Page 33 of Criminally Yours

Her shoulders tensed. “You were giddy enough without me.”

“On the surface, but…” he said, his voice deep.

He laid his palms flat against his thick legs. He was the best person to have on her side, if only she could manage her emotions around him. She cleaned her glasses with her sleeve before popping them back on her nose and tucking her hair behind her ears, recalling his touch.

“But?”

“But I hid a lot of my stress. As soon as you were gone from my life, I changed. I knew within hours of leaving I’d never be the same without you.”

She sucked in a breath as she stared at him. Strike’s beautiful blue eyes implored her.

She fiddled with the cuffs of the hoodie with theroyal crown logo she’d borrowed from Liss, trying not to stare at his dirty blond hair that she’d spent two weeks running her fingers through before he left.

Strike reached into his pocket and handed her his fidget tool. She breathed a sigh of relief. He was good. Too good.

“I still miss my wristband. I wore it every day to school until they snatched it and refused to return it, laughing about it in the toilets because they knew it was yours originally.”

“The one I gave you the night we… the night before I left.”

“Yes. If there was any chance they hadn’t ditched it, I’d ask you to tell your girlfriend to return it to me.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Fine, whatever she is.”

He sucked in his cheeks and dragged air through his nose. Stoic Strike made her want to fight him for a reaction. “We’re friends, Millie. Haven’t you got friends of the opposite sex who you’re not fucking?”

What a loaded question. Yes, she had friends she wasn’t fucking, seeing as she wasn’t fucking anyone, but they weren’t of the opposite sex.

“No, I don’t.”

His scowl bored into her, and his jaw tightened. She crossed her arms.

“Right.” He fisted his hands. “Well, the wristband is in your memory box. Someone sent it to my house months after I left. It’s sat in my car since, so I put it in your box today. That wristband was always yours and always will be. I meant everything I said the night I gave it to you.”

“Even the part where you said you’d always protect me?” she whispered.

“Especially that.”

She stared out the window again. If the next days were going to be like this, she’d end up doing something she regretted.

“I need to keep busy,” she muttered. “I’m not used to sitting around doing nothing. How can I help the case, my case? I’m good at getting things out of people, and I can research the hell out of any topic. There must be something I can do so I can get home and back to normal.”

Strike nudged her. “You’ve already got more out of me than I’m happy with.”

She gave a mirthless chuckle. Against her better judgement, she wanted to know everything about him.

“I don’t like you getting involved”—she opened her mouth to argue, but he raised his eyebrows, quietening her—“involved any more than you already are, but with all of us doing other things, it would be helpful to know more about Hugo’s background.”

“And find a connection between him and the guy he attacked. There might be something related to school or any businesses he’s involved with.” Her excitement was reflected in his smile. “Get me a laptop, and I’ll use my burner.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He stood but didn’t move, scratching his chin.

“Strike,” she said, swallowing the thickness in her throat, “why did you leave?”

Eventually, he murmured, “I explained it in the letter.”

“Wha—”