Henry said nothing for a long moment, then his expression relaxed a little. His posture deflated and he rubbed his nose. ‘That’s okay then . . . I guess.’

‘Here, Henry. I got you something.’

Striker held out the box.

When Henry looked guardedly inside the box and saw the rows of yellow M&M packages, his face brightened.

‘Peanut!’ he said.

‘Of course,’ Striker said. ‘Peanut’s the best.’

Henry let out an excited gasp and grabbed the box. Laughing, he sat back down and began passing out M&M packages to his card-playing friends. Within seconds, he forgot that Striker and Felicia were even there.

‘You ready?’ Felicia asked.

Striker nodded. ‘Let’s go.’

They left the common room and made their way back down the grey halls of the facility. As they went, Felicia tore open the package of M&Ms she’d pilfered and popped a few in her mouth. She held up her hand and showed Striker her palm.

‘Melt in your mouth, not in your hands.’

He grinned. ‘You, or the M&Ms?’

She gave him a wry look and laughed.

Outside, the sun was out, high in the centre of the blue sky, and the wind was whipping in hard from the river. It blustered on as they climbed into the cruiser and drove out of the parking lot. When they were back on the freeway, heading for Vancouver, Felicia spoke again.

‘Feel better?’ she asked him.

‘Yeah, I do,’ he said, then added: ‘I guess you’re right. Chocolate does make everything better.’

One Hundred and Eight

They returned home at twelve noon. There was still a shitload of work to be done on all the reports, but he didn’t care. Courtney had a session with her occupational therapist at one o’clock, and Striker wanted to make damn sure she got there on time.

They parked out front on Camosun Street and Striker got out. High overhead, the sun was bright. The frost on the trees glistened and the lawn looked freshly wet. Everything shimmered in the sun. The day felt refreshed. Like spring was on its way.

It made Striker feel good.

He walked up the porch steps into his home. The moment they were inside, Felicia walked over and put on the gas fire, then crashed down on the couch. She draped a blanket over her legs.

‘Make yourself comfortable,’ he said.

She stretched her arms above her head and let out a yawn. ‘Done.’

He was about to join her on the couch, maybe even grab himself a beer – why not? He had earned it – when Courtney exited her bedroom and stepped into the hall on her crutches. She ambled down the hallway, reached him and gave him a onearmed hug.

‘Hey, Dad,’ she said.

‘Hey, Pumpkin. How’re the braces holding?’

She gave him an irritated look. ‘I’ve told you before, Dad. They’re not braces, they’re—’

‘A walker?’

For a moment, Courtney’s eyes took on a resigned look, then her lips crooked into a smile. She leaned over and punched him on the shoulder.

‘You’re a jerk,’ she said.

‘I know, but I love ya.’

She smiled at him, and Striker loved to see that. It made him feel good. She was happy.

Then he noticed something else about her. She was dressed in a black pair of Lululemon yoga pants and a dark red workout top that was so tight it looked like a second skin. Bright red lipstick turned her thin lips thick and pouty, and dark eyeliner made her blue eyes stand out like they were coloured contacts. Even her hair was done. Flat-ironed straight.

‘Kinda dolled up for therapy,’ he noted.

Courtney shared a smirk with Felicia and, as if on cue, the front doorbell rang. When Striker started for the door, Courtney cut him off and gave him a look of daggers.

‘I’ll get it,’ she said.

Striker let her. When she opened the door, a young man stood there. He was dressed in casual pants and a Peabody coat. Within two minutes, Striker learned that his name was Jeremy Holmes, he was taking graphic design at BCIT, he was giving Courtney a ride to therapy, and he drove a yellow electric Smartcar.

Before Striker could question the kid further, Courtney intervened. She got between them and ushered Jeremy out through the door. She looked back over her shoulder and grinned as they went.

‘Bye, guys. Don’t wait up.’

‘Goodbye, Pumpkin,’ Striker said.

He stood in the doorway, and Felicia joined him. They watched Courtney and her friend approach his car. Once there, Jeremy opened the passenger door for Courtney, took her crutches, helped her inside, and closed the door behind her. He looked back at the house, and gave Striker and Felicia a wave before climbing inside the vehicle.

‘I don’t like him,’ Striker said. ‘He has an attitude.’

Felicia grinned. ‘You don’t like him because he wants your daughter.’

‘That’s reason enough.’

She squeezed his arm. ‘Just be happy she’s found someone, and he seems like a nice kid. He certainly doesn’t come across like a bad boy.’

Striker stared at the small car fading down the road. ‘I guess not a lot of bad boys drive yellow Smartcars.’

‘Definitely not.’ She leaned back and looked at him. ‘What did you drive when you were his age?’

‘A Volkswagen van.’

‘So you were the one fathers had to worry about.’

‘This isn’t about me.’

‘It’s karma,’ she said, and laughed.

Striker grinned at her comment. But he didn’t move from the spot. Not even after the little yellow Smartcar had turned the corner and disappeared from view behind the row of houses that lined 29th Avenue.

‘It feels like she’s growing up too fast,’ he said.

‘Just be grateful that she can grow up, Jacob. She was a pretty lucky girl last year. It could have turned out far worse.’

Striker nodded in agreement. The words were so true.

One Hundred and Nine

They walked from Camosun up to Dunbar Street, a small stretch of road that owned everything from a Starbucks coffee at 18th Avenue to the movie theatre off 29th. Striker didn’t much care where they went. He just wanted to get out of the house.

Having Felicia there with him was an added bonus.

They stopped at an old English pub for lunch and a couple of drinks. Felicia had chicken strips and a glass of red; Striker ordered Toad in the Hole and a tall glass of Guinness. When the draught came, it was dark as molasses and had a swirling cloud of head at the top.

Striker took a long sip of it and felt his body relax.

‘So,’ Felicia asked. ‘How comes the report?’

Striker gave her a weary look. ‘I’m hoping to be done by February – of next year.’

She laughed at that. And from there, the conversation jumped all over the place: the possibility of Gabriel not standing trial due to his state of mind; Dalia, missing and still out there somewhere; Larisa recovering nicely; and the monkey court they were going to have to go through over Billy Mercury’s death. The one thing they didn’t talk about was them. And Striker left the topic alone. It was sunny out. He had Felicia with him. And a tall glass of Guinness in his hand.

Why risk ruining that?

As if sensing his thoughts, Felicia reached out and touched his hand. ‘You did a good job out there, Jacob, a really good job.’

‘We both did,’ he said. ‘We do this stuff together. We’re a team, Feleesh.’

The comment made her smile. ‘It was a good investigation. Though I have to admit, the best part was the way you led Bernard out to Laroche’s place.’ She laughed so hard she almost spilled her wine. ‘God, that was the best part of the day. You really fooled him.’