Chapter Nine

Robin still hasn't found what she's looking for in Cormoran's cupboards when he arrives, so she asks, "Do you have a hot water bottle?"

"Uh, no. Only icepacks. What's wrong?"

Abandoning her search, she explains, "Nothing much. I've got some cramping, so might be feeling out of sorts because I'm getting my period again."

"Already?"

Heading into his bedroom, she explains, "It can happen when you stop taking the pill." And then she notices the folder in his arms. "New case?"

He puts it on the counter, saying, "No, invoices. I had a quick look on the way up, and I'm a little worried that 'Macca's Reach-me-down Furniture' is Shanker's latest business venture. I'd forgotten that his last name is MacDonald. I hope Pat knows what she's doing."

"I told you, she'll do what's best for us."

With a grin, he says, "I dunno, she used my name just now, which is even more disturbing than the other changes she's made."

Robin only smiles and moves to the bedroom, saying, "Think I'll have a nap, okay?"

"Of course. Want anything for the pain? I've only got paracetamol."

"No, thanks. It's not too bad." She kicks off her shoes and her jeans before getting into bed, saying, "I just need some rest. So, have we moved offices?"

Strike smooths the bedcovers over her, saying, "Expanded. Spanner is in our old office. Oh, do you want to still share a room, or have one each?"

Sleep is calling to her when she confirms, "Sharing is good, but I don't mind either way." And then she notices, "You're tucking me in."

He looks like he's trying not to smile when he confirms, "I am." And then he kisses her forehead, explaining, "And now I'm checking your temperature just like Joan used to do."

Eyes closed, she asks, "How is it?"

A warm hand tenderly pushes the hair from her cheek, and an even warmer voice pronounces, "Only slightly elevated, you're fine. Get some rest."

She has little choice but to comply, yet retains enough awareness to say, "Wish I could have met your Joan."

Remembering that Joan said the same thing about Robin, he says, "Me too. Sweet dreams."

When Strike enters what was his outer office, Spanner emerges from the inner room, saying, "Hey, Other Boss."

Wishing that he'd stop using that nickname, Strike's gaze sweeps over the room, taking in the familiar couch, and an unfamiliar dining table with six chairs. The other new addition is a microwave in the kitchenette, and he wonders if it was Crowdy's, and whether he has space for it in his flat. Probably not. "Hey. Pat said you have the hardcopy files?"

Spanner gestures to the open door behind him, saying, "Uh, yeah, sure. You want something? I didn't mess with your system, and I didn't peek. Oh, but I've signed one of those NDAs. And I haven't touched your safe. Pat didn't wanna give me access without your permission. I mean, I could probably get into it, but I would nev_"

Holding up a hand to forestall further explanation, Strike says, "It's fine, just looking around. I'm glad you're here. I checked the accounts; you're already making us money. Are you happy with 'Spanner' still? I notice Pat uses your name."

Spanner visibly relaxes, saying, "Call me anything you want, Other B...oh, what should I call you, now I'm proper working for you?"

Grateful for the opening, he says, "'Strike' is fine." And then he heads into what was his office for several years, and his bedroom for a memorable short time. Spanner has filled the space. Other than a wall of filing cabinets, he has two computers and four screens, one of which appears to be a permanent feed from the security camera at street level, with the other half of the screen a view from the hidden camera just outside these offices. Strike whistles low, and asks, "How much did this set me back?"

From the doorway, Spanner says, "Nah, this is all mine; should do for a couple of years. You're leasing it from me until you can afford to update."

Strike looks at him, to say, "So, I didn't get around to asking; why the career change?"

Spanner shrugs and moves into the main room, saying, "I was just bored, you know? It was good money, but I already have more than I need. Oh, I have a sideline selling apps, is that okay?"

"That's fine, so long as you keep my name and my business out of it."

"Absolutely. Anyway, the jobs I did for you were always more interesting." With a shrug, he concludes, "That's it."

Genuinely pleased that the young man seems happy to do what Strike considers the boring jobs, he extends a hand, saying, "Well, sorry I couldn't be here in person, but welcome to the team."

Spanner's smile is wide, and he shakes hand, saying, "Thanks, Strike."

In the main office, Strike plonks himself down on the couch facing Pat, puts his laptop beside him, and asks, "What do I need to know?"

"About the new case?"

"That'll do for a start."

Pat taps away at her keyboard for a few seconds before explaining, "Brynn Morgan, that's her married name, wants us to find her younger sister, Catrin Baker, who went missing five years ago."

"Five years? Fuck."

"Yeah, apparently she heard how you found that doctor, and figured this is easier."

"She went to the police at the time?"

"Yes, but she thinks they've stopped looking because Catrin's main source of income was one of those adult call services, where guys can get their kicks listening to a woman lie."

"She an escort too?"

"Brynn didn't think so, but the police say different."

"Then they probably had evidence. All right, thanks. If you could send me that infor_"

"Already did."

Strike smiles, saying, "Thanks. And would you mind making yourself scarce when she gets here? Nothing against you, but clients can be a little shy."

"Of course. Oh, did you decide on one office or two?"

"One, please." Gesturing to the current layout, he says, "About how it is will suit us fine, thanks."

Pat types at speed for a few seconds again, even as she explains, "Right, I'm expecting the joiner tomorrow. He's already got the measurements, so it shouldn't take long. You'll have a bigger office than before because there are two of you now. That suit?"

