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An Isolated Incident

JD Kirk
Chapters (53)
  1. Dedication
  2. COPYRIGHT
  3. Chapter One
  4. Chapter Two
  5. Chapter Three
  6. Chapter Four
  7. Chapter Five
  8. Chapter Six
  9. Chapter Seven
  10. Chapter Eight
  11. Chapter Nine
  12. Chapter Ten
  13. Chapter Eleven
  14. Chapter Twelve
  15. Chapter Thirteen
  16. Chapter Fourteen
  17. Chapter Fifteen
  18. Chapter Sixteen
  19. Chapter Seventeen
  20. Chapter Eighteen
  21. Chapter Nineteen
  22. Chapter Twenty
  23. Chapter Twenty-One
  24. Chapter Twenty-Two
  25. Chapter Twenty-Three
  26. Chapter Twenty-Four
  27. Chapter Twenty-Five
  28. Chapter Twenty-Six
  29. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  30. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  31. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  32. Chapter Thirty
  33. Chapter Thirty-One
  34. Chapter Thirty-Two
  35. Chapter Thirty-Three
  36. Chapter Thirty-Four
  37. Chapter Thirty-Five
  38. Chapter Thirty-Six
  39. Chapter Thirty-Seven
  40. Chapter Thirty-Eight
  41. Chapter Thirty-Nine
  42. Chapter Forty
  43. Chapter Forty-One
  44. Chapter Forty-Two
  45. Chapter Forty-Three
  46. Chapter Forty-Four
  47. Chapter Forty-Five
  48. Chapter Forty-Six
  49. Epilogue
  50. DCI Logan Returns in…
  51. Hoon. Coming soon.
  52. JOIN THE JD KIRK VIP CLUB
  53. Also by JD Kirk

Dedication

In Loving Memory of Erin

COPYRIGHT

An Isolated Incident

Published worldwide by Zertex Crime, an imprint of Zertex Media Ltd.

Copyright © 2021 by JD Kirk

The right of JD Kirk to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher.

Edited by Hanna Elizabeth.

Cover Design by Andrew Dobell.

Chapter One

Improbably, there was somebody at the door.

Way out here.

At this time of bloody night.

There had been no glow of headlights. No sound of an engine, nor of tyres coming sweeping up the makeshift driveway. No closing of car doors, no swishing of footsteps through the grass.

No sound at all, in fact.

Just the knock. Just a moment ago.

And again. There. Just now.

His wife’s face registered the same concern that he felt. Or a fraction of it, anyway. She didn’t know.

Not like he did.

“What on earth?” she muttered.

He silenced her with a look and a finger to his lips. His bones were suddenly heavy, and it took more effort than it should have to raise his hand to his mouth.

She flicked her gaze to the door that led off from the other end of the living room to where the kids slept soundly in the room next door. Her concern was that they’d be woken by the noise. It had been a long few days. They all needed some unbroken rest after the last few weeks.

His own concerns were somewhat more visceral.

The knocking came again. It was firm. Insistent. A knock that had no intention of going away. A knock that would only get louder.

A crack from the embers dying in the hearth made him tense. A whisper from his wife made him jump.

“Who’s that at this time of night?”

“Well, I don’t know, do I? What am I, bloody psychic?” he whispered back.

The curtains were drawn on all the windows, and the only light was the brooding red glow of the dying fire. There would have been no beacon for a stranded motorist to spot. No siren’s call promising warmth and shelter to any travellers wandering lost on the hills.

Whoever was at the door had come here on purpose. With a purpose.

“Maybe they’ll go away,” his wife reasoned.

“Maybe,” he said.

They wouldn’t, he knew.

They should’ve kept moving. Should never have stayed here this long. But, she’d loved the place so much, and it was so remote and out of the way.

And he’d been so careful.

Hadn’t he?