7. Millie
Millie
The journey continued in silence for the next hour. Millie willed herself to sleep, but her thoughts jumped from Caleb-related memories to her present trouble.
As she reached for the radio, Strike grunted.
Her cocked eyebrow earned her a grumble and a sour, “I prefer silence.”
His stone-faced stare pinned on the windscreen left her questioning if he had called her Mixie earlier.
But she couldn’t forget his softness when he’d uttered it.
It was the nickname he’d given her to rewrite how she hated her parents calling her little pixie.
The name Mixie had made her feel cheeky yet strong.
She fiddled with her phone. He didn’t deserve to have any familiarity with her.
“It’s dead,” she mumbled as she tried turning it on. “It must have broken when it smashed against the bed. It holds my only copy of the video of Hugo attacking the guy. Without it, I’ve no evidence.”
“It’s not backed up to the cloud?”
“I maxed out my cloud storage and didn’t want to pay for more.”
A tsk noise sounded from his mouth, and she folded her arms and glared.
“I wasn’t telling you off. I was thinking. The video won’t be saved to the SIM because that’s for basic stuff, not big files, but it should still be on the phone. Leave it for now. You never know who might be trying to hack it. Luke, our tech guy, will sort it out.”
Silence crowded the dark car. Millie swallowed a couple of times, wishing she’d carried her bag into her parents’ house last night rather than leaving it in the back of her car.
She swallowed again, trying to clear the dryness from her throat, as she made a list of the items she was missing. Strike reached behind him, grabbed a water bottle, and thrust it into her hand.
“There’s sherbet lemons, your favourites, in the glove compartment,” he said. “A friend left them there. She’s a big fan.”
She side-eyed him as she cracked open the water bottle, desperate to ask if it was a platonic friend or more but confident he wouldn’t answer.
Gulping down the first half of the bottle, she sensed his eyes on her, and when she glanced in his direction, his piercing stare moved from her throat back to the windscreen.
He licked his lips slowly.
“Thirsty?”
“No,” he said thickly.
The phone rang on his console. She swore he mumbled something like “thank god” before he said louder, “It’s my colleague, Bear. You know, Drew. Don’t call him that, though. I messaged him earlier.”
He pressed a button on his car to answer the call.
“Strike, what the fuck is happening?”
Bear was gruff but with London intonations. He’d continued to live with Strike’s parents after Strike disappeared into the army. They didn’t talk after Strike left. She could hardly ask Bear if Strike had joined the army without a goodbye because she was awful in bed.
“We’re heading to yours. You’re on speaker. Less swearing.”
Millie rolled her eyes, recounting the things she’d said to strangers online. She wasn’t pure and innocent anymore.
Little lines formed around his eyes as he looked between her and the road. She scowled, attempting to convince herself he wasn’t as sexy as the swirling in her gut suggested.
“I need cash and a burner,” he grunted.
“With internet,” Millie added. “For work.”
“Hey, Millie,” Bear replied.
“Is that the Millie?” a female voice sang, setting Millie’s teeth on edge. Maybe she was Strike’s “friend” who liked sherbet lemons. “Your neighbour who you—”
“What have I said about speakerphone and Liss?” Strike grunted, his nostrils flaring.
His neighbour who he what?
“I told you to presume Liss is always here. I can’t get away from her, not that I want to.” A giggle and a kiss echoed through the car.
A smile threatened to tickle up the corners of Millie’s mouth until Strike replied, “The police say Millie witnessed a stabbing, but I suspect they’ll pin something on her. Hugo Dankworth, the Deputy Prime Minister’s son, is involved.”
“He was a prick when you did close protection for his dad,” Bear interjected.
“They both were.”
“I didn’t stab anyone,” Millie stated sharply.
Strike glowered. “I didn’t say you did.”
She released an exasperated breath. “For fuck’s sake. Stop being such a bellend.”
Liss chuckled, “She knows Strike really well.”
“This is serious,” Strike barked.
“Yes, but I am struggling, and humour might help. And as it’s my story, I’m allowed to insult you. It used to help when we were younger, until you did what you did.”
“What did he do?” Liss whispered.
“Stuff,” Bear replied.
“Enough,” Strike roared, the sound exploding throughout the car. “Tell them what happened.”
“You’ve turned into a grumpy bastard,” Millie snapped, her shoulders hunching. “But so we don’t have to endure any more of your strops, I was on my way to a bar—"
“To see friends or for a date?” Strike cut in.
“It’s irrelevant.”
“I need to know who else might be involved.”
She enjoyed how his chin popped before he flexed his obscenely cut jaw.
“They sound like us the day we met,” Liss mumbled again. “By the way, Millie, I work for Bodyguard Corp, and I’m Bear’s fiancée.”
