Page 134 of Flint’s Strike

I suck in a sharp breath, and don’t even realize I’m holding it until my chest gets tight and heat crawls up my neck. The phone’s still in my hand, the empty reply box mocking me.

What can I bring?

It’s a weak-ass reply, but it must be enough, because Parker replies with a kiss emoji before sending one more message.

If you want to make a good impression, stop by the pet store and get Belle the turkey chew treats in the red bag. She’s the only one who’ll judge you for showing up empty handed.

Dogs like me. I’m likable.

That you are, hot stuff. Even Pookie thinks so.

I’m never going to live that down.

Nope. But I’m gonna enjoy watching you try.

I set my phone facedown, a stupid grin on my face that doesn’t fade a lick when I return my gaze to the spreadsheet in front of me.

“Good news?” Kurt asks.

Fuck.

I forgot I wasn’t sitting here alone. Wiping the smile from my face, I meet his gaze. “Parker—you met her the other day?—invited me to a barbecue tomorrow.”

“A barbecue left you lookin’ happier than a pig rollin’ in the mud?” He arches his brows. “That ain’t it.”

“It’s…a family barbecue.”

Kurt chuckles. “Now we’re gettin’ there. You’re goin’?”

“Oh, believe me, I’m goin’. But it scares the shit outta me.”

“Why?”

“Because these people are the closest thing she has to a family. One of them’s her partner. And the guy whose house it’s at? He’s the Chief of the Austin Ranger Division. You remember the Grace Stone case?”

Kurt frowns, his brows drawing together. “Kidnapping. Missin’ for a few years, right?”

“That’s the one. She’s his wife.”

Kurt whistles, a long, low sound. “Well, you’d better bring a good bottle of wine. Or flowers. Or both.”

“Both. Definitely both.”

My laptop dings with a new email, and the reality of what we’re doing comes rushing back into the room. “Got another batch of photos from Ed on the file share. Line forty-seven on the spreadsheet. The middle school on Vail Ave.”

Kurt gives me a short nod. “I’ll run through ‘em. See if there’s anything there. Go ahead and assign that one to me.”

“Done. The call center Ed inspected yesterday was a fuckin’ mess. Ain’t no way that should’ve passed after their remodel five years ago.”

“Well, shit. Bad enough to close it down?”

“Yup. They’re fixin’ to relocate more than a hundred employees for at least a month.”

While we’ve got ten other guys doing most of the actual inspections, I’m the one contacting every single building owner with the results. It’s fucking exhausting.

I run a hand through my hair with a sigh. “We’re almost through half the list, at least. Chief Alvarez approved overtime, so anyone willing to work the weekend will have plenty to do. I’ll take two of the standalone shops tomorrow before I head to the barbecue, and at least three on Sunday.”

Kurt opens the spreadsheet, scrolls through the list, and frowns. “What’re these eleven buildings down at the bottom in gray? They’re marked as ‘No Action Required’?”