Page 62 of Flint’s Strike

I flip to the next set of pictures. Martez was right. The suppression system didn’t do fuck all.

I’m not sure why yet. The control panel logs every activation—pressure, flow, and length—down to the second. But Austin Electric killed power to the building before letting me do my thing, and a dead panel can’t give up its secrets. The manufacturer should be sending a tech out there to download the data sometime today. Until I get those numbers, I won’t know if the system failed because something went wrong with the water pressure or with the install.

I grab my mug, though more coffee on an empty stomach ain’t the smartest of ideas.

Steeling myself against the near constant wobble in my knee, I push to my feet as Kurt, the senior arson investigator at the State Fire Marshal’s Office, shuffles through my office door.

“Hey, Eliot.”

“Christ, Kurt. What the hell happened?”

The man cradles his left arm close to his body, a fresh, white cast running from the middle of his hand almost to his elbow.

Kurt shakes his head with a nervous laugh. “Fell down my sister’s back stairs helpin’ her move a couch. Broke the bone in two places.” He shrugs his good shoulder. “Took me the better part of a week to feel human again.”

“You sure you should be here? You look like shit.”

“Gotta make a living.” He pulls out my guest chair and eases himself down carefully. “Want to catch me up?”

I give him the short version. Three fires in under a week, each with serious deficiencies routine inspections missed. When I tell him about the fatalities from the Aldrich Street building, he squeezes his eyes shut for a brief moment. “Shit. They weren’t supposed to be there?”

“Nope. Their realtor gave them the keys early. Might not have been an issue, but someone installed the back door release hardware upside down. The push bar wasn’t hooked up to the latch.”

Kurt’s about to reply when I catch sight of a blond braid weaving through the handful of cubicles the techs use when they’re in the office. She rounds the last one, hips swaying gently, an iced coffee sweating in one hand, a folder under her arm, and a pastry bag dangling from two fingers.

“‘Mornin’, Eliot.” Her smile lights up the whole room. I always thought that was a cliche. Something men said about their women because they thought it would get them into bed. But, fuck me. Parker does somethin’ to me I can’t explain any other way. “I thought you might need…well…all of this.” She passes me the coffee first.

“You’re gonna spoil me if you keep pickin’ up Alabaster’s every day.”

She laughs. “Don’t get too used to it. My paycheck barely covers one coffee habit, let alone two.” She slides the folder then the pastry bag onto my desk. “They had bear claws this mornin’.”

“Then I’m definitely gettin’ the next round.” I peer into the bag, mouth watering a little, then remember Kurt’s still in my guest chair. “Captain Parker Elmore, this is Kurt Lynch. He’s the senior investigator at SFMO.”

Parker gives him the once over, shakes his hand, and then nods at his cast. “Borrowed some trouble there?”

“More than I wanted.” He stands, a brief wince tightening his lips, and takes a step toward the door. “Nice to meet you, Captain. I should stop avoiding my inbox and get back to it. Eliot, if you need any help with these fires, I’m available.”

“Thanks. I’ll walk you through the rest of the pattern this afternoon. Still workin’ on cleaning up the photos from the Aldrich scene. It’ll be good to get another set of eyes on them.”

I watch Kurt until I know he can’t see us, then step close enough to Parker that I can smell the light citrus notes of her shampoo.

Her hand trails down my arm, her fingers gently curling around my wrist for the briefest of moments before she lets go. “I’m headed to APD. Nate and I are gonna interview the asshole who wrote Haight’s death off as an accident.”

“Try not to punch him,” I say, caught between the urge to smile or go with her and deck the guy myself.

“No guarantees. I might need bail money to make it to dinner on time.”

“I’ve got you covered. But I want the full play-by-play after your arraignment.” A grin escapes my desperate attempts to contain it.

Parker laughs, then hooks a thumb toward the door. “Deal. Walk me out?”

One or two of the techs look up as we weave through the cubicles. Great. They’ll be gossiping all day now.

Through the double doors, the parking lot’s already holding onto the morning heat, thick enough a bead of sweat rolls down my spine before we make it more than a couple of steps. My palm finds the small of her back like it belongs there—like it’s always belonged there—and I guide her far enough away from anyone who might be trying to catch a glimpse of what Eliot the loner is doing with such a gorgeous woman before ten a.m.

She turns to me, tips her head up to meet my gaze, and lifts up onto her toes. One hand pressed to the center of my chest, the other at my waist, she brushes her lips to mine.

The kiss is full of promises I never expected to make. Including one that scares the shit out of me.