Chapter Twenty-six

Pat has listened to the partners' proposal without comment, but now echoes, "Australia?"

Robin glances at Strike before confirming, "Yeah, though it might not happen. A reputable firm there is pursuing some leads for us. If they find enough to satisfy the client, then we obviously won't need to go." With a shrug, she adds, "Technically one of us wouldn't officially be under contract."

Looking from one to the other, Pat asks, "What, like a holiday?"

Amused by the look of profound shock on their office manager's face, Robin cheerfully protests, "I've been on holiday before."

Pat scoffs, "Your honeymoon, which sounds like it was a flippin' disaster." Nodding to Strike, she adds, "And he barely even takes a day off."

Strike graces her with a lazy smile, and points out, "Then we're due."

Pat studies him for a few seconds, and then concedes, "Yeah, you might be at that. And I'll be in charge while you're away?"

Robin says, "If that's okay? I know you coped just fine yesterday, but this would be for a week or two, maybe more. I wouldn't want you to feel overwhelmed."

Strike snorts a laugh at this, and insists, "She'll be fine. Right, Pat?"

"You'll put it in writing, and pay me accordingly?"

Strike smiles, and says, "Don't I always?"

Signalling the end of the matter, Pat puts her vape pen back in her mouth and turns to her computer, saying, "Yeah, okay. I'll do it."

Robin and Strike stand up, to leave her be, but he turns back and leans close to Pat, saying, "And, if any of those lions escape while I'm away, I'd get behind Andy, because you'd never outrun Midge."

She laughs and swats at him, saying, "Away with you. I'm busy."

When Strike joins Robin in their office, closing the door behind him, she asks, "What was that?"

He shrugs and says, "Just a joke between us."

He sees her need to know, but she blinks and it's gone, and then Robin looks towards the outer office, quietly saying, "Are you sure she'll manage? I know she's capable, but she's also not a young woman."

Strike drops onto his chair, the plastic and steel creaking a protest, and says, "Just between us, Spanner told me how much time she spends playing Angry Birds on that computer. I'm sure she'll be glad to be busy for a change."

Strike and Robin haven't long been working at their desk when their computers simultaneously chime. After a glance at each other, they open the email from Murphy, to learn that the tracker was placed on Strike's car while it was being repaired. And Strike says, "Well, that's the last fucking time I'll be using them."

Robin has kept reading, and says, "Farah Navabi paid a junior mechanic to plant it, but says she was doing it for Patterson."

"Which is bullshit. He was in custody at the time."

Her eyes still glued to her screen, Robin agrees, "That's what Murphy says." Finally looking at Strike, she asks, "What did Navabi hope to gain by this? Patterson was toast, along with her career for planting the bug."

Strike shrugs and says, "Maybe she had the tracker from a previous job and decided to fuck with me because she suspects it was me who rumbled her, but I don't give a fuck. This means that the herensuge had nothing to do with the tracker, which is one less thing to worry about." And then he eyes her, saying, "That reminds me." He motions Robin closer and, when they're only inches apart, says, "Basajaun." Robin tries to maintain her composure, crinkling her brow in apparent confusion, but she ultimately loses the battle, blushing even as she laughs. And Strike points at her, promising, "You're in trouble."

"Sorry." And then she really does look pensive before saying, "Strike, doesn't that also confirm your theory that the herensuge didn't plant the bugs?"

His eyes flicking as they read the rest of the email, Strike grunts, "Huh?"

"We thought the tracker meant they were monitoring us outside the office. But, if this wasn't them, it's even less likely that they'd bother with my apartment."

"Yeah, maybe. Rob, one of the attachments is the pic of your fireman."

"Not my fireman."

Strike grimaces, and says, "Sorry. What nickname? Sam, as in Fireman?"

Robin doesn't hesitate long to suggest, "Tom, as in Peeping."

"Tom it is. Want me to look at it first?"

