Page 155 of Flint’s Strike

By some small miracle, no one locked the front doors of the SFMO office when business hours ended. I find Eliot sitting on the floor next to his desk, clutching his phone so tightly, the tips of his fingers have gone white. I end the call on my cell and shove the device into my back pocket.

“Eliot?”

He barely acknowledges me. A blink. The slight tip of his head.

Crouching down next to him, I rest my fingers over his wrist. That’s what finally reaches him—touch. Warmth.

His pulse is racing. By the look of him, it has been for a while.

“Parker… It’s all there. The stairwell. The suppression system. Bad steel. They…they knew.” He chokes back a sob. “They knew, and Zack died because…”

I wrap my arms around him, careful not to put much pressure on his back. “I’m here.” The words aren’t enough. Or maybe they are. Because nothing can fix this. Nothing can save Zack’s life or heal Eliot’s burns.

All I can do is hold him and let him know he’s not alone.

He doesn’t cry. Doesn’t make a sound. But after a few minutes, he rests his cheek on my shoulder. After that, his breathing slows. I move one hand to his neck, carefully searching for his pulse. Still too fast, but closer to normal.

“Kurt… He’s part of it,” Eliot whispers, his voice rough. “The arson investigation…” He pulls back and glances up at his computer. “It was his.”

I help Eliot up, hoping I can get him out of here, but he reaches for his chair, sits, and pulls up a report on his computer.

“The stairwell was too narrow. That’s why he couldn’t get out.” A single tear rolls down Eliot’s cheek. “And here…” He shows me a picture of a sprinkler system, blackened pipes and burst heads on a ceiling where the tiles have all burned away. “It stops. Eight feet. I was eight feet away…”

Another tear. He goes quiet, staring at the photos, and I don’t think he’s here with me. He’s somewhere seven years ago, hearing Zack die again and again.

I cup his cheek, gently urging him to look at me. I’m close to full-on panic, but I do my best to keep my voice calm. “Eliot, come back, now. Please. I need your help.”

He blinks, and his eyes focus. “I couldn’t save him.”

“I know. But we’re going to get the people who did this. We’re so close. I need you to help me. We’re going to send all of this to Nate, and then I’m taking you home, okay?”

He nods, takes a deep, shuddering breath, and starts closing the open files, then copying them to a new folder. “That’s…all of it.”

“Scoot over. Just a bit. Let me do this part.”

He does, placing his hands flat on the desk, and stares at nothing while I open a secure browser window, log on with my Ranger credentials, and drop the folder into Nate’s cloud storage.

I log off of everything, shut down Eliot’s computer, and pull out my phone.

Just sent you SFMO’s record of the Kensington fire. Make sure it stays safe. Copies to me and AJ.

He replies in seconds.

Dropping one to Zephyr too. Won’t pull her in yet, since it’ll break chain of custody, but…

He doesn’t have to say it. We both know what happens if the senator somehow makes our evidence disappear.

We call Connor and take care of this on our own.

My phone buzzes again.

Eliot okay?

No. Taking him home now. I’ll check in. Later.

Turning back to Eliot, I get a hand under his arm. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

Eliot