Page 52 of Flint’s Strike

Nate’s expression falters for half a second. “Well, that’s one sure way to ruin my dreams of being knighted. But back to my being good…” He flips through several pages of his legal pad. “Based on observed behaviors, the two of you beat AJ’s prediction by forty-eight hours.”

“You…and AJ…were betting on…us?” Parker sputters.

“Betting involves money,” Nate counters. “Also, uncertainty. We were tracking whether or not one of you would make a move before you were eligible for AARP.”

Parker finally turns and gives me a subtle eye roll. “I told you he’d be insufferable.”

I fight the urge to smile. Despite my growing fear about what’ll happen the next time Nate and I are alone in a room together, I feel like part of a team for the first time in seven years.

“I’m merely reminding you that my use of spreadsheets and color coding produces real results.” For a long moment, Nate turns his stare to me. “And while the two of you were…otherwise engaged, I got enough Vitamin D to delay rearranging Mallon’s face.”

The implication is enough that I swallow hard and open my laptop. “The full Cedar Park report came in. I requested additional photos in a couple of spots, and a couple of our techs went out there with a ladder for close-ups.” Mirroring my laptop screen on the wall monitor, I bring up the sprinkler system zone map on file with the city, then the first set of pictures.

At my side, Parker leans in, her shoulder brushing against me. If we were alone, I’d link our fingers under the table. Or nudge her back. But instead, I force myself to focus. Nate smirks and uncaps a highlighter.

“Look at the pipes. Notice anything?” I aim the laser pointer in the general area of the problem.

“Son of a bitch,” Parker snaps. “They don’t connect to the main line.”

“Nope. There’s a full set of heads in the southeast quadrant, but exactly zero water flow into the pipes they’re on.”

“So the map filed with the city is…wait for it,” Nate says, “…a pipe dream?”

Parker gives him a look that clearly says she’s not amused, and I press my lips together so I don’t chuckle. It was a good joke, even if fire ain’t funny.

“Then we’ve got the load-bearing steel columns in that area.” The next photos aren’t a puzzle I expect the Rangers to solve. “There should be a coating on them. Like a thermal barrier that slows down the heat transfer to the steel itself. This is what keeps buildings from collapsing when they burn. It stops fifteen feet up. The top half of it is bare steel.”

“How can you tell?” Parker asks.

Zooming in, I show her where to look. “See the texture difference? I noticed it when I was on scene, but couldn’t be sure it wasn’t a trick of the light. Cather—he’s one of my techs—took a sample for testing.”

Nate moves to the whiteboard. “Round Rock. Missing sprinkler heads, no firewalls, and a secondary egress that ended in a utility room.” Each item is carefully listed in blue under a photo of the burned exterior of the building. He switches to a green pen. “Cedar Park. Pipes disconnected from any potential water supply, and uncoated steel.”

“All deficiencies that would have been caught by even the most incompetent of inspectors,” I add.

Parker reaches for a stack of documents on the other side of me. The motion puts her lips so close to mine, I wonder if she’s trying to torture me. Though, given the tiny, strangled sound catching in her throat, I’m not the only one struggling here.

Her cheeks are flushed when she sits back. Until she focuses on the single piece of paper in her hand. “Well, slap my ass and call me a toaster. The Cedar Park building was sold last year. It had to undergo a full inspection while it was in escrow. Approved by one Roger Haight. The day he died.”

Chapter Twenty

Parker

The paper in my hands shakes slightly. I set it down before Nate can comment—or Eliot can notice. Then realize they’re both staring at me.

Well, shit.

Why didn’t I ask Eliot to pass me the report? At least then I wouldn’t have been practically in his lap in the middle of the workday.

“We need to get a hold of Mallon,” Nate says, giving me something besides my lack of professionalism to focus on. “Did the medical examiner have a good estimate for time of death?”

I blink, hard, and turn to my laptop. “No. Haight’s body was found a little after eleven p.m. He was only wearing a pair of jeans, an old shirt, and dirty socks. Best guess based on rigor was sometime between four and ten.”

Eliot slides his computer closer, taps the keyboard a few times, and the city’s electronic building and permitting portal fills the wall monitor’s screen. “The approval was time stamped at four fifty-three.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Haight could have signed this, entered it into the system, and been snatched on the way to his car.”

“Or…” Nate drops back into his chair. “Someone forged his signature, got his credentials, and did it all for him. We’re right back where we started.”