Chapter Seventeen

When Robin's self-defence class finishes, there's no sign of Strike, so she texts him that she's done, and then makes quick use of the showers. He hasn't replied to her text, so she goes looking for him. She's wondering where he could have disappeared to in this relatively small gymnasium when he appears, red-faced and glistening with sweat. And she greets him, "Where were you hiding?"

He nods in the direction she came from, saying, "Another of the squash courts. I guess it's not that popular anymore. They don't have boxing here, so I'm their newest practitioner of Muay Thai. Sorry I'm late. Class only just finished."

Despite his obvious exhaustion he seems happy, and Robin asks, "That's like kick-boxing?"

"Yeah, I think it'll do just fine. It's close enough to boxing that I don't totally suck, but my kicks need a lot of work. I tried karate when I was a teen, but you know that was a long time ago."

Though it's currently concealed beneath tracksuit pants, Robin glances at his prosthetic leg and comments, "I would have thought your kicks are deadly."

He laughs and reveals, "They use body armour, and whacked two shin guards on my deadliest leg, to protect my sparring partner. This was fun." And then Strike lowers his voice to say, "Not sure I've got anything left for you, I'm afraid."

Robin kisses him and says, "Same. Did you want a shower before we go? I don't mind waiting."

"Assuming you can stand me in your car, I'll shower at home."

She grins and points out, "The Landy still smells like wet dog, so even sweaty Strike is an improvement."

"We'll see...or smell."

On the way to her car, Robin quietly asks, "Is your copper here?"

"Apparently, resources didn't stretch to tailing me, though there's someone in the street during daylight hours; our newest busker is actually undercover."

"They identified themselves?"

"No. I spotted him right off and checked with Wardle."

"Are they of any use, if they're so obvious?"

Strike shrugs and says, "Hope so, and I doubt they're obvious to civilians. Whitehall might be good at disguises, but that doesn't mean he knows shit about counter-surveillance. It doesn't seem like he's spotted Shanker's guy, Ninja."

They're soon in the car, and Robin puts her seatbelt on, saying, "With a nickname like that, I'm not surprised."

"I'm afraid 'Ninja' refers to his silent but deadly farts."

Robin laughs and says, "Then I hope he doesn't have to get close to Stephen, or his cover will be literally blown."

She starts the engine, and Strike muses, "Or they could end up sharing a lift and it might solve our problem permanently." When Robin darts a glance at him, he adds, "I don't really wish him dead; I just want him to leave us the fuck alone."

Robin nods her understanding and pulls out from the curb, commenting, "Me too. I'm a bit worried how long he might drag out this vendetta."

"More than nine months, you mean?"

"Yeah."

"I won't let anything happen to you or our baby, Rob."

"I believe you mean that, but you know it might not be up to you." They're both quiet for a while, contemplating the horror of their child possibly becoming a target of Strike's half-brother, and then Robin asks, "Did you catch up with Prudence yet?"

"Sorry, forgot to tell you. I owe you lunch with your parents."

"Oh, she agreed with me?"

"Yeah, on the understanding that it's not a diagnosis, merely an opinion based on too few facts."

Robin smiles, saying, "Very professional of her." And then her brow crinkles for a moment, and she says, "Can we use this against him?"

"Not sure. The only thing I thought of was that, if I really want to piss him off, I could explain what it was actually like to grow up with Leda Strike as a mother. You know I loved her, but she was shit at even the basics. Lucy and I essentially raised ourselves."

"Yeah, I doubt he'd want to hear that. And I don't think we should give him another reason to hate you."

Strike utters a harsh laugh and agrees, "Probably not."

They're quiet for a while, as Robin negotiates traffic, and then she says, "Think I'll crash at my place after work. I'll have done day and night plus the class by then, so I won't be up to schlepping from my garage to your place."

"Just catch a taxi. I don't know if you've checked recently, but our business is bordering on successful."

She flashes him a smile and says, "Well, that's good news. It's nice to think that there's something to show for all the hours we're putting in."

"I'm afraid that's not the reason. Spanner's bringing in the most. The online jobs he does don't pay much, but he's cranking through them, so it adds up."

"Should we pay him more?"

"No. His contract is for a wage plus commission. Did Pat not send you a copy?"

Robin turns slightly pink and explains, "She did, but I've just noticed that I'm relying on you for that sort of thing." When Strike says nothing, she adds, "I can read it if you want me to."

He shakes his head, saying, "No, that's okay. I'm just surprised that someone with your pathological need for independence would rely on anyone, and shocked by how good I feel that it's me." At her quiet smile, he asks, "What?"

