Page 52 of Criminally Yours

“Open the door,” Cam shouted at Millie as another shot hit the ground near the car.

Millie’s hands shook so violently she fumbled. Her sweaty hands slid around the door handle. She needed Strike to be okay.

She was fucking this up.

She sucked in a breath and shoved open the door closest to Strike. Police crowded the open door of the station. Strike stared up at the windows of the building opposite and made various hand signals, directing Casey’s attention.

Millie willed Strike to be safe. She couldn’t lose him.

“I see it. Get her out of here,” Casey shouted before running behind another vehicle.

A strangled sound was wrenched from Strike’s mouth as he dived through the open door into the back seat.

Cam drove as Strike yanked the door closed, the wheels spinning with a squeal.

“Safe zone now,” Strike roared, a sheen of sweat across his face, which had taken on a deathly pallor.

“I shouldn’t have doubted your instincts,” Cam shouted.

“It’s my fault,” Millie cried. “I shouldn’t have demanded we come here.”

His ice-cold palm shook as he cupped her face. “It wasn’t your fault, Mixie,” he said with a cracking voice.

He locked eyes with her, but it wasn’t the cold blue that caught her attention. Strike’s blond hair slowly turned a dark red.

Blood red.

“Strike! You’ve been shot,” Millie cried.

CHAPTER 23

Strike

An hour to get to the safe zone. But that wouldn’t stop him replaying how he’d fucked up.

Strike ran through all the things he would have done differently, but he couldn’t focus on anything but his mistakes.

Memories of the past, of losing his friend, teetered on the edge of his consciousness as Millie ran her hands over his head and Cam drove them at speed.

He tried to ease her away. “I didn’t get shot.”

“Let me check,” she snapped. She trembled against him.

“You’re getting blood on your hands.”

“I don’t care. I need to know you’re okay.” Tears brimmed her eyes.

He grabbed her hands. She was the focus he needed, pulling him from the past. “Mixie, I’m fine.” He brushed kisses to her forehead, easing away when she took a deep breath. “I need you safe. Put your seatbelt on.”

“There’s sterile wipes in the first aid box under the seat,” Camshouted.

Strike grabbed them and cleaned his hands. He clicked Millie’s seatbelt in and then his own.

“Hands, Doc.” He stared her down until she held them out. Caring for and taking control of this woman whose presence could make his throat constrict and his heart flutter absorbed his anxiety.

With their seatbelts on, they needed to twist their bodies, but eventually, she turned to him. Gently, he stroked the wipe across her palm. He sensed her brown eyes on his head.

“I banged it when I pushed the lawyer behind the wall,” he mumbled.