‘I don’t know how you’ve got the fucking balls to walk in here,’ sneered Tara. ‘Why’s that?’ said Strike, sitting down without invitation on the sofa. ‘You know fucking well why not. After what you did.’ ‘I’ve done a lot of things,’ said Strike, stretching out the leg bearing the prosthesis, which was cramping again, after the long drive. ‘You’ll have to be more specific.’
