Page 68 of Flint’s Strike

Parker swallows hard. “No. You had—have—every right to be angry. Delia and June should be putting up wallpaper and unboxing inventory right now. Or…at the very least, home with their families.”

Olivia clutches her phone to her chest. “Delia left me a voicemail a little after eight a.m. I was getting Rosalie ready for school, and I didn’t hear the phone ring. I can’t play it. I’m not ready to hear her voice yet. I know I should, but…” Fresh tears cascade down her cheeks. “The transcript… The first line said, ‘It’s perfect, Livie. I can’t wait to bring you here.’”

Nate watches Parker, his dark eyes shining. Vern’s staring at his shoes.

I wish I knew what to say to this family.

I’m sorry for your loss means nothing. We’re taught to say it at the academy. By every grief counselor, every captain, every battalion chief. I’ve uttered those five words after dozens of fires, and meant them every fucking time. It wasn’t until Zack’s death that I realized just how hollow they were.

Parker’s talking to Olivia, saying something about how grief doesn’t have a timeline, when the little girl pulls a folded piece of paper from her pocket and offers it to Parker.

“What’s this?” she asks, crouching down with a small wince and spreading the paper over her right thigh. “Did—” Her voice fades, and she pulls in a shaky breath before she finds it again. “Did you draw this?”

“It’s Mom and Aunt June at their store.” Rosalie points to the sign in the window. Papeeay Lucks. “Mama said I could give it to Mom when we went to the store this weekend. But I think I spelled the name wrong.”

“That’s okay. We both know it’s Papier Luxe.” Parker’s smile doesn’t falter once, but tears shimmer in her eyes. “This is a very good picture. You got all the important things right. Your mom and your Aunt June look so happy.”

Rosalie chews on her bottom lip, her eyes never lingering on the paper for more than a second at a time before returning to Olivia.

“Hey,” Parker says, completely serious as she lowers her voice. “Can I hold onto this for a while? I promise I’ll keep it very safe for you.”

The little girl peers up at her mother.

Olivia nods. “It’s okay, baby.”

A single tear plops onto the construction paper as Rosalie lets go. Parker blots it dry with the sleeve of her shirt, carefully folds the paper along its creases, and tucks it into the pocket of her dress shirt, right over her heart.

“I’m going to keep it with me. The whole time I’m working.” She pats the folded piece of paper one last time. “That way your Mom and your Aunt June are always right here.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Eliot

The dull hum of conversation is almost enough to settle my nerves. Rachel’s on Sixth has been a fixture in this town for a dozen years. And yet, before tonight, the only time I’ve stepped inside was when we responded to a kitchen fire a few months after they opened. It’s known for its quiet, romantic atmosphere, and I’ve never had anyone to share that kind of meal with.

Parker’s sitting in the little waiting area just inside the door.

Holy hell.

My heart half jumps out of my chest. No dress shirt. No Ranger double belt. No gun at her hip. No braid.

Gold, amber, and honeyed flax waves tumble past her shoulders, down to a green silk tank that shows off her toned arms. Flowing black pants end just above her ankles. Her toes are painted a deep red.

I forget to breathe until she stands and crosses to me. God, she smells amazing. Not just her shampoo, but something richer that gives all that bare skin a warm glow.

“Were you waitin’ long?” I ask, sliding one hand to the small of her back so I can press a brief kiss to her lips.

Her cheeks turn bright red. “Ten minutes. But that’s because my GPS thinks I’m always in Nate’s car and adjusts for his ridiculous rule about driving ten miles an hour under the speed limit.”

“I reckon you could call one of your State Trooper friends to write him a ticket,” I offer. “Drivin’ that slow can be a hazard too.”

Her laugh shakes her shoulders, and what it does to her face…I’m a goner.

But as the hostess shows us to our table, every intrusive thought, every fear, every ounce of guilt I’ve carried since I first laid eyes on Parker Elmore comes rushing back.

She’s a Ranger. Intelligent, trained to investigate, and probably more than a little curious—and potentially concerned—after today. She’ll have pulled my file by now. Read about the fire that ended my career, ruined my body, and took Zack’s life. She’ll ask about him. And I’ll have to tell her he was only there because of me.

The little corner table gives us a bit of privacy, thank fuck. If tonight ends the way I fear it will—with Parker deciding she can’t be with someone responsible for his mentee’s death—at least my humiliation won’t be on full display.