Page 133 of Flint’s Strike

“Todd Ferris?”

He touches his index finger to his nose. “Got it in one.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you’re leaving this entire folder of the most boring corporate filings ever to me.”

“Because I am going to figure out who keeps changing these inspection records. The warrant gave me shell access to the county clerk’s system. And…” He drags another spreadsheet from his laptop to the wall monitor. “Take a look at this.”

“It’s the same spreadsheet. You need more carrots in your life, Nate.”

“This is my original data pull.” He lines the two files up side by side, sorts, hides a few columns, and I finally understand why he’s so excited.

“Someone’s changing these records now. As the buildings are being inspected.” My hands flex against the table, the last two fingers of my left hand tingling in a way that tells me I’ve been slacking on my PT exercises.

“Yep. So have fun with all that paperwork. Zephyr taught me a few of her tricks when we needed to find you and Grace. I’m gonna try them out.”

You and Grace.

Not Grace. Not Grace and you.

We’ve been partners for three years. And since the kidnapping, Nate really has been the world’s most protective big brother.

He’s settling in, lacing his hands together, turning them palms out, and stretching each finger with a gleam in his eye.

“Nate?”

“Yeah?” His gaze hasn’t left the screen, but when I don’t say anything for a few seconds, he looks up at me.

“Thanks. For…you know. Everything you did three months ago. Everything you’ve done since.” My voice wobbles, the lump in my throat swelling, and my eyes start to burn. “I don’t say that enough.”

He opens his mouth, closes it, and stares down at his hands resting on the keyboard. “Parker, you don’t need to say it at all. But…you’re welcome.”

Eliot

We’ve been at this since a little after nine. Kurt didn’t put up a fight when I told him I needed him here all day today. Not after I explained I couldn’t go through all the photos and reports from eighty-nine buildings by myself and get out of here before midnight.

I could skip knitting tonight. I should skip it. But Felton once told me I was no good to anyone if I made this job—any job—my entire fuckin’ world.

Plus, I haven’t missed a single Friday event in more than six years. If I don’t show up, Marlene will send out a search party.

Kurt sits at one end of the table, while I’m at the other. The inspectors from around the state certify their reports and upload the completed files to a secure file share the moment they finish a building, and one of us logs their findings into Nate’s spreadsheet.

The filters Nate built into this thing are next level. Occupancy, square footage, age, use, original certification date, original inspector, secondary certification date, secondary inspector, address, and more. All filterable. All sortable.

Kurt scrolls through the latest batch of photographs, stopping whenever something catches his eye. From time to time, he’ll ask me for a second opinion or point out a deficiency we haven’t seen before. But most of the problems are similar—steel columns with no coating, damaged or missing sprinkler heads, faulty water pressure, miswired fire alarms…

I’ve been comparing the latest reports with the checklists the Apex inspectors submitted originally—both on the deficient buildings and the ones that seem fine. It’s the only way we’ll be able to prove which inspectors are on the take.

The buildings on the list that have already burned—whether in the past two weeks or long before that—are shaded gray, and yesterday morning, I hid them from my view completely. There are only eleven of them, and I’ve personally investigated four—the ones that started this whole shitstorm. The other seven could be part of the pattern. I won’t know for sure until I check the SFMO arson investigation reports. But they’re not going anywhere, and they’re not putting anyone in danger. Until I know the occupied buildings are safe, they can wait their turn.

My phone buzzes on the table. I save the spreadsheet, turn the device over, and grin.

There’s a barbecue at AJ and Grace’s tomorrow. 2 p.m. Will you come? It’s always a little loud, but I want you to meet everyone. There’ll be ribs. And I’m making my mother’s pie.

For a second, I just stare at the screen. This isn’t a date. It’s not even close to a date. It’s Parker asking me to spend Saturday with her family. Her people. The people who know her best.

I want you to meet everyone.

We’ve gone from casually dating to a relationship to…this in one half less than no time. I’m fucking terrified of how much I want her in my life. But I do. Maybe forever.