Robin shuffles her fingers across the touchpad of her laptop, saying, "No. I want to see who we're dealing with." A moment later, they're both looking at a fairly life-like rendering of the man that almost certainly has been spying on Robin. In a flat tone, she comments, "Max is right, he's cute."

Already angry with the picture, Strike grunts, "Fucking adorable." A moment later, he comments, "Kind of familiar though, and I don't mean because he does look a little like Radcliffe."

Peering at her screen, Robin says, "Yeah, you're right. Although, it's not a very memorable face, even though he's quite good looking."

Strike shrugs, saying, "Maybe that's it." And then he continues, "Shame about the cap. Seems that Max really only got a good look from the ears down."

Robin remembers, "Other than thinking of everyone in terms of which famous actor they most resemble, Max only really pays attention to gestures." She manages a smile before adding, "He has a new favourite flourish every month. Hey, would Ryan know to ask about that...oh, but he wouldn't actually be working on this case, would he?"

"No, but he's obviously keeping tabs on it." Nodding to her phone, Strike suggests, "Ask him."

After a moment, Robin says, "You do it. He seems okay about us, but I don't want to risk upsetting him if there's a chance we can be friends."

Strike smiles, gently reminding her, "Didn't you tell me that's exactly one of the things you did wrong when you were dating the guy?"

She shakes her head, marvelling, "Your memory." And then picks up her phone to text Ryan, as she says, "Yeah, okay." Only seconds later, her phone chimes, and she giggles before quoting, "Step one: read entire email. Step two: ask stupid questions."

Strike raises both hands, and teases, "Hey, I never asked any stupid questions."

He merely laughs when Robin thumps his arm, and then they do as instructed, soon watching a short video on Robin's screen of Max in his element, demonstrating a scratch of his right ear with his left forefinger, a lazy smile that only lifts one corner of his mouth, and then tugging at his chin as if milking it, while he says, "Of course, you need to imagine a short beard here." A voice off camera asks if there's anything else, and Max says, "Well, he used the hem of his t-shirt to wipe the sweat off his face, proving that he works out, but I'm not doing that unless you buy me dinner." And the video ends.

The partners are quiet for a few seconds, and then Robin says, "I'll miss Max."

"I certainly hope not because you'll be living with me."

She laughs and assures him, "No."

When she goes quiet and again brings up the picture of "Tom", Strike asks, "Awright?"

She smiles and says, "Awright. You're probably not shocked to learn that I'm less anxious the more knowledge I have. If I'd opened that gorilla mask knowing it was from Sarah, I'd have laughed and thrown it in the bin."

"Then I have something to show you. Before you ask, I wasn't concealing it, just making sure that_"

Robin shuffles her chair closer to his, saying, "Show me. I trust you." When he opens the document, she sees that he has, as usual, grouped the information into People, Places and Things; a technique he taught her that has proved invaluable. She studies it for a while, and then asks, "What am I looking at h..." And then she sees it, and her gaze snaps to Strike, as she guesses, "This is stuff we've discussed at my place in the past week."

"I'm afraid so, including my clumsy proposal and your gracious acceptance, along with what type of marriage ceremony we'd prefer, the fact that we're trying to get pregnant and soon moving in together, and..." Pausing for breath, he concludes, "Last but not least, the fact that you don't appreciate Tom Waits, but I'm sure he'll assume that was some sort of technical glitch."

Robin rolls her eyes, saying, "I don't know how you can joke about this."

With a kind smile, Strike says, "I don't know how we cannot; I mean, the fucker heard us having sex, including me playing the 'crippled war hero' card."

Robin hiccups a laugh, and says, "Oh, God, he did. This is bad. This is very bad."

Strike taps his screen, saying, "No, this is just annoying and potentially embarrassing, even if he broadcasts the information. The week before that, we were in your bed when we were making plans to go after the herensuge. That would have been bad. Fatal bad, if he put that audio in the relevant hands."

Wide-eyed, Robin needs to swallow before being able to agree, "Well, that adds a little perspective." And then she smiles her love for him, saying, "How did even you remember all this? With all that's happened recently, I couldn't even recall what nights we'd spent at my place."

