Page 54 of Flint’s Strike

“I know you have control issues, but this is ridiculous. We should take my car. It’s a sauna in here.”

“How do you think I keep my skin looking so fresh and dewy?” Nate asks.

I roll my eyes. “I don’t want to know.”

“It’s a seven-step process. First, I use an oil-based cleanser. Then, I switch to foam. Warm water, not hot. Exfoliation is key. After that⁠—”

“Stop.”

He grins as he backs out of the parking space, ignoring my eyeroll. For three years, he’s insisted on driving. I tried bargaining. Then threats. But the few times I won, it cost him, and I’ve never figured out why.

After I angle the vent higher, I take a long pull on my bottle of ice water. It helps. A little.

Neither of us say a word until we’re on the highway. We’re each waiting for the other one to crack. He’ll fold first. He always does.

“So,” he says at last, eyes glued to the road. “That hallway was a choice.”

I tighten my grip on the water bottle and stare out the passenger window. “Nate, don’t.”

“Just saying… I’ve seen people make worse decisions in public places. But your office was right there.” His voice takes on a slightly amused tone.

If I turned my head, he’d probably be smirking. I don’t.

“Did you note my lack of surprise?” he asks. “You probably didn’t. Priorities and all.”

“We are not having this conversation.” My jaw starts to ache from how hard I’m clenching it.

He flips on his blinker. The car’s so old, the sound practically fills the interior until he changes lanes. “That’s okay. I can have it for both of us.”

Nate’s fingers drum against the steering wheel. “I want it noted that I’ve shown incredible restraint the past twenty-four hours. Being trapped in a conference room with so much will-they-or-won’t-they energy can cause heart palpitations.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes at him. “You should see a doctor about that.”

“It was touch and go. On the outside, I’m cool and professional. Inside? Chaos.”

Something about the way his voice shifts mid-sentence is enough for me to glance over at him. Nate’s right about one thing. He never shows his true feelings.

Before I can come up with a response, he shrugs. “I nearly lost it twice yesterday. The highlighters couldn’t help me, Parker. That’s how badly I wanted to say something.”

“We were working,” I say, unsure if I’m talking about the case or about the dynamic in that conference room.

“Still are.” His gaze cuts to me for a second before he returns his focus to the road.

He doesn’t say another word until we can see two APD cruisers blocking Aldrich Street, lights flashing. “Eliot’s good. I just wanted you to know he seems like a good guy. I’ve had a lot of practice spotting the other kind, and he’s not one of them.”

I take another sip of water, trying to force the sudden lump in my throat away. I shouldn’t need his approval. But after three years of working side by side, I’ve come to rely on his big brother energy. Even if I don’t want to.

Nate flashes his credentials at the officer outside the yellow tape, and eases the Impala into a makeshift parking spot next to Eliot’s truck.

He’s about to get out of the car when I find my voice. “Your restraint is noted. And appreciated. But try not to make the rest of the case weird, okay?”

His grin reassures me we’re back on solid ground. “Weird is my superpower.”

I give him the side-eye. “I thought it was color coding? Or spreadsheets.”

He laughs, swipes his notebook from the center console, and adjusts his dark blue tie. “Those are simply my tools. A man’s nothing without his tools, after all. Come on. APD’s probably already trampled over all the evidence. It’s our turn now.”

Chapter Twenty-One