Strike and Robin were led unwillingly down the stairs into the basement of the long abandoned and derelict factory building. The sun was now low in the sky. Stumbling into the factory, and finding themselves in the middle of the operation without backup, had been an ill-advised decision that had led to them being surprised, captured and held against their will.
The larger man following them, the senior muscle of the outfit, was not inclined to talk, and also had a gun trained at Robin's back which made Strike unwilling to take any risks. The other man, also silent, was more slight, but still exuded an air of strength. Both men were menacingly professional.
The man with the gun gestured to a metal cage type structure, which looked like it had stored items that had needed to be locked away when the factory was in use. It was rectangular, long and low and would require them to sit on the ground. Before they were permitted to be left alone, the man indicated they should remove their coats and shirts. His face did not allow the option of disagreement. They unbuttoned their shirts with some awkwardness. The slimmer man, ignoring their embarrassment, took these, along with their mobile phones, Strike's wallet and identification and Robin's handbag, before he left them. Strike and Robin both crawled into the space and the other man padlocked them in and walked away without making further eye contact. The space echoed, empty of any other people. Car engines sounded distantly as the group upstairs left the premises.
Strike and Robin sat next to each other on the ground, looking around and considering their next move. The padlock looked new and was securely fastened, and the cage was old, but still entirely solid, with no give in any section. Strike performed a brief but thorough assessment of their prison and decided they would not be able to escape without help. The floor was clean and tiled, and equally firm. He was glad their imprisoners had decided not to employ violence, but clearly, they were not planning to return for them.
Robin didn't like the sensation of being trapped that was lapping repeatedly at the edge of her consciousness, and on some unspoken level, Strike must have sensed this.
"Come here," he indicated, raising his arm so Robin could move closer, and lean on him.
In just her bra, Robin moved closer, leaning on his shoulder, trying to steady her breathing. She could smell Strike's familiar scent, of smoke and aftershave and this had the necessary effect of helping her feel calmer and more secure. She rested her head on his chest, shifting closer to him, her whole-body making contact with his, her arm across his middle. They stayed like that for a long while, Robin concentrating on her breathing, listening to Strike's heart beating steadily, with her eyes closed. Her hand began to explore, almost with a mind of its own, across his stomach, up to his shoulder, and chest, and then onto his face and hair. She moved so she could watch him react to her touch, her eyes on his, her hands dancing gently across his shirtless body. She watched his breath catch and the desire build on his face, and she couldn't stop herself. She noted his erection, and pushed her hand down between his legs, trailing her fingers heavily, lost in a moment of discovery.
"I want you too, Cormoran," she whispered fiercely, their eyes locked together.
Strike caught her wrist in a desperate grip. "Are you sure, Robin?" he asked in a voice that was heavy with longing, but still managing to convey coherent caution.
"Mmm," she breathed. Words were not necessary. She stroked his chin, then his lip, her eyes looking at him all the while. Leaning forward, she brushed his lips, and found them ready and willing to respond. The kiss was deep and lustful and lasted a long time, a battle of emotions that had long been pushed away by both of them. She pulled him on top of her as she lay down, fumbling for his zip, willing him to agree to her needs, groaning loudly with desire. Strike removed her bra and delighted in her breasts.
The sex was fast and overflowing with need. He came as intensifying yearning reached a swift climax. Afterwards they lay together, panting and Robin marvelled at how she felt. Even early on with Matthew, she had never felt so satisfied and wanted. Finding out he had been cheating on her had been the final nail in the rotting coffin that was her failing marriage. She felt nothing for him any longer. Her attraction to Strike had grown proportionally in the last few months as her hate for Matthew festered, and she had been spending more and more time at work, avoiding going home whilst Matthew and her sorted out the remaining things that kept them trapped together as husband and wife.
She leaned up to kiss Strike again, wanting to do so, over and over again. She felt she could never get enough of his lips, his eyes on her.
Strike seemed in a state of shock, quiet and subdued. His fingers caressed her arms lightly, almost without thinking.
"You are the most beautiful thing," he murmured. "But what do you see in me?" he almost mused aloud to himself.
"Cormoran," she chastised. "You are tall, dark and handsome. I also admire your mind; you are clever and funny. You are determined to find the truth and never fail to impress me. You make me feel safe."
He smiled at her, a genuine warm, loving smile, which was priceless. They kissed again.
Robin climbed onto Strike, carefully, avoiding leaning on his knee which frequently troubled him. She leaned down and kissed his chest and stomach, feeling the knot of desire build again. Strike, clearly feeling the same, moved his fingers to give her pleasure and she groaned quietly as she reached release, Strike instinctively knowing what she needed and when. They moved together again afterwards, slower and for much longer this time, exploring each other and seeing how the other responded, learning and loving and enjoying each other. Finally, their needs stated, they lay together, holding one another and Robin enjoyed a light catnap, safe in the knowledge that Strike would keep look out.
