13. Millie
Millie
Acouple of hours later, after a nap and a shower and wearing fresh clothes, she could function.
Liss chatted with her before heading to the home office to sort out Bodyguard Corp paperwork. Stal was sent home to rest and be with Jenny, although he’d insisted he was available to help with intel. Bear and Cameron were on jobs.
A bang sounded in her corridor. She peeked out her doorway, but there was nothing there. She didn’t want to close the door in case Strike passed.
“Talk about messed up,” she muttered, running her fingers through her hair and pulling at the knots.
The way Strike had cared for Stal reminded her of the old him, but with an authority he’d not had when he was young. He had been the goofy guy on the rugby team, not the captain. She was drawn to reading about men who dominated their women, but who had a heart, too.
Millie’s fingers drifted over the barely cracked book spines on Liss’s bookshelf. Her safe space was in the cream pages of a paperback. The most significant moments in her life were accompanied by book boyfriends and memories of the words spoken by fictional men.
Her hand lingered on a spicy bodyguard book.
She was drawn to it like she was drawn to Strike.
A man with a bare chest stared at her from the cover.
She imagined men like this when alone in her apartment, her vibrator in hand, but now she’d met a collection of real bodyguards, the hero on the cover was too polished.
He wasn’t Strike.
Strike cleared his throat.
“Fuck.” Millie dropped her book and swung around to confront him. “How do you do that? You’re such a stealthy bastard.”
Her words dried up quickly. Strike leaned against the doorway, the sleeves of his Henley pushed up to the elbows and his arms folded. There was no way his biceps throbbed, and yet it was like they were beckoning her closer with each flex.
His eyebrow popped as he glanced at the book on the floor. She snatched it up, heat filling her cheeks as she realised Strike was accidentally recreating the pose on the front.
“Is that a bodyguard book?”
“It’s not mine.”
“He looks more like he’s in a boy band than a guy who spends his nights protecting his clients or his days sitting in his car, waiting to be called on by a politician.”
“It’s a romance book, not a biography.” She didn’t need another person in her life lecturing her. “I’m taking it to Cornwall. And this one, too,” she said, grabbing a book from the shelf.
He stepped closer. The scent of oranges and musk surrounded her.
Don’t breathe him in.
He took the second book from her hand, turning it over. “Erotic stories to recreate with your partner,” he said, reading the back. Of all the books to pick up in panic. “Our trip to Cornwall isn’t that kind of trip, Mixie.”
The lightness in his tease was too familiar. “The bodyguards in books are always up for an adventure.” She cursed herself as soon as she said it. She was attracted to the little of Caleb left in him as well as the brute who’d threatened to toss her in his car.
“They’ve not experienced the things I have.” He shrugged. “And they’re probably not as militant about keeping things tidy and orderly. The guys call me robot when they think I can’t hear.”
Millie returned to the bookshelf. The rest of Liss’s book collection included closed-door romances and thrillers, and although she loved many genres, she needed spice to relax.
“I volunteered with army vets during my counsellor training,” she said. “Some of them saw things that left them screaming in their sleep.” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Do you scream in your sleep, Strike?”
He closed his eyes. “No. If I sleep, I don’t scream.”
“If you sleep?” At his silence, she continued pressing. “Why don’t you sleep? What about scars? There’s none on your arms.”
He stepped closer. “I don’t like thinking about those days. I have all kinds of scars, physical and emotional. I try not to be grumpy like they say I am, but I want to keep everyone safe. Sometimes I must make demands, being the boss.”
“How do you relax? Because you can’t sustain that intensity all the time.”
“I don’t relax. I exercise when I need to… It doesn’t matter. Thank you for listening to Stal earlier. He wouldn’t have shared anything with me or the team if you hadn’t.”
“It’s my job.”
“I sensed something going on with Stal, but he’s not a talker. He asked if he could chat to you again at some point,” he said, the request pulling her attention to his face as he sat on the bed as far from her as possible. It dipped beneath his hulking body. “Just casually, as a friend, I guess.”
“Of course, that’s fine. He’s got a lot to deal with, now and in the future, too. I’m happy to be there for him. Besides, it will give me something to do while we wait for whatever happens next.”
Silence filled the room.
She tore her stare from Strike, who was wringing his thick hands, instead focusing on the rolling hills and lake calling her from outside the window.
She should be freaking out about the danger waiting for her, and yet the stunning landscape and the warmth of strangers made her more at ease than she’d been in her London apartment.
Millie longed for a home away from the city, but she’d ended up there. She’d moved for a change, but she was still the same person longing for happiness and adventure. That was why she used the app where she spoke anonymously to random men.
She was desperate to be someone that frightened her.
Being self-aware sucked.
Strike cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about Casey. I didn’t know what she did to you at school. You struggled with some girls before I left, but I didn’t realise she was a part of it.”
Millie walked to the window as she tempered her anger. Memories poisoned her tone. “I didn’t struggle. They bullied me or ignored me, whatever would get the biggest reaction.”
“I can’t say about the others, but I’ve learnt she was going through a lot,” Strike said, his reflection in the window.
His hands rested on his thighs, and his brow furrowed.
“Her little brother was seriously ill in your final year. He went from fine one day to intensive care and close to death the next. After he came out, Casey became one of his carers.”
