Page 33 of Flint’s Strike

“Parker.” His fingers curl around the arms of the chair, and a vein in his temple throbs briefly. “You fell through a floor yesterday. Went to Urgent Care, got stitches, and just walked in here like it was any other day—except for bein’ two hours late.”

“It is any other day.” My voice sharpens. “I didn’t break anything. Well, other than the floor. But it had it coming.”

He doesn’t laugh.

“Are you saying I can’t work, Chief?”

The title stings. AJ’s jaw works, and he drags a hand through his hair. “No. I’m sayin’ you came in here limping, bruised, and stitched up, and you’re pretending it doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t. If it makes you feel better, I won’t go chasin’ down any suspects today. Nate can do the running for both of us. He’ll like that.”

“He probably would if he weren’t half out of his fuckin’ mind worryin’ about you!”

I drop my gaze to the floor. “It’s not a big deal. Part of the job.”

He lowers his voice and leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You don’t get to decide what’s a big deal to the people who care about you. To the people who consider you family.”

The room falls quiet. Only the dull hum of work happening around us. And somewhere outside that door, my partner’s probably wearing a groove into the old tile floor, rehearsing another version of this same conversation.

I’m scrambling for something to say when AJ sighs. “Nate’s set up in the west conference room. He’s been here since seven. If you promise not to leave this building for anything other than lunch, you can join him. Otherwise, I’m sendin’ you home.”

“I’ll spend the whole day glued to a chair. Unless Nate springs for Dot’s.” I draw an X over my heart. “Promise.”

“Go on, then.”

The pain in his voice twists my stomach in a way I’m not prepared for. I get to my feet, stifling my wince, and shuffle over to the door. But before I go in search of my partner, I turn back to AJ.

“I never thought I’d have a family again, AJ. After my mom… I’m out of practice.”

He lifts his head, exhaustion shadowing his eyes. “So was I. Until you refused to let me go to Mexico alone to get Grace back. You taught me what family was. I never expected you to forget that.”

I nod once, then step back out into the hall before he can see the tears in my eyes.

The break room’s empty, so I take my time pouring a cup of coffee. The machine gurgles and hisses while I stare at the wall and try to get myself together.

Family.

The word keeps rattling around inside my head. How did I not see it? Hell, I’m the one who wouldn’t let AJ go to Mexico alone. I’m the one who convinced him to call his twin brother, Jasper, to join us. I’m the one who suggested Connor could arrange transportation and get us in and out of the country without going through Customs.

I love Grace like a sister. Emi and Isabel too. Why didn’t I think they might worry? That Nate would worry?

Wrapping both hands around my coffee mug, I take a deep breath and wait until the sting behind my eyes eases enough that I won’t embarrass myself in front of my partner. Then I head for the conference room.

The door’s open a crack. Nate has the Round Rock building blueprints up on the wall monitor. The conference table is covered with utility records, rental agreements, inspection reports, and photos from the scene.

The whiteboard is either a work of art or a Jackson Pollock painting. Notes scrawled in four different colors, some surrounded by boxes, perfectly organized. Like everything Nate does.

I catch a whiff of stale coffee under the overwhelming scent of dry erase ink. He’s been here a while. Long enough to need a fresh box of pens. And for the trash to be full of crumpled yellow legal paper. He’s shed his suit jacket, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a familiar crease between his eyebrows that only shows up when he’s been staring at a problem for hours.

I brace myself against the doorframe to take some of the weight off my left leg. “You know, they make software for that now.”

Nate doesn’t meet my gaze right away. He flips to a fresh page on his legal pad, scribbles a couple of words, and sets his pen down. “I was wondering if you’d show up before I got out the string and push pins.”

I wince. It’d be easier if he were angry. I can deal with angry. Hurt is a whole different can of worms.

Finally, he turns to me. The crease between his eyebrows deepens. “Well, you look⁠—”

“Keep that thought to yourself and I’ll take your car to the detailer.”