Noises woke her from her sleep, the sounds of Police sirens, followed by the steps of multiple feet and radioed messages. Robin pulled on her bra and did up her trousers, Strike following suit.
Eric Wardle's voice rang out in the vast space. "Strike?" he asked, incredulous.
"Yep," agreed Strike, with a wry grin.
The police officer who cut the chain did not know where to put his eyes, when faced with Robin's essentially naked form. Wardle however had no such qualms.
"Wardle, stop staring at my partner's breasts," admonished Strike. "Do you have a spare shirt we can have?" he added.
Wardle looked closely at them, and his eyebrows rose in understanding. "You lucky bugger," he said to Strike, while Robin smothered a smile. She buttoned up the white shirt, a spare piece of police uniform that someone had been kind enough to lend her after Strike's request. As she stood with Strike, his hand found hers and she took comfort in its solidity. She leaned on him, tired but happy that such a dreadful situation had brought them both some happiness. She liked that he had not yet put a shirt on, and remained topless. Despite years of neglect, his body was still muscled and his naked physique did things to her.
Later as they finished up speaking to the officers that were dealing with the situation, Vanessa came over to give her a hug, and offered her tea in a takeaway mug.
"You okay Robin?" she asked with an expression of concern.
"Thanks Vanessa, I am, actually." Robin admitted, drinking the lukewarm oversweet tea gratefully, almost in one gulp. "How did you find us?"
"We had been tracking this gang for some time, but it was just luck for you guys that the warrant to raid this place was approved for tonight."
"Thank goodness then!" exclaimed Robin. "Fancy a drink to catch up later this week?"
"I'd love that, I'll text you" she said, before melting away subtly as Strike reappeared next to Robin, with an identical empty mug, now wearing a borrowed sweatshirt. Their clothing and items had not been located.
"You ready to go?" he asked brusquely.
She smiled, but said nothing. He looked at her for a moment and then he slowly returned the smile. "Back to mine?" he said quietly, placing his arm on her shoulders and leading her away.
"Yes, please," she answered finally.
She didn't know where this would lead, but it felt right. It was always a cliché, falling for your boss, but Strike was like no one else she had ever met, and she felt that they understood each other and were fundamentally very good friends underneath the sexual chemistry. She liked the way he made her feel, that she could achieve things and be herself and she appreciated the feeling of unspecified security he provided her, that Matthew never truly had. She had seen that Strike was loyal and caring, and despite his history with his ex, that he had not become jaded or cynical. She leaned up spontaneously and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. Strike paused his step to look quizzically at her.
"You know, I never wanted to put my arms around any other woman before," he said with honesty. "I'm not good with public displays of affection, usually."
Robin was surprised by him telling her then, but not surprised by what he had told her. He was a private man, and hadn't talked openly about any of his relationships, as a general rule, but she could not recall ever seeing him spontaneously affectionate, even with his sister. In the years she had known him, they had hugged twice before tonight, once after her panic attack in the Landrover, the other at her wedding. Then there was the accidental kiss…
Strike saw Robin looking at him tenderly and his heart thumped in his chest. Even when he was with Charlotte, who he had thought he had loved, they had never really communicated effectively. Robin just seemed to understand him and her calm and quiet mannerisms were a breath of fresh air. He couldn't believe the events of the past few hours, and he felt like he might yet wake from this magical dream. It was true what he had said, he would have always recoiled from any attempt to hold hands or display any relationship publicly, but with Robin he yearned to maintain contact with her in any form. In fact, he was already thinking about what might happen when they reached his flat. He was a little concerned that they had not used protection, but he didn't regret what had happened in the slightest, and nor, he suspected, did Robin. He thought back to their lovemaking in the factory basement with pleasure. He felt like a teen again, plotting ways to get a girl into his bed. He shook his head ruefully. Who would have thought, that she had found him attractive, all this time?
"Oh God, Robin," he said loudly, stopping suddenly. "I can't believe how lucky I feel. What is going on?" He hugged her closely and then released her.
People passing by looked at them as they both stood and stared at each other, wide smiles plastered across their faces.
"Shush," complained Robin. "Come on, Cormoran."
They made their way back to Denmark Street together, walking at a slow pace, holding hands, still smiling. Wardle had offered to lend them money for a cab but they were happy to take their time.
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Climbing the stairs, Strike asked, "Won't Matthew wonder where you are?"
"He might if he's not at Sarah's," she replied coldly.
Strike's flat was meticulously tidy as always, and Robin looked around, feeling comfortable there, at home, despite only having been in a handful of times previously. Strike opened the windows to allow fresh air in and then coyly told Robin he was going to have a shower. She smiled in understanding, and joined him in the shower, using the soap that smelled of Strike and touching him and loving him all over again. They ended up in bed, discovering what the other liked and enjoying the sensations they created in no small measure that night.
The morning sun shone thorough the unshuttered windows and woke them gradually from a deep and restful sleep, their bodies entangled in each other. Robin, wearing an oversized grey T shirt that belonged to Strike, rose to make tea, and then returned to bed. As Strike sat up to take a sip, she began to massage his leg with a healing salve she had found in the cupboard.
