At the door they paused, Abbott telling McGregor to take up position on the other side. Inside the room, he knew, was Tess, plus – if the live feed he’d seen earlier was still current – another member of the security team. The last thing this guy would be expecting was Abbott. He’d be anticipating gunfire from the balcony outside, something to herald Abbott’s arrival. Or, at least, that was what Abbott was depending on.

He kicked in the door. The guy on the other side was reasonably alert, but not alert enough, and he was still bringing the M-16 up to bear when Abbott double-tapped him.

What Abbott hadn’t anticipated, though, was the presence of Morris and Kilgore. Morris was cowering by the door, his arms raised over his head. But Lady Norton’s personal assistant stood with Tess held close to him, a gun to her head.

‘Hold it there, Abbott,’ said Kilgore.

Abbott squinted at him along the sights of his Sig, blood now a constant stream from his left arm, useless and unworkable.

‘Put the gun down, you’re injured,’ insisted Kilgore, trying to sound commanding although his voice betrayed the nerves of the situation. ‘Put it down now.’

Tess said nothing. Her head was tilted, pushed that way by the pressure of Kilgore’s gun barrel. His finger was through the trigger guard and Abbott could see that the safety was off. If Kilgore, already nervous, was startled or twitched then he’d put a bullet in Tess, whether he meant to or not.

‘It’s over, Kilgore. The best you can hope for is prison time,’ Abbott told him.

‘Over?’ scoffed Kilgore, a little too loudly and a little too suddenly for Abbott’s liking. ‘It’s not over.’

‘It is,’ said Abbott, as calmly as he could manage.

‘Put down the gun, and I’ll explain to you how and why it’s not “over”,’ said Kilgore.

‘I’m not putting down the gun,’ Abbott assured him. He looked into Tess’s eyes. Eyes that told him to maintain his course. He knew enough of her to know that they would be of one mind.

Oh, but please don’t let it go bad. Visions of Nathan were swimming in his head. Needing not to have another death in his debit column. Not Tess. Please not Tess.

‘You couldn’t take the shot anyway,’ said Kilgore. ‘You don’t have it anymore, Abbott. Too many years being a pisshead.’

‘We’ll see, won’t we?’ replied Abbott evenly. The barrel of his weapon never wavered. His aim remained steady. Tess’s eyes stayed on him, trusting him.

‘I can take the shot,’ said Abbott, and he was speaking to her but also to Kilgore, unnerving him, forcing his hand.

‘Then take the shot,’ she said, either understanding or perhaps just putting her faith in him.