Blomkvist was still in the garden at 8:00 when he was roused by the rattle of the
motorcycle crossing the bridge and saw Salander riding towards the cottage. She
put her bike on its stand and took off her helmet. She came up to the garden table
and felt the coffeepot, which was empty and cold. Blomkvist stood up, gazing at
her in surprise. She took the coffeepot and went into the kitchen. When she came
back out she had taken off her leathers and sat down in jeans and a T-shirt with the
slogan I CAN BE A REGULAR BITCH. JUST TRY ME.
“I thought you’d be in Stockholm by now,” he said.
“I turned round in Uppsala.”
“Quite a ride.”
“I’m sore.”
“Why did you turn around?”
No answer. He waited her out while they drank coffee. After ten minutes she said,
reluctantly, “I like your company.”
Those were words that had never before passed her lips.
“It was...interesting to work with you on this case.”
“I enjoyed working with you too,” he said.
“Hmm.”
“The fact is, I’ve never worked with such a brilliant researcher. OK, I know you’re a
hacker and hang out in suspect circles in which you can set up an illegal wiretap in
London in twenty-four hours, but you get results.”
She looked at him for the first time since she had sat at the table. He knew so many
of her secrets.