"Just fine, thank you. Anything else?"

"Something. Remember you asked us to keep an eye out for anything dodgy?" At his nod, she explains, "Other than reporters hounding me for a few days after you left, there's been someone asking for you or Robin, but their voice sounded weird...kind of roboty."

He smiles slightly, thinking that Pat might have invented a word, and asks, "They didn't threaten you or anything?"

"No, just weird. Like always, I told any unknowns that you were currently unavailable and ask for their number, at which point they'd hang up. The contractors have reported some shenanigans too; targets being anonymously tipped off. One of 'em nearly had a set-to with Sam, and he swears that they couldn't have spotted him. Dev was accosted by the cops like happened to you, and Midge thinks someone was following her the other night, but she never got a good look at 'em. Think it's your brother playing games?"

"Half-brother. And it could be. We lose any clients over it?"

"Not yet. But I don't like it, and neither do the contractors. It's lucky Timothy has integrated everything; means I can rearrange things even when they're all out in the field."

Now wondering if he should have taken a nap too—maybe life will be easier when he wakes up—Strike wearily scrubs his forehead, saying, "Right, I'll see what I can do about our stalker. If it is Whitehall he would have received a very stern caution to stay the fuck away from us, so I might be able to get Wardle to lean on him. You kept an account of all these incidents?"

"I did. Want 'em?"

"Please." Standing, laptop in hand, he says, "And I'd better get ready. Thanks, Pat." Strike knows that she's not here for the money, but means every word when he concludes, "Let me know when we can afford to pay you what you're worth."

She chuckles and says, "And Birnam Wood shall come to Dunsinane."

When Strike finally returns to his flat, grocery bags in hand, Robin is up and about, looking much better. And he asks, "You slept?"

"I did." Glancing at the bags, she says, "I thought you might be tempted to buy a curry or three."

He kisses her cheek, and starts unpacking the groceries, as he says, "Holiday rules no longer apply. Tonight, we're having chicken and white bean casserole. Oh, there's a microwave just downstairs, so maybe we can use that somehow, obviously not here; there's no room, but I was thinking..." Not quite able to identify the look in Robin's eyes, he asks, "What?"

She approaches and rests her palms on his chest. It doesn't feel like a choice when his arms then encircle her. "Nothing. I just love you is all."

It's obvious she wants a kiss, so he asks, "Not worried about me catching whatever you've got?" She just shakes her head, so he obliges with his lips on hers, and then his tongue on hers, until he's lightheaded with need. When she finally ends it, he comments, "You brushed your teeth."

Releasing him, Robin explains, "I was in the bathroom long enough to get bored."

One persuasive reason for moving in with Robin is to finally be rid of that tiny bathroom, with its miniscule sink and permanent eau de drain. "Why?"

She's studying him when she then asks, "You know we can get married in a week?"

That might explain her receptive mood. He smiles and confirms, "I'm aware."

"You still want to?"

Suddenly unsure, Strike says, "Uh, yeah. Why, are you having second thoughts?"

"About that, no. I'm not worried about marrying you."

He's definitely sensing a mystery in her behaviour, but there aren't enough clues to work it out. "About what, then?"

She looks everywhere but at him when she reveals, "Oh, about the fact that the deal on Nick and Ilsa's new place better not fall through, or we'll be bathing our baby in your kitchen sink."

Wondering what it feels like to have a stroke, Strike fights his way through the simultaneous heat and cold, sudden dizziness and nausea, to eventually ask, "You're pregnant?"

"Ninety-nine percent sure. I'll take another test tomorrow, but chance of a false positive with the brand I bought is about one in a hundred."

"Fuck." At her wounded look, he rubs her arm in apology, saying, "Good fuck. I mean, you have to admit this is a 'fuck' type situation."

She smiles, saying, "Yeah. Little bit sooner than we were expecting." Apparently now fascinated by his faded and cracked linoleum, she asks, "You okay about this?"

He hugs her, saying, "Oh, yes. I mean, fuck me, you know how to drop a bomb on a guy, but I still want this, and I've only ever wanted it with you."

Robin relaxes against him, slipping her arms around his waist, and says, "Thank you."

He kisses her hair, and holds her tight, saying, "Sorry if I scared you. It's been a hell of a day."

She breathes a laugh and agrees, "Yeah."

They just hold each other for a while, and then Strike thinks to ask, "What made you take the test?"

Robin steps out of his arms to explain, "I dreamed that we had a baby. And then I woke up with sore boobs, which sometimes happens just before my period, but not in the couple of weeks after it. That, coupled with fatigue, mild nausea and being a bit more weepy than usual made we wonder, so I Googled my symptoms. It's unusual to get pregnant this quick, but I guess we're good at it."

He's able to laugh, and say, "Just as well I always used condoms before now, or there might have been little pube-heads all over Europe."

Only as he says it does he think maybe Robin doesn't want to hear that quiet brag. But she merely smiles, and asks, "No sex in the Middle East?"

"No, I was busy getting shot at and blown up." With a mental shrug, he puts everything except immediate concerns aside, saying, "Right, dinner. And then we can go back to stressing about how to raise a kid when we have no fucking clue what we're doing."

Her face radiant with joy, Robin asks, "Did I mention that I love you, Cormoran Strike?"

He exaggerates rolling his eyes, and says, "Okay, dinner and sex and then worrying."