"Robin…" he began.
"No Cormoran, I want to," she interrupted, and continued to rub the paste in gently. It smelled pleasantly of vanilla. Strike was giving her an odd look that she couldn't interpret.
She realised also that he had not smoked at all since they were held at the factory. "What is it?" she asked.
"You're just so amazing," he said, shaking his head.
She kissed him then, with a tenderness that created butterflies in her stomach.
After toast, they made their way down to the office. "D'you think it will be strange at work?" she asked.
"I think it will change some things," answered Strike honestly. "But if we want it to work, we'll find a way." He made the tea this time and they settled down to a morning in the office. Wardle arrived just before lunchtime, as agreed, to follow up on some points and Vanessa accompanied him. They sat with mugs of tea and Robin located some chocolate digestives which cheered them all up.
"You two surprised me," said Wardle with a shake of his head. "How did you find the factory?"
Robin looked at Strike, who smiled and answered. "I can't say."
"We'll have to get you on the payroll," promised Wardle. "I'll speak to my boss."
They discussed the hostage situation, with Robin and Strike giving detailed descriptions of the men they had seen.
As Wardle rose to leave, he gave them another apprising look. "So, what happened in the cage?" he asked with his usual directness, and knack of hitting the nail on the head.
Vanessa intervened, as Strike and Robin exchanged another cautious look. "Eric, its none of your business."
"Suppose," said Wardle with a sharp look at Strike.
When they had gone, Robin rose to tidy things up, but Strike blocked her way, placing his hands on her upper arms." I just wanted to say thank you," he said quietly. "I am so grateful for everything you have done over these past three years Robin. We wouldn't be here without you and your input. You know that. But I still needed to say that. It was just hard to talk to you after you got married. When you held me on the steps, on the day of your wedding, I felt so many things. I felt so conflicted. I wanted to be happy for you. But I just felt attraction, desire. So, I backed off and tried to keep you at arm's length. Tried to have a relationship with someone else that was doomed, because it was you that I really wanted."
Tears welled up in Robin's eyes. This man, who she had watched from afar, was telling her what she had wanted to hear for so long. They were tears of happiness. She took his hands and stepped into his embrace. He held her tight for a long while. Eventually the phone rang, and she composed herself before answering it, eyes remaining on his as she spoke.
Ending the call, she spoke to Strike. "I felt the same as you at the wedding, Cormoran. But I was too much of a coward to do what I really wanted and leave with you after you held me. It was you I wanted too. But then Matthew got sick on the honeymoon, just when I was about to tell him we were finished. And I stumbled around in the marriage for a long time, feeling it was my fault it wasn't working. It took Matthew cheating to realise I would rather have nothing than him. What I wanted was still you. I know it's too soon. But I'm falling for you."
Strike kissed her then. "Me too," he said simply, looking at her, wanting her, despite them being in the office. "I think this is going to be quite fun, Robin," he smiled. "Now time for lunch," he told her, a bossy tone creeping into his voice. "I'm famished."
Once out on the street, they strolled along the busy pavement, hand in hand, through Covent Garden, heading for the river. It just felt so natural to hold his hand, like it was a part of her own body. They stopped to eat cheese and pickle sandwiches along the riverbank, watching boats move along the oily surface. They had never taken long lunchbreaks before, and for a moment she worried the business might suffer, but she realised that Strike had forwarded calls to his phone, and now and again stopped to answer it. "But I thought I was your secretary?" she teased.
"You were never just my secretary, Robin," reassured Strike. "Not even during that first week. You found me at my worst and now look where we are. We have to turn clients away we are so busy. Thanks to you. You took to this job so brilliantly, without my ten years of training, and hundreds of cases in the army. It's quite annoying, as I may already have said. But I'm so lucky to have you."
She smiled, basking in the glow of his praise. She could get used to this. Matthew had never praised her accomplishments, too insecure to cope with the idea that she would be able to achieve more than him.
They walked back to the office in the sunshine of late afternoon, still comfortably hand in hand. She felt strong, able to face the future, whatever it threw at her, and as she glanced at the profile of the wonderful man next to her, he turned to smile, a warm, genuine thing, that ignited his face. She saw the worry of many years dissipate, and a lightness was clear to see in his frame, the way he held himself. Finally, after years of conflict in his personal life, he knew he could rely on her to love him, passionately but steadily, with a firm foundation of friendship and mutual respect. She felt her heart might burst.
In the doorway of the outer office, they stopped.
"I love you Robin," he said simply, holding her gaze.
"I love you too, Cormoran," she agreed. They kissed briefly, until they were interrupted by a buzz from downstairs. "No rest for the wicked," she said flippantly, heading for the intercom. She turned to see him, still gazing at her, a look of wonder and happiness on his face that made her want to go into his office with him that moment and lock the door. "Can't wait until five o'clock," she whispered as the footsteps of their next client made their way up the stairs.