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Robin sat in the dark in the Land Rover, nervously chewing on her thumbnail. She’d had to park a little way back from the side entrance to the club, as the Land Rover was quite distinctive and didn’t fit in with the much smarter vehicles around. She kept an eye on the club door. Her coffee was slowly going cold in the cup on the dashboard.
She looked at her watch again. Another five minutes had crawled by. Strike had been gone too long. It was supposed to be a quick mission, get in, get the evidence and get out. She sighed. There wasn’t much she could do. He’d forbidden her to follow him in under any circumstances. Not that that would stop her if she was worried enough, as they’d both known when he said it.
The door opened and her heart jumped, but it was just a couple of tipsy partygoers, stumbling down the steps and setting off up the street away from her. The side exit to the club wasn’t manned on the outside by bouncers and was a more discreet way out, which was why Strike had had her wait here, in case they needed to get away. The man that their target was supposedly having an affair with was known to be violent. Robin wished she’d insisted on bringing Shanker, but Strike had rolled his eyes when she suggested backup.
The side door suddenly burst open again and a scuffle erupted. It was hard to see what was going on, but it looked as though an altercation between two men was being ejected by bouncers. Robin sat up sharply, trying to see. She saw the familiar burly shape in his dress shirt. One of the men being ejected was Strike. Her heart leapt into her throat. He’d said to be ready to go. She fumbled the keys into the ignition.
She glanced back up and gave an involuntary shriek. Strike had the edge in height and bulk over the other man, but not in balance on this occasion. His foot had dropped down to the first step, and as usual the ankle of his prosthesis wasn’t flexible enough to bend and allow him to rebalance. The tussling pair lurched and fell down the steps onto the street. She saw Strike go down hard on one arm, and had he caught his head on the railing? The lights of the Land Rover lit up suddenly with the key in the ignition, and she saw a flash of metal in the tussle, as though Strike’s assailant had a knife.
Without thinking, she threw herself out of the vehicle with a yell and sprinted towards them, still shouting. Both men froze for a moment in an almost comic tableau, watching a red-gold-headed woman running at them and yelling.
“Robin, get back in the car!” Strike shouted. His assailant, momentarily freed from Strike’s attention, rolled free. The door opened again and a bouncer loomed. The man rolled swiftly to his feet and ran off down the road as Robin reached Strike and dropped to her knees next to him, panic surging through her. Had he been stabbed? The club door closed again, the bouncers not interested in what went on outside.
Heart hammering, Robin ran her hands over Strike, searching for injuries, any sign of blood. He was glaring up at her now. “Robin, what the fuck was that? I told you to stay in the Land Rover.”
“Shut up,” she said fiercely, still checking him over. “He had a knife. Did he stab you? Did you hit your head? What’s that blood on your arm?” Panic rising further at the sight of blood soaking through his shirt sleeve.
Strike struggled to sit up. “I’m not stabbed,” he said. Adrenaline was coursing through him, but he couldn’t fail to notice the way her hands were running over his arms, his chest. Her face was white and pinched. “Did you just tell me to shut up?”
“Yes,” she said, “So shut up and let me check you’re all right.” She rolled his bloody sleeve up and found a nasty scrape up the side of his arm, skin shredded, but nothing deep. What about his head, potential concussion? She ran her hands over his scalp now, looking for cuts or lumps.
Strike sat and looked at her, at her shallow breathing, her pale face so close to his. She was more upset than he was. “Robin...” he said gently.
She dropped her eyes to his, her hands still on his head, her frantically searching fingers slowing. He was gazing at her calmly, his dark eyes seeking to soothe the panic in hers. Her pounding heart began to slow a little. Her fingers, still on either side of his head, curled involuntarily into his soft, springy hair. She drew a shuddering breath, and suddenly tears started in her eyes as the immediate panic subsided.
“Fuck,” she whispered, and leaned forward to press her forehead to his, her fingers tangled in his curls. Tears spilled down her cheeks. “You frightened the life out of me.”
“Hey...” he said gently, touched, reaching a hand up to her arm. Her eyes met his again, so close, their breath mingling. He was all right. He wasn’t badly hurt. Relief and love flowed through her, and before she realised what she was going to do, she was kissing him. She pressed her mouth to his, hard, kissing him several times fiercely. She felt his surprise and shock, and then his lips softened beneath hers and suddenly the kiss changed. She opened her mouth to his, her tongue seeking his, and then they were kissing passionately, fuelled by adrenaline on both sides and panic on Robin’s. She gave a soft cry of relief and love into his mouth, answered by a moan of desire from Strike, the kiss deepening. He could taste her tears. For a long minute they sat on the cold, hard pavement, kissing one another, everything around them forgotten.
Strike pulled back eventually, breaking off, breathing hard. Robin met his eyes, fiercely defiant and suddenly also a little shy. She slowly removed her hands from his hair, dropping them to his shoulders, reluctant to let him go.
“Don’t scare me like that,” she said, shakily.
He grinned at her suddenly, lightening the mood a little. “I quite like the results, though,” he said, cheekily. “Perhaps I should get into brawls more often.”
She giggled a little, dropping her gaze. “I’d rather you just kiss me if that’s what you want,” she said.
“Okay,” he said, and kissed her again, gentler this time. His arms slid around her as she pressed closer. Another long minute passed, and Robin could feel the panic and adrenaline turning to desire in her body as his lips moved over hers, the fluttering feeling from her heart deepening and spreading to her groin. This was becoming dangerous.
She was the one to break away this time. “That arm needs attention,” she said. “Let’s get you to the Land Rover. I brought the first aid kit.”
“Of course you did,” he said, smiling fondly, allowing her to help him up.