Page 125 of Flint’s Strike

Eliot trusted me with Zack. He didn’t ask me to fix anything. He just let me know he’s carrying a weight he can’t put down.

And I stayed.

No answer. No fix. No snapping my fingers to take it all away.

I just…stayed.

Chapter Fifty

Parker

By nine a.m., I’m sitting outside Judge Nesbitt’s chambers, the two proposed court orders tucked inside a manila folder on my lap. Her assistant, Leanna, offers me a sympathetic smile. “She’s on her way, hon. I promise.”

I nod, and check my phone again. Nothing from Eliot. Nothing from Nate. I send him a text.

You hear from Todd yet?

Nope. But I parked myself in Apex’s waiting area. The guy behind the desk keeps looking at me like I’m going to run off with the whole damn company.

To be fair, they only have seven full-time employees. If you decide to go for it, lift with your legs.

I’m not lifting anything heavier than my green smoothie.

I wrinkle my nose. Nate’s idea of breakfast is wheatgrass and bee pollen. Which means my morning is about to include one of his weird nutrition facts whether I want it or not. I asked him once how bee pollen was collected, and he told me, in great detail, how the very narrow openings to beehives cause some of the pollen on the bees’ little legs to fall off into a trap. Ever since, I’ve had this mental image of poor little bees being half strangled just to get where they’re trying to go.

God, I’d kill for another cup of coffee. But sitting in a judge’s antechamber with a giant cup of black coffee while I’m waiting for her to review my paperwork isn’t a good look. So I sit up a little straighter and tuck my phone back into my pocket.

Judge Nesbitt breezes in a few minutes after nine thirty, takes one look at me, and frowns. “Captain.”

“Judge. I was hopin’ we could chat about the requests for court orders we sent over last night. Only if you’re free, of course.” I give her my most conciliatory smile. This part is always a game, and knowing how to play it is half the challenge.

The judge pulls a key from her pocket, and unlocks the door to her chambers. “Come in and have a seat, Captain. Let’s go over what you have.”

Ten minutes later, she squares the stack of paperwork against the edge of her desk. “Every time I sign one of these, your partner sends over another. I do have other items on my docket.”

“I know, ma’am. Our unsub has burned down four buildings so far, with three deaths. We suspect they’re tryin’ to draw attention to a long-running pattern of inspection fraud across Austin and the surrounding counties. Every answer leads us to more questions.”

She studies me for a moment, head tipped to one side, eyes narrowed.

“That’s not an apology for all this extra work.”

“No, ma’am.”

Her lips twitch, the closest thing to a smile I’m likely to get out of her. She removes her reading glasses, folds them carefully, and sets them on top of the stack of paperwork.

Shit. She’s prioritizing. There’s no way I’m walking out with all three requests. I’ll be lucky if she signs any of them.

“Walk me through what you actually need today. Not what you’d like. What you need.”

I ran through my speech twice already—once over my morning coffee at home, and a second time in the parking lot. I give her the short version.

“We know for a fact someone altered the inspection records in BRYCER for the building on Rutherford Lane. The inspector of record for the new construction on Aldrich Street wasn’t in the state when the inspection occurred. We’ve confirmed with another inspector that he actually signed off on that building, so we have strong reason to believe that record was altered, too.

“The second and third requests still outstanding are for details on the people behind Lonestar Holdings Company, LLC and Apex Building Solutions. Both corporations have the same registered agent in Austin. The first, Lonestar, owns both the arson site in Round Rock and the Rutherford Lane building. Apex Building Solutions is the company performing these fraudulent inspections.”

She’s quiet long enough that I dig my fingers into my palms until one of my damaged nerves fires. The pain helps me focus.

“I’ll sign the first order,” she says, reaching for her pen. “The scope is narrow enough, and you have corroborating evidence that will hold up in court. But that’s all I’m willing to give you today. You haven’t made your case for the corporation ownership records yet. Keep working on it, and if anything changes, contact Leanna. She’ll work you into my schedule if possible.”