22. Millie
Millie
They neared the police station. The aura of calm that Millie attempted to cover herself with faded.
Cam gripped the steering wheel, the leather crackling.
Strike’s jaw tightened.
Millie gritted her teeth and attempted to ground herself. What would a romance book heroine do? She winced. If she were in some of her favourite books, she’d probably go willingly and bring cable ties.
She dug her nails into her arms, nearly breaking the skin.
“Doc, you’re humming again.” Strike brought her out of her failing de-stress techniques.
“Remind me of the plan.”
“Casey will meet us outside the police station. Although this isn’t her area, she’s requested to accompany us. Joining her is a lawyer Cam’s brother knows through work.”
She twisted her hair into a bun, barely ignoring Strike’s penetrating stare. “I’d forgotten about a lawyer. You thought of everything.”
“That’s my job,” Strike replied as he tapped out a message on his phone.
The laughing, happy Strike that had given her a piggyback was gone, and it was for the best. She needed him to be cold, calculating, and unreactive when faced with danger.
She didn’t care that others called him a robot. Being a robot wasn’t a bad thing as long as he expressed his emotions occasionally and didn’t let them overwhelm him.
“We’ll park up. Casey, the lawyer, and I will escort you in. They’ll take your statement. Only the chief superintendent knows you’re coming so that we can ensure your safety.”
Millie nodded. In a different situation, his authority would be sexy. Who was she kidding? Even terrified, she was attracted to his dominance.
“We should have you back with your stuff and car and at your flat by bedtime or coffee and reading time.” He smiled, revealing the softness around his hard edges. “Hopefully, they’ll bring Hugo in for questioning, but I recommend you get out of the area for a couple of weeks.”
“I could go to Sweden. I’ll tell Dexter the friend bailed on me.”
Strike pursed his lips briefly before saying nonchalantly, “Or come to Stal’s place in Cornwall with me. I’m still going.” He checked his phone. “Casey is ready.”
Millie picked at her pink nail varnish as her heart rate increased. She knew the ways to reduce anxiety, but however many times she swallowed, she couldn’t keep saliva in her mouth. Her knuckles were white from gripping the fidget tool. She swallowed the temptation to cry or shout.
“We’re mobilised. We get in, get out. Full alert,” Strike stated and fist bumped Cam.
Millie barked out a laugh. “What?”
Strike pulled on the back of his neck. “Sorry,” he stuttered. “We’re ready. Army slang. Once a fighter, always a fighter, Doc.”
His use of her nickname calmed her slightly. Soon, she’d be home, life would be normal, and she’d be safe. But that meant being alone and without Strike. The pull to him was unwavering.
She needed to ask him about the past and open herself to hurt once this was over. It was time to let her barriers down rather than close herself off for fear of what he might say. That was what she’d tell her clients.
“Never let the thoughts get you,” she mumbled.
“What?” Strike turned to stare at her, his phone temporarily forgotten. The streetlights highlighted his strong cheekbones and the healing cut on his chin. Even faced with a danger she couldn’t fully comprehend, he was beautiful.
“Have you got my memory box?” Millie asked. Her nails clawed at her cuticles, making them bleed.
“Of course.” He pulled it from under his seat and handed it to her. As soon as he turned away, she opened it and found the wristband he’d returned to the box, the one Casey and her friends stole. As soon as she slipped it on, a grain of tension disappeared.
“Use your fidget tool, too,” Strike said without turning. “You’re hurting yourself.” She curled her fingers around it, breathing slowly.
“Eyes in the back of your bloody head,” she whispered.
“Let’s do this,” Strike said as Cam parked at the end of the road.
She spied the police station. Two figures stood outside. One was dressed in a suit and the other, Casey, in a police officer uniform.
“Head down,” Strike said, tension obvious in the hunch of his shoulders. “I’ve got you, remember?”
Millie slunk in her seat, her body shaking, too scared to speak in case her voice cracked.
“It appears safe. What are you thinking?” Cam asked.
“The road’s empty, but someone could be waiting behind one of the parked cars. Eyes out, let’s go. Drop us off outside the station.” Strike’s dominating energy quelled danger.
His eyes swept the area with the confidence of a man who’d seen the worst and survived. The car rolled in front of the station. The only tell he was nervous was his fisting hands.
“You’ve got this,” Millie whispered. “I trust you more than anyone.”
His hands rested on his thighs. “My instincts are vibing, Doc. Something’s wrong.”
“I’ve always trusted your instincts, especially since you and Bear rescued me in Pickle Park.”
He chuckled, but it was hollow. “I’ll never forget that day. I vowed I wouldn’t let anything hurt you after that, but it did.” She wanted to soothe his concern. “I’d rather sacrifice myself than let anything happen to you.”
Millie held her breath. He couldn’t mean that.
Out of the window, a make-up–free Casey raised her thumb.
“What are we doing, then?” Cam asked, focusing on Strike, his eyes pinched.
“We go cautiously. I’ll get out first. You stay in the car and prepare to take Millie to our safe zone.”
“Combat ready. Let’s go.”
Strike jumped out and spoke briefly to Casey and the lawyer with slicked-back hair and a suit tailored to his slender frame. Millie eased the window open to listen. Her insides squirmed, and her breath snagged in her throat.
A shot reverberated around the small street.
Someone screamed. Fuck, it was her. She slapped a palm over her mouth as Casey ducked down and Strike pushed the lawyer behind a wall.
“Get her out of here,” Strike shouted.
“No,” Cam hollered. “We’re all safer with you in the car. Get in.”
Strike tracked the buildings opposite, his stare unwavering.
“Please get in the car,” Millie bleated. “I need you with me.”
He glanced at her blacked-out window, his jaw fixed and his eyes tight.
Another shot rang out.
Casey shouted something about a shotgun into her radio.
“Open the door,” Cam shouted at Millie as another shot hit the ground near the car.
Millie’s hands shook so violently she fumbled. Her sweaty hands slid around the door handle. She needed Strike to be okay.
She was fucking this up.
She sucked in a breath and shoved open the door closest to Strike. Police crowded the open door of the station. Strike stared up at the windows of the building opposite and made various hand signals, directing Casey’s attention.
Millie willed Strike to be safe. She couldn’t lose him.
“I see it. Get her out of here,” Casey shouted before running behind another vehicle.
A strangled sound was wrenched from Strike’s mouth as he dived through the open door into the back seat.
Cam drove as Strike yanked the door closed, the wheels spinning with a squeal.
“Safe zone now,” Strike roared, a sheen of sweat across his face, which had taken on a deathly pallor.
“I shouldn’t have doubted your instincts,” Cam shouted.
“It’s my fault,” Millie cried. “I shouldn’t have demanded we come here.”
His ice-cold palm shook as he cupped her face. “It wasn’t your fault, Mixie,” he said with a cracking voice.
He locked eyes with her, but it wasn’t the cold blue that caught her attention. Strike’s blond hair slowly turned a dark red.
Blood red.
“Strike! You’ve been shot,” Millie cried.