"I was just remembering what Ilsa said, about us getting together. She said this just might work. I assumed she meant that perhaps you'd finally settle down, but now I'm wondering if she somehow knew that you're what I need too."

His entire being warmed by loving her, Strike asks, "What do you need?"

She glances at him long enough to smile her love for him, and then reveals, "Someone I can trust, who trusts me."

He knows how rare that is—he didn't find it until his forties—but says, "Doesn't seem like much to ask."

"And yet you're so far the only one in all the world. I love you, Strike."

With a grin, he says, "If you're really feeling it, say it again."

She laughs and obliges, "I love you."

Unable to stop smiling, he commands, "Again."

Robin's laughter punctuates, "I love you."

"Again."

Still smiling, she claims, "Okay, now you're pissing me off."

"No, I'm not."

"No, you're not."

When Robin wakes the next morning, it's to the smells and sounds of Strike making breakfast. He's left the bedroom door open, presumably because it's past time for her to get up, and she catches glimpses of him as he cooks while humming a tune. And it makes her feel good about both of them, that she's part of the reason he's happy. It's close to noon, which means she slept for six hours. Not bad, but she knows that her pregnancy will soon demand more.

By the time she's visited the bathroom, Strike is entering the bedroom with a breakfast tray, and he greets her, "Thought you might like brunch in bed. No sign of morning sickness yet?"

"None. Thank you, darling."

"Good. Not knowing your favourite type of eggs, I went with scrambled, which is apparently okay if it's cooked all the way through."

"Scrambled is my favourite, thank you." Robin can now see that, apart from the eggs, there's sauteed spinach and grilled tomato. On the edges of the saucer under her coffee cup is a slice of toast with the jam spread thin and cut on the diagonal, as she prefers. Almost moved to tears, she marvels, "You did all this for me, when you're dieting?"

With a grin, he reveals, "I might have nicked a bit of the egg, but that was just for quality control."

She accepts the tray from him and places it on the bed, and then moves into his embrace, saying, "I brushed."

His mouth curved in a lazy smile, he says, "You're assuming I want to kiss you?"

Just before their lips touch, she says, "Yes."

When she finally ends it, he takes an unsteady breath and then says, "Yeah, okay, you got me."

Ridiculously happy, she confirms, "Yes, I do." Taking the precaution of putting her cup on the bedside table, she sits on the bed and puts the tray on her lap, asking, "Anything new?"

"Whitehall's lawyer emailed me, to make sure that I know Whittaker's funeral is tomorrow."

"Oh. Did you want to go?"

"Not even a little bit, though it would be fun to see the look on Whitehall's face."

"Strike, if we're right about him, then this isn't a game. You can't get into a pissing contest with him."

He sits on the bed beside her, saying, "Don't worry. I'm not going to fuck with him, despite the temptation. But I anonymously sent Culpepper the details, in case he didn't already know; that way we'll have photos. I want to see who'll bother to turn up."

"Not many, I should think. Why his lawyer? Would that be part of his bail conditions?"

"I imagine it's no contact with either of us, and stay the fuck away from your flat. I could check with Wardle, but there was probably also something about no buying or using surveillance equipment. I'm not sure why he bothered telling me though. More mind games, I expect."

"Maybe. We still don't know that he's evil though. If he's not, reminding you of your stepfather's funeral would be appropriate. Did you reply to the email?"

"Yeah, with a formatted 'Thanks, but no thanks.' Whatever he's playing at, hopefully that will thwart him."

He's just staring at her as she picks up her cutlery, so she asks, "You're not going to watch me eat?"

Strike chuckles and averts is gaze, saying, "Sorry, but you're wearing only a t-shirt."

Robin pulls the duvet up to cover her legs, and asks, "Better?"

Without looking at her, he says, "Nope. I know what's underneath all that."

"You'll just have to suffer then, because I'm hungry."

He looks at her then, saying, "I'll survive. Let me know if the eggs need anything."

From the flecks of green, she suspects what he's done, and a taste confirms, "You added fresh parsley."

He smiles at her obvious pleasure, asking, "You like?"

"They're perfect. Now, could you go find something to do?"

"I can do that." When he leans in, she meets him over the food for a kiss, and then laughs when he removes the duvet, caressing his way down her leg as he obeys. Torn between two hungers, she decides that food is more important, and tenderly commands, "Seriously, sod off."

As if it's high praise, he beams at her and bows, saying, "Yes, boss."