Page 130 of Criminally Yours

Millie

“Miss Haven, please come in and take a seat,” Randolph said as she lingered in the doorway of a room that was a mixture between an office and a library.

Strike and Cam had flanked her from the second her feet hit the driveway.

Speavington House was the Deputy Prime Minister’s out-of-city residence. The three-story red-bricked building sat on a large three-hundred-acre country estate. Randolph’s wealth dripped from its manicured gardens and world-class topiary.

The grounds included a lake suitable for a dashing scoundrel to swim in and a staircase a debutante would be honoured to walk down on the eve of her party.

But this wasn’t one of the classics she’d adored as a teenager.

Today was about forcing Hugo to confess so Millie could reclaim her life.

Randolph shook everyone’s hands in turn. “Strike, it’s good to see you again, although I’d rather it was underdifferent circumstances. Cameron, I visited your sister a fortnight ago. She’s taken to motherhood well.”

The sound of a clearing throat caught her attention. Hugo sat at a large wooden table with carved shapes on the sides that led to bulbous feet. His black hair was dishevelled, and he scratched at the red marks on his arms. The dark circles under his glaring eyes made it impossible to look away.

“We call this the war room,” he said with a smirk. His voice was so hoarse it made her internal organs twist with nausea. “It’s apt, don’t you think?”

“Hugo, please,” Randolph chided.

Hugo moved his black, beady eyes to where his dad stood. His hands trembled. “My father thinks you’ll be kind. I don’t.”

Randolph huffed in his son’s direction. “Please take a seat, Miss Haven.”

Cam remained by the door. Strike stood between the window and a cabinet filled with trophies. As Randolph neared his son, Hugo flinched. Was he high again?

Millie sat opposite Hugo and his dad, as if they were interviewing her. She breathed slowly through her mouth while playing with the fidget tool hidden in her hoodie pocket.

She chanced a glance at Strike. He nodded slowly, reminding her he could morph into his soldier persona. This was the Strike she needed now, and tonight, she wanted the version who made her feel like a woman.

If they survived today.

She took in the décor. Antique guns and swords hung on the walls in striking patterns.

There was something calculated about choosing this place for their chat.

The trophies sparkled in the sunlight. There were golfing trophies, ones involving horses, and another with something like a disc on it.R. Dankworthwas engraved in the metal. Shewanted to study it, but Hugo’s tapping brought her back to the father and son.

Hugo looked between her and his dad as he drummed his fingers incessantly against the table.

Randolph raised his hand, and Hugo flinched. Millie studied their body language warily, trying to decipher the subtext beneath their relationship.

“Miss Haven,” Randolph said. “Can I get you a drink?”

“No, thank you. I’m not thirsty.”

“If you’re sure,” Randolph said. She nodded. “I’m under the impression you believe my son committed a crime.”

Her eyes pinched.

“Miss Haven, don’t you have anything to say?”

“I was waiting for you to stop lying,” she replied. Strike raised his eyebrows but remained silent. “I came to discuss the truth. Your son committed a crime. In fact, he’s committed at least two in my presence, and I don’t, for one second, believe you’re not aware of this. So let’s stop bullshitting and get to the details. You agreed to this meeting.”

Randolph sat back and pressed his steepled fingers together. Hugo rubbed his nose on his sleeve, earning him a glare from Randolph. The dynamic between the men was unusual, but Randolph’s future was on the line, too. He’d built his career as the squeaky-clean family man and politician. A drug-addict son with a violent criminal streak wouldn’t help him.

Randolph’s gaze soured as he studied her. “You’re pretending you’re tougher than you are, Miss Haven.”