“How’s he now?” Her counsellor training was piqued. The fight hadn’t left her, but this new context impacted her perspective.
“He still struggles because his illness resulted in an acquired brain injury.”
“I’ve heard of that. I’ve counselled some teenagers who’ve had one. Was it severe?”
“No, but the trauma changed him. It nearly broke Casey.”
“So she took it out on me?” Millie turned, her stare challenging. “Her behaviour was inexcusable. I was susceptible and hurting, too.”
“I’m sorry. I truly am.” He stared at her with a vulnerability that confused her. “She’s not the person she was. But bullying you is unforgivable and something I wish I could have stopped. If there’s anything I can do, please let me know.”
“I’ll think about it.” The softness in his stare affected her.
With everything going on, there was a pull to be close to the only person who’d made her truly happy as a teenager.
Millie worried her lip with her teeth. “I’m annoyed you’re the rational one now.
You were the silly one, and I sorted out your messes. ”
“I had sensible moments, but they were rare. Since then, the things I’ve experienced have changed me forever.” His eyes locked on hers.
“What sort of things?”
“Things no one should know.” His shoulders drooped, and she fought the temptation to hold him.
“Things that mean sessions injuring yourself in the gym aren’t unusual? Does what I caught you doing today always work?” she pushed, joining him on the bed.
He shrugged. She remembered the sheen of tears as he punished himself with the barbell. Millie furrowed her brow. He reached to smooth the lines, his hand hanging in the air. When she nodded, he brushed his thumb across her skin.
“We’ll have to help you ease your stress while showing your team you’re not a robot.”
He swallowed slowly. “Promise?”
Anticipation skimmed her skin, raising her pulse. She struggled to breathe.
She wasn’t in a place to promise him anything, but her words slipped out anyway. “Promise.” A cut near his jaw called out to her fingers. “Although you’re not as brusque as you think you are. Robots don’t blush like you did at breakfast, and they don’t hide fidget tools in their laps.”
“Maybe I’m less of a robot when you’re around. You were always good at bringing out my giddy, soft side.”
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered on her neck. His quiet dominance sparked her needs, even as she willed them away. Only books and her apps did this to her.
Her shoulders tensed. “You were giddy enough without me.”
“On the surface, but…” he said, his voice deep.
He laid his palms flat against his thick legs. He was the best person to have on her side, if only she could manage her emotions around him. She cleaned her glasses with her sleeve before popping them back on her nose and tucking her hair behind her ears, recalling his touch.
“But?”
“But I hid a lot of my stress. As soon as you were gone from my life, I changed. I knew within hours of leaving I’d never be the same without you.”
She sucked in a breath as she stared at him. Strike’s beautiful blue eyes implored her.
She fiddled with the cuffs of the hoodie with the royal crown logo she’d borrowed from Liss, trying not to stare at his dirty blond hair that she’d spent two weeks running her fingers through before he left.
Strike reached into his pocket and handed her his fidget tool. She breathed a sigh of relief. He was good. Too good.
“I still miss my wristband. I wore it every day to school until they snatched it and refused to return it, laughing about it in the toilets because they knew it was yours originally.”
“The one I gave you the night we… the night before I left.”
“Yes. If there was any chance they hadn’t ditched it, I’d ask you to tell your girlfriend to return it to me.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Fine, whatever she is.”
He sucked in his cheeks and dragged air through his nose. Stoic Strike made her want to fight him for a reaction. “We’re friends, Millie. Haven’t you got friends of the opposite sex who you’re not fucking?”
What a loaded question. Yes, she had friends she wasn’t fucking, seeing as she wasn’t fucking anyone, but they weren’t of the opposite sex.
“No, I don’t.”
His scowl bored into her, and his jaw tightened. She crossed her arms.
“Right.” He fisted his hands. “Well, the wristband is in your memory box. Someone sent it to my house months after I left. It’s sat in my car since, so I put it in your box today. That wristband was always yours and always will be. I meant everything I said the night I gave it to you.”
“Even the part where you said you’d always protect me?” she whispered.
“Especially that.”
She stared out the window again. If the next days were going to be like this, she’d end up doing something she regretted.
“I need to keep busy,” she muttered. “I’m not used to sitting around doing nothing. How can I help the case, my case? I’m good at getting things out of people, and I can research the hell out of any topic. There must be something I can do so I can get home and back to normal.”
Strike nudged her. “You’ve already got more out of me than I’m happy with.”
She gave a mirthless chuckle. Against her better judgement, she wanted to know everything about him.
“I don’t like you getting involved”—she opened her mouth to argue, but he raised his eyebrows, quietening her—“involved any more than you already are, but with all of us doing other things, it would be helpful to know more about Hugo’s background.”
“And find a connection between him and the guy he attacked. There might be something related to school or any businesses he’s involved with.” Her excitement was reflected in his smile. “Get me a laptop, and I’ll use my burner.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He stood but didn’t move, scratching his chin.
“Strike,” she said, swallowing the thickness in her throat, “why did you leave?”
Eventually, he murmured, “I explained it in the letter.”
“Wha—”
Suddenly, his phone rang. As he stared at it, the colour drained from his face.