Page 39 of Criminally Yours
“It matters to me.”
“Strike,” she whispered.
“Please.” He reached out his hand.
She turned to him and dropped her gaze, fiddling with her hoodie pockets. “They said I was a hanger-on. You were desperate to get away from the cringey limpet. Your charity case.” She swallowed and briefly pulled in her lips before adding, “They said you joined the army to escape me. They giggled as they pretended to be your army buddies, laughing about the loser who’d cry herself to sleep over her crush.”
A thickness hit his throat. They’d hurt her, and he’d been complicit by not being there for her.
Silent tears rolled down her cheeks. His hand cupped herface, and he lifted her glasses, pushing away her tears with his thumbs.
“It was never like that. Look at me, Sunset, please.”
Staring at her sorrow, his throat burned with sadness. She held her breath. Her eyelashes fluttered as she studied him.
“Mixie, you were my sunrise and my sunset. Every day with you was a day I didn’t deserve. I’d wake wondering if you were already milling around your room so I could hold up signs to send messages to you. I’d rush to get ready to walk to school with you.”
“Seriously?”
“I was a whirlwind in the mornings.” Strike smiled softly. “Other days, I thought you’d be embarrassed by the jock who didn’t know his Jane Austen from his Stephanie Meyer. You were so intelligent—are intelligent—and always helping people, and yet I was just the guy who made you laugh. I was lucky to call you a friend and then to call you mine.”
Her jaw dropped, and his thumb brushed her lip. Her tongue followed, and he observed it in fascination.
As the wind tousled her hair, he glanced between her lips and her eyes. He wanted to kiss her, but he couldn’t open that box, because he wasn’t the person she needed.
She was the only woman he’d ever loved, ever had sex with.
Right now, he wanted to drag her onto his lap and kiss her with the years of pent-up need. But he’d seen too much suffering. It would leak out if he was with someone as perfect as her and destroy her goodness.
“And yet you left me,” she whispered as she pulled away from him and put her glasses on properly.
His shoulders sank. He leaned back, retrieving his coffee mug from the ground and rubbing Jeff’s belly.
“Well done for your research. I read your email. You’re a little demon at getting secrets from people.” Strike sat back in the seat, propping his ankle onto the knee of his other leg.
“It was nice to feel actively part of this. So what’s happening today?” she asked, refusing to make eye contact. “I’m expecting calls from the people I tried to contact yesterday. And we’re heading to Cornwall?”
“Yes. In terms of your phone, Luke reckons it could take up to a week to sort it, and the further we are from where people expect us to be while he does that, the better. In the meantime, Casey will investigate covertly. She’s visiting the stabbed guy in the hospital, too, to find out his prognosis. If he states Hugo attacked him, you’re safe.”
“What if I give a statement?”
“No fucking way,” he snapped. “It means going to the police station. It’s not safe.”
“Then make it safe. Researching isn’t enough. I want to return to my old life.” The wordsand get away from youwere implicit.
“I’m protecting you. I’m your bodyguard. If I’m to keep you safe, you do as I tell you.”
She stood, and so did he. That she wasn’t scared of him or his height, made his heart beat a little faster. “If I make a statement, we don’t have to go to Cornwall. This could be over, and we can go our separate ways. I can’t guarantee I’m going to find a connection. I need to get home. Don’t take away my agency.”
“Excuse me?”
“I can make decisions about my life. If you’re that good of a bodyguard, you should be able to protect me when I do this.”
“Don’t test me, Doc.”But also do, because I like it.His heart thrummed.
She set her jaw, and he’d never wanted to kiss it more. “I’m making a statement to the police. You can help me, or I can get someone else to.”
“We’re doing it my way. There’s no room for conversation.”