Strike shrugs and accuses, "It's your fault."

It takes Robin a few seconds to work it out, and then tell his smiling face, "Because I said it can't be done."

"Exactly."

When she leans towards him, his lips meet hers, and then she solemnly vows, "I love you, Cormoran Strike."

He loses his grin, to not quite as solemnly vow, "I love you, Robin Ellacott."

Too much information in her head, Robin shuts her laptop, and leans her head on his shoulder, to propose, "Let's go upstairs."

Her tone suggests that she's talking about sex, so Strike snaps his computer shut, agreeing, "Let's."

As he's about to open the door, Robin asks, "What about Pat?" They've long ago abandoned their intention to remain entirely businesslike in the office, but she still doesn't want Pat knowing that her bosses are sneaking a quickie in the attic above her head. "She'll know."

Strike grins and says, "Trust me." Once they're through to the outer office, he says to Pat, "Just popping upstairs for an early lunch. Want me to bring you back a sandwich?"

Without looking around, she asks, "What sort of sandwich?"

Pat usually goes out for lunch, so he wasn't expecting this, and stammers, "Uh, cheese and pickles?"

That draws her gaze, which flicks from his stoic discomfort to Robin's red face, and then she shuts down the computer, picking up her handbag and coat, saying, "Right, I'm off for lunch. Do me the courtesy of waiting until I'm out of the building before you start making your sandwich."

A muttered "Yes, Pat," and "Thanks, Pat," follow her out the door. And then Robin and Strike head upstairs, giggling like kids.

Stevie hears the door unlocking, and glances that way, smiling. When he comes into view, dropping his holdall in a corner, she comments, "No beard."

He makes a show of feeling his face and then his pockets, saying, "Fuck, where did it go?"

She laughs and motions him closer. He's guessed her intent, because he complies and bends down to offer her his face. She caresses his now smooth and slightly pale jawline, saying, "I like it, though it makes you look quite young."

He kisses her, and says, "I am quite young." Straightening, he adds, "Also, stinky. Borrow your shower?"

"'Course."

Heading towards the bathroom, already removing his t-shirt, he says, "Got the next five days off. You're off Thursday through Sunday, right?"

Three whole days when their shifts align is unfortunately rare. "Right. You want to do something?"

He turns to ask, "Ever been to Cornwall?"

She laughs, saying, "Babe, everyone's been to Cornwall."

"Not me. I told you, my family didn't do holidays. What do you think? I know it's a long way, but we could stay two nights, make it worthwhile. I already checked; there's plenty of accommodation this time of year."

She'd like to, but sees a snag. "I'm on nights next week, starting Sunday. I won't make it through the first shift if I don't get some rest beforehand." When he can't hide his disappointment, she says, "But you could go, take my car." Grinning, she jokes, "Just make sure you bring it back."

He grins, saying, "We'll see." And then he gives it serious thought, before saying, "All right, you talked me into it." Extending a hand, palm-up, he says, "In that case, maybe we should make the most of our time together? I could help with your hard-to-reach areas?"

He won't pressure her; he never has. And that fact alone would make her want him, even if he weren't shirtless and looking like a model. Pretending to read something on her laptop, she teases, "I've already had a shower."

She hears him approaching, and then his lips are by her ear when he suggests, "Fine, then you can help with my hard-to-reach areas."

A smile on her lips, she turns towards him, and then he's kissing her. By the time he stops, her breath is fast and her groin is tight, and she gasps, "Okay."

He looks even younger when he beams at her. And then he closes her laptop and puts it to one side before taking her hand and guiding her off the couch and into his arms, saying, "Thank you."

That's the other thing she loves about him; gratitude. Right now, it leads her to get reckless, and she addresses his chest, to vow, "I love you."

He tenses, and she immediately regrets her words, but he merely frames her face with gentle hands and kisses her again, tender this time, and then holds her tight, saying, "I love you too."