“And the King’s granddaughter,” Bear added.
“You don’t always have to say that,” Liss grumbled.
“It saves her doing that thing when you meet where she wonders how she recognises you.”
“Are they always like this?” Millie asked Strike out of the corner of her mouth.
“Yes, and it’s fucking annoying. They’re one of the many reasons why I’m grumpy.”
Millie smiled at Strike, whose glare softened briefly. His gentle stare reminded her of the night he’d told her he wanted to be more than her friend. “I was on my way to a social for single people in their twenties,” she explained.
He nodded. She ignored the quirk of his lips that was nearly a smile.
“And,” she said louder before anyone else cut in, “I saw Hugo arguing with a man.” She repeated word for word what she’d heard and seen. “I videoed it, but my phone won’t come on because you grabbed me and made me drop it.”
“My finger still hurts from where you bit me, Doc.” Strike waggled his finger in her direction.
“I’m not a doctor. I’m a mental health professional, a counsellor. I didn’t study medicine, and I don’t heal tiny scratches, soldier,” she sassed.
“I know you didn’t, but why didn’t you? It was your life’s dream.”
She squared up to him, her seatbelt tight against her chest. “Don’t you think we have too much to worry about right now without having to revisit our shitty past?”
Bear cut in, “We’ll get Luke, our tech guy, to investigate your phone when you arrive. He’ll get the file off it.”
“Will he be able to view the other stuff on it?” She couldn’t let anyone find the app she used to sext strangers.
Strike’s smile dropped into a frown. “What don’t you want us to see?”
She swallowed the lies slicing the back of her throat as she pulled at her bottom lip. “Nothing. Just client stuff.”
A raised eyebrow accompanied his squared shoulders. Seconds ticked by.
“Just client stuff,” she repeated, pushing her hands beneath her thighs to hide any tics.
He flexed his jaw again as he grumbled.
“I’ll chat with Luke and make sure that if he can get into it, he only looks for the video,” Liss said.
“Thank you,” Millie replied, dropping her head. Even when Strike wasn’t looking at her, she felt like he was attempting to peel away her secrets.
“We’re on our way to your house,” Strike said, gruffer than before. “We’ll meet you and Luke there. And Stal and Nails, too.”
“Does everyone sound like an extra in a shit Western?” she mumbled.
“Yes,” Liss replied.
“Hey,” Bear whined.
“Honey, I love you, but Bear is an odd name. And, Millie, because Strike’s probably doing that weird sullen thing where he drives in silence, and so won’t tell you, Stal and Nails are bodyguards who joined the company this year.”
“I’m not sullen,” Strike grumbled, his knuckles whitening. “I need a place where Millie and I can hide out while we investigate what’s happening.”
“Liss, if you can get me clothes like jeans or joggers and jumpers and underwear, I’d really appreciate it,” Millie said. “Everything’s in my car, which is still outside my parents’ house. And have you got any toiletries I can borrow?”
“Nothing with pineapple or kiwi in. She’s allergic,” Strike added, taking a corner so sharply that she fell into him.
Her cheeks heated from the proximity.
“And she’s a size ten.”
“Not anymore.” She pulled away. “My body has changed since… I’m a twelve now.”
Strike stared at her out of the corner of his eyes, and more blood rushed to her face, trying to turn her into a beacon for passing motorists.
She fumbled with the seams of her jeans, the material stretching around her thighs.
Headlights danced across Strike’s face, revealing his sly smile.
“See you in four hours, Bear,” Strike said, ending the call. “I’m not good at guessing women’s sizes. I don’t understand women’s clothes.”
“Because your women are always naked?” she teased, although her voice wavered at the memory of his rejection.
“No,” he stuttered. “It was a joke. I don’t… They don’t… I don’t talk about the women I spend time with.”
So there were women.
He probably had girlfriends in every country. She was catastrophising, which she always warned her clients not to do.
For ten years, she’d not trusted anyone, had frozen if any man touched her, and barely lived because Strike had rejected her. Yet he’d carried on as normal.
Grief rushed through her, thickening her throat.
“So suddenly, you’re joking,” she said with a fake laugh. “I didn’t know you did that.” She gritted her teeth. Passive aggressive wasn’t her style.
“I thought humour might help, like you did, like the old days, Mixie.”
“Please don’t call me that. I’m not that person anymore. We’ve both changed.” Sadness brimmed in her eyes.
A flat mutter replaced the humour in his voice. “Sorry. I won’t say it again. You might as well sleep. We’ll be there in less than four hours.”
Millie twisted to face the window.
Her shoulders ached from the tension threading through the car.
She swiped away the tears in her eyes, unsure if they were from revisiting his past affection or learning he’d moved on when she hadn’t.
He’d remained her first and only.