Page 76 of Flint’s Strike

The pain fades enough I straighten, open the door, and—for a moment—hope she’s still here. That I imagined the sound of her leaving. That it was a neighbor’s door. But the apartment’s empty, with only her scent left behind.

I start a pot of coffee, standing at the kitchen table while it brews, staring at the puzzle. I don’t have the energy to pick up a single piece. Instead, when the pot gurgles and spits out the last of its liquid gold, I pour myself a cup, sink down onto the couch, and wonder if I just screwed up the best thing to ever happen to me.

Chapter Thirty-One

Parker

I walk into the station five minutes before eight. For anyone else, that’s perfectly acceptable. For me? It’s at least fifteen minutes too late.

I should have been fine. Home by six thirty, a quick shower, ten minutes to braid my hair and put on the absolute minimum amount of makeup, another five for the coffee to brew. Out the door by seven.

Instead, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror replaying every minute of my time with Eliot this morning. More than once.

That left me so out of sorts, my coffee cup is still on the counter. Now I have to face my partner uncaffeinated.

Dropping my bag in my office, I pour glorified motor oil into a Department of Public Safety mug. Two steps from the hall, I stop, turn around, and find the creamer. Maybe it’ll help. Or maybe it’ll just remind me I’m better off alone.

Nate’s already in the conference room, three folders—red, blue, and green—spread out in front of him, and a collection of highlighters fanned out in his version of a color wheel.

“There she is.” He doesn’t look up as he uncaps one of the dry erase pens. This one isn’t orange or red, but some bastardized mix of the two.

“Six colors, Parker. Six. Do you know how excited I am?”

“Thrilled beyond anything us mere mortals can understand?” I sink into my chair, trying to avoid glancing at the empty seat beside me where Eliot’s been for the past several days.

Nate lifts his gaze, studies me for a moment, and puts the cap back on the pen. “You’re late.”

“It’s seven fifty-nine.” The first sip of coffee burns going down. Great. My tastebuds are gonna be dead half the day.

“That’s late for you.” He runs his hand through his shaggy black hair. “I figured I’d find you twirling around the break room with a bluebird tying a bow in your hair. Instead, you look like someone stole your emotional support sidearm.”

“I do not have an emotional support sidearm.” Out of habit, I touch the butt of my SIG, then wince. “Fine. I do, but it’s right here.”

All the sarcasm vanishes from Nate’s voice. “Seriously. You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

He stares at me, his dark brows pinched together. “You’re getting together with Grace, Emi, and Isabel tonight?”

I nod, unsure where he’s going with this.

“If you don’t want to talk to me, Parker, talk to them.”

He’s silent for the amount of time it takes him to drain what’s left in his coffee mug and pick up his dry erase marker. He doesn’t uncap it, just twirls it around in his fingers. “I got in half an hour ago. Do you know how many inspections the Aldrich building had to go through before it opened?”

“No, but I reckon you’re gonna tell me.”

His dark eyes take on a hint of excitement. This is where Nate shines.

“Aldrich is new construction, so it got the full range of the damn things. Framing, rough electrical, rough plumbing, insulation... Not to mention all the final walkthroughs. Seventeen in total, with nine different inspectors.”

Dropping the marker, he opens the red folder, and a full inch of paperwork spills out.

“I’ve got copies of all of them.”

I let out a low whistle. “And let me guess? Those other folders have every inspection for Cedar Park and Round Rock?”

“Bingo.” He digs through his messenger bag for a moment, comes up with a granola bar, and tosses it to me. “You win a prize for guessing what’s behind doors two and three.”