her parents until she and Beatty married, when she’d moved into the flat Beatty owned in Leeds. A year later, they’d both taken jobs in Oxfordshire, and the semi-detached house on the new estate outside Reading seemed to have scooped them up of its own volition.
    Eight long years later, their marriage had been fractured beyond repair, and that suburban life had paled for them both. Beatty had discovered that what he really wanted was a pliant woman who needed a manly man, and had no trouble acquiring an obliging red-haired nurse.
    And Tavie had found that what she really wanted was to make her own choices, thank you very much, and that had included buying a house that hadn’t suited anyone’s wishes but her own.
    Hence the doll’s house, and she’d loved it. She loved her single life, her job, her dog, and her work with SAR. Still, there were times when the house had begun to seem a bit empty, but sudden occupation by a large, bloody, surly man and his equally large dog was not quite the solution she’d had in mind.
    The dogs, having finished greeting each other with thorough sniffing and much tail wagging, sat, too.
    “Okay,” she said, glancing round the room a little wildly. “Let’s get your feet up.” Spotting the small trunk she used to store extra blankets, she pulled it over and plopped a cushion on top. “There you are, then.”
    “I’m not crippled. I’ve just had a bang on the head.” Kieran glared at her, but the effect was somewhat lessened by the butterfly bandage on his forehead, which pulled the corner of his eyebrow up in an involuntary query.
    There’d always been a rakish quality to his looks, she thought, with his pale skin, deep blue eyes, and dark, shaggy hair. Maybe a scar would suit him. At least this one would be visible.
    She eyed the length of her small sofa. “I’ll sleep down here,” she said. “You can take the bed. It’s a queen-size, so I don’t think your feet will dangle off the end.” The bed was one of the few things she’d kept from the divorce.
    Kieran leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. His face looked gaunt in repose, and when he spoke, his voice was heavy with exhaustion. “Tavie, I am not